restingmotion

Three Things Tuesday

I have been hopelessly muddled in a blog post that, if anything, is becoming more muddled as time goes on.  It seems that all I can do is admit that sometimes life is more transparent than at other times, and move on to something else.

 

So I present a few progress notes.

1. I am still washing blanket squares.  They are filthy and covered in cat hair and the process has been slow.  At least until yesterday, when I made a concerted effort to move forward.  I remembered the large sweater blocking board my mom had insisted I bring home the last time I saw her — at the beginning of the year.  I did not know what to do with it, or where to store it so it was still in the garage. Yesterday I brought it in to the basement storage room and laid it on the floor next to my smaller gray blocking board.  Although you cannot quite tell from the angle of this crude photograph, the white board has three times the blocking space as the smaller gray board. I filled it with wet blanket blocks yesterday.  They are taking about 28 hours to dry in the December damp and tomorrow I will wash the last batch.  This prospect sparks a little happy dance. Of course the job will not yet be done: I will have to begin the process of planning, repairing, knitting and reassembling.

 

2.  Christmas decorations remain in flux, although truthfully I rarely get the decorating done before the third Sunday of Advent (last Sunday) as much as I always intend to do better.  This year progress has been complicated by the fact that I cannot access the holiday ornaments until after I get wet blanket squares off the floor.  So it will be later yet.  There is still plenty of time.   Christmas merely begins on Christmas Day.  I always appreciate the period of preparation, of Advent, with its highs and lows, with its call toward mindfulness and care, with the knowledge that each year’s preparation will follow its own path. 

This rustic tree is out. But by next weekend my grandmother’s crèche and the sparkly glass trees I purchased the year that I spent Christmas in a small apartment will be out and greenery will be up as well.  I am as yet undecided about a traditional tree.  The personal, the intimate, connection and kindness are what matter to me this year, including kindness to myself.  I am not so much about putting up a brave front as about celebrating joy in the midst of darkness.  No floodlights here, merely candles, candles whose light is warmly appreciated.  A phone call or zoom, food delivered, a socially distanced glass of wine or cup of cocoa, a note, all are their own kind of lights in the darkness.

 

3.  Surprises are still welcome.  This blanket arrived.  The purple of the blanket is almost exactly the purple of my couch. Poncho and Moises think it coordinates nicely with their fur.  I assume, in time, all will be revealed. 

 

And so I muddle through.  I don’t think muddling is a bad thing.   Just as the opposite of love is not hate, but indifference, the opposite of confusion is not certainty.  

 

Filled with Inspiration

Increasingly it seems that joy comes from celebrating the little things and gradually letting fears and worries go.  Of course that isn't completely possible, but it is a good goal.  I hope I remember it a year from now.  

 

Today, these are the things that make me happy:

 

1.  Stepping off a curb and not feeling a small jolt of pain.  The ease of stepping down and walking on without pause,  as if stepping off a curb was a normal part of life, which of course it is, was pure pleasure.  Later, I intentinally stepped up over another curb, intentionally striding across a tree root, just to prove to myself that the world will soon enough be mine to amble across at will.  It is the pure mundanity of it that thrills me.

 

2. This chocolate. It is really a little sweeter than I usually prefer, and it is not silky smooth,.   The stone-ground grainyness of it is pleasing however, almost enhancing the intensity of the chocolate as it melts on the tongue.  The texture brings a new dimension to the chocolate, a dimension I didn't realize I was missing. 

 

3. My mousepad.  A simple collage of photos of clothes gathered from the web a few years ago.  It inspired me anew each and every day. 

 

4. Driving over a speed bump, no matter how slowly, and not feeling that deadly settling thump of the rear tires coming down with the accompanying leaden jolt of my back against the seat.  It is a pleasure not to dread the next speed bump.   

 

5. The reproduction sun mirror in my entry hall.  Massive and yet delicate, reflective and yet cloudy, it makes me smile every day and reminds me that promise and art are all a state of mind.  I also just realized that I have no idea what is reflected in the mirror in the above photo.  Somehow that makes me very happy.  

 

6. The large painting in the entry hall, also seen in the above photo.  I knew that painting would go on that wall the moment we agreed to buy the house.  It is nothing fancy, a student painting, a painting George and I both saw lying on the floor waiting to be hung for a student exhibition at Vassar College, a painting we instantly knew we wanted in our living room.  Now, surrounded by the sun mirror and a few smaller prints it is no longer lonely, my entry hall is no longer bare, and as my life is becomes full with the things that are important to me, these objects provide a background of comfort and familiarity and joy. Not really significant in and of themselves, they are  artifacts of a life well lived, and yet open to all the life that is yet ahead.

 

 

Monday

There are times that I am lying in bed reading, and I stretch my legs or roll over and I feel exactly as I was, as if the world is full of possibility and I can leap up at any moment and plunge headlong into the glories of life. In those moments I feel I am still a young girl and the world awaits, full of promise.  The promise is still there; I am improving, although slowly, but now there is also temperence. 

 

That does not mean there are not moments of joy.  I have rediscovered the joys to be found in simple pleasures.  This was my breakfast on Sunday, a current favorite, although it this particular combination never crossed my mind before I was confined to bed.  I have also rediscovered how contented I am with a supply of radishes, cucumbers, baby carrots, berries.  I dream of the spring crop of baby turnips, and have developed a renewed appreciation for the simplicity and goodness of roast chicken.   There is just something special about a lovely plate beautifully filled with a few tempting morsels... 

 

I have settled into a state of fuzzy contentment.  Well the fuzziness is due to medication, which comes with all kinds of warnings about not driving, or operating heavy machinery, etc etc.  I see no warnings about riding unicycles.  I wonder.....

 

No, I know better.  It is actually fine that the drugs make me light-headed because I don't really move very fast anyway.  They did fog up my thinking apparatus for a few days.  I had to abandon Churchill and I haven't started my next knitting project due to a profound inability to count to 400.  I am feeling a little sharper today, so I believe knitting will resume.

 

So I resorted to some light reading.  A friend brought by a couple of the Mrs. Murphy mystery books by Rita Mae Brown.  The first book I read, Sour Puss, was somewhat enjoyable but was mired in too much detail about viniculture and the diseases that affect grapes. It was also a little too preachy, especially in the conversations between the cats.  But it wasn't so bad that I didn't want to read the other book, which was much better. 

 

 

 

 

 

The second book, Catch as Cat Can, which is actually an earlier volume in the series,  was much more enjoyable.  The writing isn't particularly better, but at the same time it doesn't take itself too seriiously either.  I enjoy the animals and their conversations and observations about their humans.  I also enjoyed the story and its setting more than I had in the previous volume.  It is definitely light fiction, but it is an entertaining, relaxing read and I will probably look into reading more of the books in this series.

 

 

 

 

Finally, as part of the Kindle First program, I downloaded I Am Livia which I finished early this morning, and which I absolutely love.  This is not surprising.  I remember watching I Claudius with my parents in the 1970s, and later, when I read the books by Robert Graves, I loved them even more than the mini-series.  I also devoured Colleen McCoullough's series of novels about ancient Rome.  Livia has been much maligned in history, but I am not sure how much truth there is in these stories and how much is reactionary vilification toward a woman who lived outside the normal expectations for a woman of her age.  This novel paints attempts to pain a more flattering portrait of a strong-willed and impetuous girl, a girl who has a sharp intelligence, a girl thrown into difficult circumstances, a girl who demands to be accepted for who she is without apology.    It is not a difficult novel and I highly recommend it to people who like historical fiction with strong female characters. 

Surprise

I received a treat on Saturday.

Luscious bits of cocoa infused with cardamom, curry, and pimient d'Espelette.  

I had actually ordered these back in December, supposedly for making some hot chocolate.  But I had completely forgotten them, forgotten that they were backordered, forgotten what my intention had been.  But for now they are an welcome treat.  One small chocolate bauble is enough to satisfy that late afternoon chocolate craving, or to provide a comforting indulgence when I am mentally beating myself up for pushing too hard and doing too much.  As if constant sciatic pain and numbness is not enough punishment; self-blame and recriminations not only do not help, but probably hinder the entire process of healing.  Savoring a small bit of chocolate interrupts my my all too human focus on blame and punishment and lets me instead focus on the pleasures of the moment.