Today this rings extra true for me. I try to find something good in every day, and most days, I am successful. Moving has been stressful. Seriously, if it is ever within my ability to do so, the next place I move to is going to be a place of my own (even if it means paying a bond for 23-30 years). Parting with many of my things made my heart ache because as much as I understand it not being practical to hold on to the shirt half the school signed on my last day of Matric in 1997 (yes, I’m that old!), but I have happy memories of that day, and many others of my high school career. For the record, I ended up keeping the shirt, even though I don’t remember half the people who signed it. It’s the only example I could think of.
As many of you will know from my previous post, I am packing up The Cave after living there for almost ten years to move back to my folks because Dad is ill, although coping very well – something for which we’re all very grateful.
In the clean-up, I came across a postcard that Charlie sent me for my birthday one year, while he was sailing in Alaska. It read “Hello there, from the other side of the planet. Happy birthday. I hope you get a jam-filled cake.” I read it, smiled, reminisced for a moment, and then placed it in a bag with other papers for recycling. After all, it’d been years since our paths split. He got married last year on October 8th Shannon, the blonde American who swept him off his feet in just three days of meeting him. He felt bad, but ‘the heart wants what the heart wants’. When I happened upon the wedding photos on her Insta (it wasn’t difficult to track her down), I finally summoned the will to delete our entire chat history of almost two years, along with his number. I felt an inexplicable numbness, a tiny tinge of horror, and a pinch of relief. I don’t know what I was expecting, but the feelings I was having, weren’t ‘it’.
One thing I have struggled with during the lockdown is reading. I’m not sure why, because reading has always been a great form of escape for me. It’s as if my brain refuses to leave the place it’s at now to go to places of fantasy, murder, and intrigue. It’s frustrating to say the least.
Maybe it’s because I’m feeling like John Coffey in The Green Mile, which coincidentally is one of my favourite books.
There is a lot of awful stuff going on. Not just in South Africa, but globally. It makes me sad, even though I know there is nothing I can do about it. As far as possible I try to live in my little bubble, oblivious to what’s going on around me, but the muck still filters through.
A long while ago, I was tasked with making #moodboards for work. I decided to do some research on the Psychology of colours. It turned out to be an incredibly fun, creatively soothing exercise for me. Not being much in the mood to write of late, I lay in the bath wondering what I could do to inspire some blog posts. One of the things my therapist told me is to remember things that invoke good feelings and repeat them. It was then that I decided to write a series of colour-related posts.
I think it fitting to begin with my favourite colour: Purple.
On Thursday last week I had a MS Teams meeting at 11 and I was out of data, along with money to buy, so Eliza offered that I work at her and Nathan’s place for the day. Their little boy, Lambert, aged almost four called for Eliza and I to ‘come look’ and eventually we got round to it. There on the ground in front of the sliding door lay a tiny bird, clearly stunned from flying into the sliding glass door.