Your hand is soft and warm, so beautiful I want to take a photograph of it but it seems disrespectful
Delicate and strong I stroke it and know it is comforting for you it is for me too
Your hands are the hands that cared for me when I was young they have tended your garden and left nothing undone
All your life you have cared for others with your hands and with your heart warm and soft and kind and strong I’ll keep your hands within my heart my whole life long
Dedicated to my Mum, Vera Elsie Baker (née Wallis) 22 May 1921 to March 2015 & my Dad, Albany Baker 22 August 1910 to February 1992. Both had amazing, strong, caring hands.
On the 28th day in my latest cycle of “Writing for Life”, I reflect on how far I’ve come.
For a long time, I thought and hoped that I would eventually arrive at a point of ‘recovery’ from the difficulties and distress that I’ve been working through for most of my life.
It hasn’t worked out like that though; in fact, it’s worked out better.
I’m still not and probably never will be a ‘morning person’. I need a lot of time to rest in bed, even if I’m not sleeping. I don’t ‘seize the day’ with a leap and a jump but it doesn’t matter. I let myself be what I am while still working steadily on turning old, ingrained patterns into new ones. Big cogs take a longer time to turn and I do what I can when I can, in positive ways.
Rather than ‘recover’ to a known point, I’ve grown into the unknown; a place that is at times unfamiliar and uncomfortable. This opens up possibilities for further growth, pushing me to experience much more of life than I ever could have imagined.
It’s taken a massive amount of energy and effort and every last bit of motivation that I can muster, but I know that I have gone a long way towards training my mind and will keep doing just that.
While I take a short break from writing my daily blog, I’ll republish earlier posts. I’ll also be putting together paperback versions of my two latest books, available on Amazon for Kindle and Kindle Unlimited:
There were eight of us at the poetry group meeting this morning.
I hadn’t had breakfast before I went but I felt nourished by the nature of the group, sharing words that we’d prepared and formed in whatever ways we wanted to.
On the way home, needing food for body as well as soul, I bought buns and vanilla slices for me and Trev.
I then headed out again for the Open Day at the kennels that I take Lydia to when we’re away.
The kennels have a rescue and rehoming facility as well as the business side, so I like to support them in whatever way that I can. There were plenty of other people there to support them too.
Lydia and I had a rest together this afternoon. The importance of rest is a lesson that I’ve been learning only recently. Sometimes, the time and circumstances just have to be right.
Van Gogh featured in the discussion at the poetry group. He struggled to rest, with all the complex thoughts and influences going on in his mind, channelling his energies through paint. Quite how he found the focus for this I don’t know, in the time and circumstances that he lived in. But he did.
The theme for next month’s meeting was agreed and set as “something funny”.
I’m looking forward to thinking and writing about something funny. It’s time I had a good laugh. I’ve had to work hard and dig deep to turn my life around through decades of difficulties and distress. Now is the time to start having fun.
I’ve had a focus on clothes management today. This is another way of saying that I’ve been washing and ironing.
Ironing isn’t my strong point. I do very little but have some summer clothes that benefit from a quick once over.
Then I decided to make pizza, for no other reason than that I found some flour in the cupboard that needs using up, and I still have a large supply of dried yeast left over from Covid days. I over-stocked on dried yeast because I hadn’t realised how little it weighed. The bag that I have – which I keep in the fridge – is probably a life-time’s supply.
Lydia was disappointed on her visit to the dog field this morning because she only got to chase one car. At one point it looked like a convoy of farm trucks was heading our way but they went off in the opposite direction. She stood staring at them, longingly.
She enjoyed a few good rolls in the grass though, and I did some repeats of the Qigong ‘Healing Form’ movement as well as my knee exercises.
I’ve set aside a big chunky lamb rib for her tea, and my treat tonight will be a few glasses of red wine, to be enjoyed outside with the pizza.
I decided that my tired mind would benefit from a bit of focused activity so I turned to cleaning up my creative corner in the lounge.
After a walk with Lydia and a short meditation, I set to.
Bowls of dry clay are now outside, soaking up water, until they are ready to be reconstituted into that malleable substance that is so versatile.
I’m moving in a different direction now in my work with clay. I have no idea what that direction is, only that it is different.
It feels good, to have tidied and sorted, thrown out, re-organised.
With my ‘plan’ for pottery now in place, I turn to poetry.
There is a meeting of the poetry group coming up, and our theme this month is ‘A painting’. The remit is to interpret this as broadly as we want to (which of course is our prerogative anyway, as creators/writers).
My poem is this:
A painting
A painting can be anything you want it to be
A flower A wall A tree
Brush goes into pot Paint loads Hand holds And then it flows
Wherever and however you want it to go
The mark is made and then it’s gone in the blink of an eon
Is the painting in the pot? Or on the wall?
Where does the call to paint come from?
Is the painting in the mark or the mark on the canvas or the wall or the wood?
It can be good to paint or not
It just depends on what is in the paint and what is in the pot
Lydia has been less inclined to tug on her lead so far this week, in whatever walking places we’ve been to.
It’s a slow process, unlearning ingrained responses to situations and re-learning new approaches.
I know that myself because that’s what I’ve been doing myself, for a very long time: learning to change negative thought patterns and actions to positive ones.
For Lydia, I’ve taken guidance from a behaviourist and from on-line learning, applying and repeating what I believe are sound principles and recognising that there are no quick-fix solutions.
For myself, I’ve learnt what I could from experience and taken guidance from sources that I believe are sound, including Buddhist teachings and meditation practices. Again, there are no quick-fix solutions.
It’s hard to find a balance sometimes, between accepting things as they are, and not giving up.
I have by no means given up on anything although, at the moment, I do feel tired, mentally and emotionally.
There is no Buddhist group meeting this week – due to a summer break.
I’ve twice sat down to meditate on my own today, once this morning and again this afternoon. I much prefer to meditate in a group, but the main thing is that I am doing my best to do it on my own, and when I feel tired.
My ‘old’ way would have been to do nothing because I didn’t know what to do. I do now.
The usual Tuesday visit to my friend in the village was different today.
She is currently in a care home, arranged by her Personal Carer, J.
J. has power of attorney; M. has no nearby relatives. J. has been looking out for M. and looking after her for years. It would be difficult, I think, to find a more caring, kind and considerate friend than J.
Even so, it’s a big change for M.
Returning to my own home, I have a parcel waiting for me, containing some dental chews and chewing horns for Lydia. I give her one of the horns straight away and it’s keeping her happily occupied. Lydia’s happy, in her home, which was new and strange to her at one point. It was a big change for her coming here.
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