I am in a cottage again, about to start on the novel. It’s a brilliant sunny day, and outside there are bright, overgrown flowers everywhere and loud birds. It’s lovely to be away. On the way here I stopped and bought punnets of raspberries, and lovely creamy cheese and juices, and bread and butter. Yum yum.
I have been feeling a bit energy-less lately, as if all my vital juices are draining away. It’s rather like a battery slowly running down, and everything must be done slowly. At home the DIY continues, and I keep getting stuck in the house waiting for workmen. I long for the rooms to be settled, and for things to stop moving around.
On Sunday I went to Durham sculpture day in a lovely green park with a lake. I lay on the grass listening to a brass band playing. It was delightful, and I suddenly understood why people love brass bands. There were lines of elderly people listening in deck chairs, gently tapping their feet. Apart from this outing, I have mainly been at home, eating ice cream and watching videos, so I am really longing to do some work. If I don’t write for longer than about three days I start to feel really odd. It’s a basic need, like eating.
My eldest daughter has moved into a flat. She’s made it really nice, and she seems very grown up. My other daughter is on holiday in Rhodes. My children are disappearing! It’s a funny time; a time of re-positioning or something. I am surprised how much I am affected by the girls leaving home…even though they are around alot too…it is the end of an era, and a time of considering the harvest of ones first forty something years. There is also a sense of looking around and seeing the world again….thinking things like, I could live in a shack on a beach, or I could be someone else now. Parenting is a wierd thing, it passes in a WHOOSH and you can’t believe that your children are grown up. I wonder what we should be doing at this time…maybe going off and sitting in a cave, or doing a pilgrimage. Anyway, wish me luck in my reclusive cottage…..