I was sitting here at my desk, window stretched open to its widest yawn, watching the trees on the horizon for the tiniest movement in the hope of the ghost of a breeze, but tonight, the night of the Honey Moon, there isn’t one. As I set about to get on with some work (that novel) the damnedest thing happened, I remembered a poem I wrote a long time ago. A pledge in a way, to write. I suppose my inability, be it a tired brain, shattered body but happy heart all owing to my sixteen month old, yes, sixteen
What a day! How dizzying and utterly uplifting the sun can be! Just its very prresence fed the spring in my step as the toddler & I took our morning jaunt. Her new understanding is “tree” with great excitement- we touch the tree and crane our necks upwards following its branches to the sky, to the most gorgeous blue sky, if only I could truly describe the excitement on her face, if only!
Last weekend the promise of fine weather had us dashing out of the house in haste! I’m sure we weren’t the only ones! Each time the sun puts his hat on, I hear myself saying ‘this could be the last day of summer’ even though summer waved goodbye ages ago and autumn rolled on in. After checking a list of places I desire to go to on my phone which I have high hopes of being 100% baby friendly ; they must allow my little one to walk freely as that is what she loves to do these days, that
October has a funny way of suddenly happening, I think I say that each year. Yesterday as the baby and I took a walk in the grey half-light of autumn (she slept in the carrier) I spied fallen conkers and watched squirrels chase each other through piles of leaves upon the ground then up and away into the trees which are becoming bare and therefore altering the light upon the landscape, as the light now has wide gaps to pass through. The day begins to yawn and say goodnight at 6 in the evening, pushing our clocks
It’s in the title, the little one insists on me leaving the house, she does not care for a writer’s solitary lifestyle of which I’ve been accustomed to. My misanthropic endeavours have been thwarted by this cute, friendly eager being who smiles at every stranger, beguiling them with her enchanting powers! I find myself talking to strangers (usually other mothers) more than ever and nodding to passengers on the bus as my baby decides to act out a loud, hysterical monologue (god I love her). This little being who can now pull herself up to stand, wishes to do so…all
“Do not spoil what you have by desiring what you have not; remember that what you now have was once among the things you only hoped for.” Epicurus This is too easily forgotten. Don’t you think?
“It doesn’t feel like London” I sigh as we leave the train station after I’ve had a grumble on twitter over the lift not working at the station. Since having a buggy, I’ve obviously come across the injustice of an out of order lift, but my upset isn’t because I can’t use it but because I’ve become hyper aware of wheel chair users being unable to use it, it’s not like they can do what I do and lift their own wheelchair for god sake…. But anyway, back to my conversation with the husband, where was I…oh yes, “It could
London Claustrophobia Yes, it’s that time of year again. The annual tightening of the chest & constriction of the airways. That lurking pain that threatens to break through my chest, that prickly creeping feeling that climbs up the spine & brings on such a headache that no medication can touch. I’ve written about it so often and usually a hop onto the train & stint in the country fixes this ailment. It’s not just the loud neighbours that smoke all hours of the day, creating a small cloud of fumes in our very own home or the neighbour who insists
I’ve finally left the house. It’s a messy house, far messier than before but what can you do, the baby needs a gym, a bumbo & god knows what else, but she needs them, but I’ve left the house. Everything is going well, I’ve fed her & changed her & dashed out, now all I need is a swift bus journey to visit a friend in her new beautiful home. The bus ride is like a little trip down memory lane as I pass my old secondary school where the husband and I met. We made googly eyes
I’ve succumbed to the Green Finger disease. The one where you obsessively rifle your way through seed catalogues, gardening suppliers, Alys Fowler books and blogs and that’s not enough! I’ve been writing lists of what I want to grow, scrap it and write it out again with gardener’s haste. In a split second, I find myself ordering a plastic greenhouse, in the next, it is up with a cucumber plant rooted at it’s base with a trellis made from cane to climb. Lettuce has been laid out among rosemary, thyme, horse radish, oregano and tarragon. I won’t mention how I nearly cried when I was