the scent of water

26

{sorrow and love are hard, the thorns of bold travellers}

 

105

{Listen to life, take care of the moment.}

The iPad sucks at photos, but it's all I've got for today, so it's all I can give you as well. For today.

Janet suggested I try a few found poems of my own and you know what? I love finding poems. One turned into two, turned into eight, and now I have to stop myself so I can get the rest of my day done. So I can take my own found advice and take care of the moment. You know those days when you realise that chaos has been slowly hunting you down and it's suddenly, mercilessly, everywhere? Piles and piles of the unfinished, the left-till-later, the not-yet-begun. It doesn't help to know that it's all my own damned you're-a-woman-not-an-ostrich fault. If I don't stop to get it sorted this whole house of cards threatens to come tumbling down.

You know, it's true. I really have never met a metaphor I didn't like.

The first step, the one after admitting I am powerless over my own ability to procrastinate, is to buy some time by temporarily removing my dependence on access to the magic interwebs. A lifetime won't be enough. A week should do it. A few days of consciously cleaning, sorting, looking my myriad obligations straight in the face and planning realistic ways I can meet them. Sounds great. Can't wait.

Now I can circle nicely back to my teeny wee poems. Later tonight I will load one for each day of the next week so I can be here, and not, all at the same time. I can't wait to show them to you. They come from an old thrifted novel of an unhappy love affair, so love and suffering may be mentioned more than once. The numbers at the top of each post are the pages of the book each poem was found on.

See you in a week. Take care of your good self.

Out of time

Desperate for my bed, and a very deep, very long, dreamless sleep. Be well, wherever you are and whatever your day will bring.

Wrecked land and hope

I read a found poem today, that said the soul contains wrecked land and hope. This covers most of the things I know and believe to be true.

 

Changes

There came a day when the urge to make some kind of progress, any kind of progress, became greater than the urge to be sensible. We started pulling off wallpaper and then more wall paper, and then more. Mostly this was a little bit fun. Not the bit where we uncovered a cover up job and I'm too scared to look behind it. But the rest ... it already looks better.

The moon photo is gratuitous. You can take my word for it that it looks better than the possibly rotting window frame and wall in the corner.

Bugly

Saturday, and Warren's cooking lunch. In the few minutes before it's ready, I take his iPhone outside and look for the beautiful ugly things. They're everywhere. I get so excited when I capture one that I want to bash them over everyone's head like some rabid photovangelist.

Someone once said that we take pictures of the things we don't want to lose. I don't know. I do know I never want to lose my sense of wonder.

 

I'm sure there was more

Ate too many marshmallows, lit a fire, didn't fold washing, tried to say what I meant, felt anxious, talked too much, sprayed the smelly car, ate other lollies, cooked roast chicken, heated an apple Danish, read, took a bath, tried to email, got a bit more anxious, thought about my sore shoulder, watched tele, washed clothes, took Eilidh to her paper run, re-lit the fire, made tea, made more tea, went over the bit where I mucked up again, talked to the kids, talked to Warren, felt sad about a sad thing, bought milk, read even more. Not necessarily in that order.

I quilted once

Seven and a bit years ago I gave her that quilt. It's nothing fancy, and nothing like what I would make her now. It's still the thing she brings out when she's cold, or needs comfort. Still the thing she takes with her when she sleeps away from home. They all have one, they all keep them on their bed. There's comfort in that for me too.

 

Take 5

The fifth pair of slippers, a gift. Allegedly. They've gone all wrong and I'm not sure why. Well. I suppose that they can always be un-wronged.

I'm struggling without a laptop. Struggling to write, to answer, to download. Which doesn't explain the struggle to think.

Iona went to the Writer's and Reader's festival today, one of 30 chosen from her school. Four writer's talked about what they do and how they do it. She loved it, found it inspiring. I wanted to phone every one of those writers and thank them.

Nathan left his (compulsory) laptop at school. Not funny.

I might start the knitting again. I might not. My choices are wide open.

 

The drive takes longer than the game.

Tuesdays are drive-a-lot days. An hour's trip in rush-hour to get Iona to her netball game then home again to take Eilidh up to dance. Warren picks Iona up on his way home, and I race back to light the fire and get dinner on and back again to pick Eilidh up. Or Warren does, if he and Iona have made it home in time. Nathan gets to stay put. Then a late dinner, dishes, homework, more work, all that fun stuff.

I'm glad not every day is Tuesday.