Wishbone Soup Cures Everything

After six months or so of diary reports that make the speed of progress indelibly clear- slow, edging around various constraints, meshed with life in general, savoured, scary, and delightful- I am whittling reportage to (mainly, anyway, one must be wary of making rash promises) a series of snapshots from our land journey. I want to focus on the specifics of bringing a dream to life- I want to bring you, Dear Reader, closer to the process. I want to share. So come with me, and Mr, and our wonky arthritic but otherwise healthy-happy Dog, and feel free to chortle as we set up camp in the stable on a June night. The day has been glorious, summery, hot. The stable is cool, dusty underfoot. There is still a roll of dung in each corner, dried like cement. There are mouseholes, ratholes, old spiderwebs thick as ropes. There is sunlight sneaking through the gaps, there is a calmness here, there is birdsong and a swoop of wind through leaves. We fix our camping mattresses on top of the sofa

This week I was a stranded fish. Time and tasks rolled me onto the shore where I couldn't catch a calm breath; where everything is a struggle, and even though I know that overwhelm is part of this Bringing Dreams To Life process, it gets to me. No big problem has caused this, it's more that I lost focus and perspective after doing housework instead of writing, but I don't want to live in a disgusting mess all of the time.  If you've been following my year, you will probably know this pattern. You will know that I just need a minute, then I'm back to swimming and laughing. It is a pattern, it has a repeat.  So, dear Reader, where are you? In the flow, on the shore, caught in a current?  I am not so caught up that I don't think of you, I just forget to tell you that. But if you listen to the water, to the wind, to the shuffle of the sand, the twist of a leaf- here we all are. We are not isolated, not separated. We are the flow. We reach under the surf, under the d

14/5/22 Saturday I am at work. Hydrotherapy on a warm spring day leaves us relaxed like rag dolls. Washing is pegged and dried on the line. I had to add extra water to the lupin which appeared to have fainted. All the pots are well mulched but they dry out anyway. Luckily the maintenance is pleasing. I tell the plants how beautiful they are, and taste-test the mint. Mr is out at Paddock Garden cutting up felled trees and clearing nettles to make compost tea while Dog slumbers in the stable. 15/5/22 Sunday I peg washing on the line before leaving for work; as I start the car a light shower also begins. Goodbye washing, enjoy your second rinse! At work we have a mission of putting together some jubilee planters, so we scour the garden department at Homebase for red, white, and blue blooms. I have mixed feelings about the jubilee, partly because the world is on fire and that seems more important. I’m neither a royalist nor a hater. It was good to have a Queen when I was growing up, she w

7/5/22 Saturday I am raring to be back to work shenanigans. Little Care Client has not been well though, so she is having a quiet sleepy day. We make do with a YouTube beach; the garden pots are watered, the window ajar, the washing machine rumbling. Mr is at Paddock Garden clearing the storm-felled ash, ready for track building times. As is usual, we are not sure when our contractor will appear. It's a little frustrating mixed with the excitement of surprise. 8/5/22 Sunday Coffee in bed, listening to birdsong, peering at weather forecasts. Watered the polytunnel which seems untenanted since last week’s pest control clearance. It will soon fill up: lulls and excess is how it rolls. My drive to work starts sunny; gathers mist from Bodmin onwards. My legs are cold but my dress has a bright floral print, my scarf is cobalt blue, my shoes are giraffe print and fun. At work I have shopping chores - batteries for the noisy toys little Care Client loves the best, and canes for her pea

30/4/22 Saturday It’s not odd to wake up achy. Yesterday I was dragging and rolling logs, amongst other land tasks. I don’t feel right though, so I take a covid test before thinking about heading to work. The control line is bold red, the test line is barely visible but it’s not not there... message my coworker to pre-warn her that I might not be arriving, though the result may be erroneous. Wait one hour. Re-test. Both lines bold red. Mr’s test is negative, putting him on nurse duty. It feels wrong, at first, not to be off to work, but while I am sitting in bed reading up on the pros and cons of stone tracks; drainage issues in particular; the excitement of having a rest kicks in. Mr goes to the shops and comes home with a cream tea.  1/5/22 Sunday The last calendar month of spring begins with light rain, light grey sky, barely a breeze. The hedge birds have a lot to say; swallows swoop by the bedroom window so fast I see only a fork-tailed blur. Today I rest, I write. 2/5/22

2/4/22 Saturday No hydrotherapy for care client (or me) today- which is a shame because my glutes could benefit from heat treatment. Instead, we took a spin in her new car - and discovered it has heated seats! Happy glutes, although the warmth floods in like unexpected menstruation so it’s not entirely pleasant at first. Outside the temperature has dipped, we are indoors now with the heater on, playing a YouTube scene of a lakeside, with cherry blossom and vibrant birdsong. Care client is plucking her guitar. I am psyching myself up to get back into novel writing. Just a sentence or so, I say, that’s all you need do, to break the habit of not doing it. I will make a hot drink, I will remember how good it feels to get this work done. 3/4/22 Sunday This morning the curtains drew back to a blank sheet of mist. I ventured to the vernal lushness of the polytunnel to cut myself a bowl of leafy veg. My fingers were iced on the return journey, though the garden is getting warm with floral col

26/3/22 Saturday First adventure: Black belt training, Newton Abbott. Added on to yesterday’s logging this really hit my glutes. Second adventure: packed up for a night on the land. We decided to test the sofa bed in the stable, and light the big fire pit in the lower field. Made up the bed with blankets, air mattresses, and duvet, made up the fire with ash twigs. Made Dog a nice bed on a pile of cardboard, a blanket, and her memory foam mattress. Too achy-tired to cook on the fire so we purchased fish and chips which we ate in the van watching the day’s colours blaze out. Caught a view of the sun as we drove in, it looked close enough to grab, vivid red, a whacking great star stuck on the tops of tree silhouettes. I’m getting the order of things muddled here because I am tired, but the views were worth it. The fire kept us toasty as long as we stayed close, the night was cold. Dog curled up in the grass, also tired after trotting around following scents and even bringing sticks to c

12/3/22 Saturday Morning: coffee, sunshine, stretches in the warm light, crystal-cast rainbows on the walls. Dog walks stiffly between us and the kitchen, hoping to provoke breakfast. I drive to work, got my sunglasses on. At work: I take a lunchtime walk. As I walk the wind picks up, clouds gather purposefully, the temperature drops- did not feel cold to me as I had set a warm pace. Not as speedy as the woman who runs out of her house in slippers, leaving her front door open, clutching a bunch of flowers. She calls to a lady in a red raincoat who turns and takes the flowers. Slipper lady walks back to her house, smiles awkwardly at me as she passes, her cheeks are flushed. Back at work: YouTube beach scene on TV, about to get some novel writing done, heavy rain splatting on the windows.  13/3/22 Sunday Another lunchtime ramble, to Porthpean where I sat on a ledge and looked out: low deep cloud, green water, waves a-swooshing, seagulls edging in with their eyes on my lunch. Picked up

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