Wishbone Soup Cures Everything

5/3/22 Saturday St Piran’s Day Morning: frost on the greenery as far as the eye can see. Mr gets wrapped up ready for his hedge laying course, I get coffee-ed up ready to take Grandchildren 6 & 7 to the Eden Project for the World Pasty Championships: smug as I have pre-bought our pasties to avoid queueing. Afternoon: it is sheltered in the Eden valley, cold in the shadows, warm in the sun. Me, G6, and G7 sit on a bench and eat our pasties. (We are early because Granma’s fluid intake has reached capacity. In the rush to the loos, Granma also forgot to note in which car park the car was hastily abandoned, or even in which area- is it Lime? Plum? Banana? Ah well, at least my trousers are dry, and none of us are hungry or stuck in a queue.) The little ones are fun, in spite of being entirely uninterested in the entertainments of pasty challenges or live music. We whizz around the Mediterranean Dome, and the Tropics (wow that leaf is freaking massive, says G6; maffiv! echoes G7) we queu

26/2/22 Saturday Last night we all had baths; Mr first, he likes the water hot, then me, then Dog, who protests the idea but settles in the warmth in spite of herself. Her ear fur was shampooed and conditioned, on account of all the undergrowth that needs combing out of it. She has her own towels, one for drying, one for putting on her bed to soak up the extra drips hiding in her thick coat. It’s surprising how much laundry Dog contributes to the household pile. At lunchtime, all clean and glowy, I go for a walk to Charlestown. Wave spume coats the harbour walls, the sea is stirred up, opalesque and green.   27/2/22 Sunday Coffee in bed with land plans- then up and walking the lanes- cut through the fields to see the old fallen oak down by the stream. It is bare and smooth and big, against a blue sky- a sky that is all the heavens, all the universes: infinity. The stream runs clear, noisy. Birds scoot through the scrub. It’s a close-your-eyes-and-step sort of a day, full of good faith,

12/2/22 Saturday Another Saturday not on shift: got my yellow Welfare garb on again for a colour belt grading. Parents and carers are not allowed in the building. I stand on the door to remind them ‘Graders only past this point.’ I do let folks in to use the toilet though, that seems the civilised thing to do. Afterward, we go to Homeleigh Garden Centre to make dream plans for hedging and edging. The lure of seed packets costs us £40. Having a land budget makes us feel rich, and scared. It can only be spent once. Dreams are worth a risk. We are cold from our shrub browsing so we get pasties for lunch and eat them in the car, which is parked opposite a row of daffodils and purple crocus. This evening I make an inventory of seeds, then we f east on leftovers, we let Dog have lamb bones to munch. 13/2/22 Sunday Regret giving Dog the bones. Mr cleans up the carpet, then makes coffee. It’s just before 7am, there’s a swoosh of wild weather in the dark, raindrops on the window panes catching

5/2/22 Saturday A leisurely start. Hold my hands around the ceramic glaze of a favourite mug, breathe in coffee steam, hear the birds caw and chitter, see the soft sky all still, all pale blue and foam.  Run a shower, let the water run warm then cold. Awake! Bags packed but not for work.  Mr has hosed the car clean, it sparkles like an iceberg.  First stop on this weekend’s adventures is to drop Dog to her stopover (with Youngest Son and Daughter-in-law, to be revered and pandered to whether she maintains continence or not). Dog does not even pretend to be sad as we leave. Next stop: Newton Abbot Leisure Centre, for black belt training (achieving a black belt is one thing, maintaining it is another). Last stop: Bristol, home of my brother, my sister-in-law, my bonkers niece. We have brought them the god-food of our homeland: Cornish Pasties, raw and oven-ready; they have the oven heated and ready. 6/2/22 Sunday Coffee, no leisurely time; clothes on, bags in car, drive to venue: Hutton

8/1/22 Saturday Arrived at work via the Hospice Charity shop donation site, having made a push to clear space in the home office/storage room. This is part of our tussle to become tiny-house-ready, therefore it counts as land journey progress.  I showered this morning and, wary of cold creeping in, had my wet hair shoved inside a woolly hat; glad of the warmth as I was dashing through rain to gift a pile of picture frames.  At work: Outside the rain is sloshing. We can hear some sort of banshee wind. Dark drops suddenly. I’ve let my hair down, it’s still damp. I ate the last leftover Xmas satsuma and made tea from the peel. I’ve checked moon cycles for the best pruning dates.  I’ve ordered myself a superb raincoat and it’s out of stock. 9/1/22 Sunday Zipped to work hopeful of collecting driftwood on the way down but time and weather gently gathered into a Not-Today. On the way home I notice the absence of Xmas lights- usually someone forgets- and think fondly of how the inflatable San

Let winter be winter, be ice and fallow. Let yourself be settled, wrapped in warmth.  It need not take all of the months; it may only want a moment of your focus, that part of you that needs to seclude. Then, bring your plate to the feast. Be satiated. Feel it radiate.  Listen to your heart, listen to all of the hearts that beat and want nothing unreasonable, only to be heard.  Use the long nights to dream. This is not a luxury.  Light a candle, let yourself see from the flame to the shadow.  Ask yourself ‘Where is my hope?’  And there your feasted, rested soul begins the work.