Last night my husband and I went on a 'date' for the first time in twenty months. It was lovely to be alone together, but strange since I have barely spent more than two or three hours away from my daughter since she was born. I had forgotten that she is not part of me; she is a separate person. And we will not always be so conjoined as we are now. It pains me to think of her being away from me for long periods of time. But I think when that time comes around I will be ready for it. I hope so.
But for me and my husband, last night was a treat made possible by a friend willing to sacrifice a few hours of her time to give us time. I am blessed that I have such friends. I want to be such a friend as well.
we went for our wander this morning and saw lots of flowers, animals and untold stories walking around. One grand house we passed had a young security guard (wearing a bandanna) sitting inside the gate and writing in his book, and on the other side of the gate was his friend, talking to him and wearing a black satchel on his back. They looked about PU age. I wonder how the gate came between them?
it's been one of those days when the minutiae of life seems to consume every moment, leaving you feeling that you've acheived nothing and been unproductive. But it's not true, I have to tell myself. I have cooked; I have changed nappies; I have washed up; I have kissed, cuddled and comforted; I have slept and eaten and read a little. Nope, nothing to win a Nobel for, but nothing to be mocked for either. One of these days there will be a little time for writing, drawing, going out and talking. But till then, I'll just have to take each minute as it comes.
i read this yesterday and really liked it. I've been thinking that I would like to actually do some real writing to people - actually send paper and card through the post with my own handwriting on it. The real 'indelible blue' that I never see any more. It reminds me of Love in the Time of Cholera - but I didn't like Florentino Ariz and that ruined the book for me. Never mind, I'm sure Duong Van Ngo isn't like him!
we went for a walk, through 3rd block koramangala, along the roads being swept and next to the useless pavements. We saw all sorts of people and many stopped to smile and baby and coo into her pushchair. Some just stared. That's ok, I thought; today it's ok.
There were lavender jacaranda flowers pressed - and now dirty - into the floor. Next to the wall of a big house, there was a pile of beautiful bougainvillaea flowers - pink and white. And leaves everywhere: some dead and dry, the colour of dust, and some bright and fresh, still flexible and shapely with moisture - for now.
It will all die away, but tomorrow there will be new flowers, new leaves, and we will be renewed and refreshed after sleeping - a falling into dreams as though dead with the miracle of waking to life again with the newly born day.
It's spring, a time of dying and new life, a pointer, a cairn to remind us and point us beyond what we know to mystery.
