Wishbone Soup Cures Everything

A semblance of order, if one chooses to perceive it, is in the mashed pile of things to dump. I see it, in this pyre of merely things: I see how it broadens from the idea to simplify, to focus, to say to ourselves, what is it about life that we like- let's do more of that, let's clear the space for it. The cupboard under the stairs can breathe. It exhales relief. Later, when I've loaded the car ready for the journey to the tip, the floor of our living room will stretch out, unburdened. The house, commonly a symbol of the self, becomes easier to live with.

All the colours that night swashed away are drifted back. Little Granddaughter is awake to see it. She knows the dark, the light, the time for breakfast. Breakfast has a bowl and a spoon; one sits at the table, see Granma? I know this stuff: so wise now. Uh huh. So much knowledge drifts in to her head: drops, splashes, floods, washes; wakes her from the dream of babyhood. When eating is done she gathers up the bowls, which, rudely, slip milk and cornflakes onto the carpet. 'Oh no!' Little Granddaughter takes my hand, leads me to the kitchen where I will find a cloth. 'Being with the wise, like meeting with family, is joyful. Therefore, one should follow the wise, the intelligent, the learned, the patient, the dutiful, the noble; one should follow the good and wise, as the moon follows the path of the stars.' Gautama Buddha

It's my conceit that Poseidon is secretively engrossed. Three dogs, three adults, and one toddler zigzag the low tide sand. Mid afternoon rolls, mysteriously, towards an early evening. Often, he leaves this work to the Nereides. Their apprenticeship is much admired. In the mortar grinds: opal, cyanophyta, splinters of plundered sunken emeralds, thickset mother of pearl, a slick of saline, a tonne of whale's milk. No one watches him work today: revelation is a Master's art. He paints the silken sea; semiprecious, a silvery caul; it represents the presence of a deity. The sun leans from his slow chariot, trails golden fingers through the wet colours. Everything is precious, being unrepeatable. If it were simply replicated, how would we know to value it? Back from the beach, sand on my feet, sat under porch-light while Little Granddaughter sleeps in her car seat. It's not too cold and the coffee not too hot. I love: salt on the windscreen, ea

Sipping cold espresso when it should be wine o'clock, but 'tis Friday and that's how Friday rolls. Washed shoes loll out tongues on the mantelshelf. Dog finds Cat is drinking her water. Boy is on the sofa gluing plastic into a boat shape. Mr is a rattle of a chair and a laptop tapping; how I must sound to him too. My left ear twitches, searching for footsteps, glass chink and glug of fermented elderberry. A glass duly arrives on the table. Yes, such refined ears I have: this is elderberry.

Today the universe appeared as moderately tetchy, the balance of existence having cambered towards coffee and wine and away from early nights of good sleeping. Also a plague of mould had ruined some agreeable leather sandals, requiring all the shoes of the household to undergo vigorous cleaning. Complete tetchiness is inhibited by the force of satisfaction: the new shelf has stuff on it: properly sorted out folded up stuff, in plastic boxes as yet untouched by dust. The house shifts towards a state of pleasant living. Symbolic activity peaks on the opening of a pristine notebook. Does anything sing like clear space? Uncluttered words, I write: emulous.

Second task of this year is to sort the rest of the tasks into order. Our living room is crowded: four clotheshorses swathed in damp washing, two hillocks of dry washing, multitudes of piles of odd bits of things like string and boxes, abandoned while festivities are fitted in. Indoors there is frequently underfoot a fluffed up cat, outdoors, nosy chickens do not understand personal space. There is too much cloud in the sky. (Reflectively, quaint annoyances.) One feels a need to write lists and get organised and know where to start. (Decidedly, pragmatic solutions.) Out of the headachy grumble evolves a menu list, a new shelf, a renewed commitment to healthy eating and a borrowed vacuum cleaner.

First task of this year: to stand still and observe the immediate world. To one side, bold vertical slice of red earth; under foot, damp gold sand; the other side, lazy waves roll from a reef break; above, sky clear and sky clouded; weather wheels like a zoopraxiscope. Three dogs misbehave with great mirth. Little Grandson has dinosaurs roaming on his jacket; Little Granddaughter is pink and polka dotted. Across weather curved rocks, seaweed green like the Emerald City. Put my red boots back on, at the end of the walk. Dog runs and runs, chasing a seagull she will never catch. Wet feet in cold boots, waiting in the car. Mr brings out a mug. Two children, full of fresh air and gull song, softly snore in the back seats. Coffee steams the windscreen.