My thoughts for today, such as they are. What can I bring my readers that’s a bit different?
What can I say that might lift their spirits or make them feel less alone?
Let’s begin with words I’ve currently banned from this blog:
With my hand on the Macquarie Dictionary, I swear not to tell you these are hard times, challenging times, unprecedented, extraordinary times.
You already know that, right?
So, as the time of ‘grim novelty’ passes and we sink into the familiar grind of a new normal, this is what I’ve noticed about me.
Maybe you’re noticing this, too?
I’ve been scattered.
Keep starting things but not finishing.
I’m preoccupied. Often with… nothing.
I’m highly emotional.
At times I feel angry, judgemental, self-righteous.
Vulnerable and teary, too.
Last night, for instance, a sheep truck drove by and I burst into tears. All those dear little souls off to the slaughterhouse. It was unbearable.
I’ve been having intense, profound and at times disturbing dreams.
I’m grieving for all I haven’t done, achieved, enjoyed or relished.
I’m grateful for all I have done, achieved, enjoyed or relished.
I’ve pulled out my mother’s china and placed it on the mantlepiece.
The cup and saucer are from World War II.
I’m not an Anglophile (well, maybe just a little).
It’s the sentiment that offers solace.
The steady faith.
The quiet dignity.
That’s energy worth tapping into. Energy that nourishes rather than depletes.
The screech of mainstream media shreds my nerves and sets my teeth on edge.
The News is a cup of bitter tea I only sip from once a day.
In the meantime, I’m striking cuttings for my garden.
So far I’ve struck geraniums, wormwood, garlic, rosemary, pelargoniums. All collected from neighbourhood gardens.
No nasty ‘hormone powders’ needed for this exercise. Just snap off a ‘slip’ and sit it in water. They sprout roots in good time.
Slow down says my mind.
Slow down says my heart.
Slow down says Mother Nature.
A trickle of fan mail comes in. Perhaps, with time on their hands, kids are discovering the joys of snail mail.
Letters to write.
Envelopes to decorate.
A gentle ‘to do’ list; no uniforms, lunchboxes or seatbelts required.
Expressing thanks and gratitude.
Every day I’m up at dawn.
It’s quiet and crisp.
The morning sky is vast, generous, expressive.
I’ve made many cakes.
Himself and I share morning tea every day at 11. Sometimes at the table, sometimes in the garden.
I’ve found recipes that are ‘lean’ in terms of resources. This banana cake, for example. It only uses 60gms of butter. My mother taught me that. Some cakes use way too many ingredients. Some cakes ‘waste’ butter…
We can’t get SR flour at the moment. Haven’t been able to get it for weeks. So I make do and make my own. 1 cup of plain flour with 2 teaspoons of baking powder.
I think of my parents all the time. Their stories of the Great Depression. Their stories of the war. Soon after they were engaged, Dad was sent away for six years. The Middle East, mostly. Mum was left at home on the farm in Central Victoria, and along with her siblings and her parents, they carried on.
I often asked her how she coped during those years.
Her answer was always the same— always given with a perplexed look on her face. As if she could barely understand the question. After all, wasn’t the answer obvious?
‘Darling,’ she’d say, ‘we just go on with it.’
Bright blessings to you, dear reader, as we get on with it together.
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