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When I'm relaxed, at home, alone, I like to spend that time before sleep comes, the last waking moments, stroking the day's memories till they purr. That's when I revisit all the little things that go to make up the pleasure of my days.
Discovering that my mother, gone for twenty years, liked to name trees and flowers in new places she visited.
Fencing myself in on my favourite lounge chair with all the assorted refugees from my study tidy-up.
Being the only person at the movies and having a National Theatre of London performance of Everyman to myself, after I'd booked a seat to beat the crowds.
Realising that I've forgotten how to make pastry because I haven't cooked a quiche for eight months.
Ruminating about the history of Fatima Island in the Cook's River.
Thinking about maps and what they include and what they leave out.
Revisualising images from the day's blogs: Jo's penguin balloons; Suzanne's whale; Sue's jaunty hat and bag on a chair; Jude's feast of roses; Paula's latest black and white masterpiece; the unexpectedness of creepy from Gilly; bees and the allotment from Tish; Pauline's archive that keeps turning up treasures.
Revising a haiku three or four times as my mind rolls over words and alternatives.
Stumbling across my daughter's wedding photos, and, on the same day, an account of her when she was about the age her twins are now.
Walking along the sandy track that took me not quite to the ocean, although I could occasionally glimpse its horizon line.
Spotting a bracken plant using an ant-lion mound for a vase.
As I lazily trawl through these delights a strange thing happens. Suddenly I'm outside myself, observing a woman walking along a bush track, or a beach, or a boardwalk, or sitting at the desk or on the lounge. I wonder idly how other people would see her, and realise that she is me.
Sometimes, the near sleep thoughts are less benign. Then I feel as if I'm stoking them till coals glow and ignite into flame. This is not nearly as comfortable: that's when I do a bit of accounting and worrying.
The deck and windows are grimy, and the lemon tree turning up its toes.
My son's face is swollen almost beyond recognition by a tick bite, and I stand by helpless: I don't even think of anti-histamines.
I'm contemplating hanging onto shares in a company investing billions in coal mining, because they give me a good return.
The house is chaotic: nothing is put away in its right place.
I spend far too much time blogging and navel-gazing, and far too little time walking or doing good works.
My grandchildren don't really remember me for anything in particular.
My country is mean-spirited and its politicians lack both intelligence and compassion.
By now, sleep has been shunted off down a side track, so I pick up my Kindle and read for a while to take myself into somebody else's world, away from the less pleasant aspects of my own.
You are funny, Meg, but very lovable! π Fancy finding my balloons in your ‘almost dreams’ π Now I need to go and see what Paula’s been up to. π
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Funny? This was a serious post! Is Paula back yet? Everyone is going AWOL for a variety of reasons. I’m sad that her reason is not like yours.
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Not that I know. I did leave a comment on her lovely cola tin but it wasn’t sounding good. She does seem to have more than her share of health issues. π¦
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By now you’ll be in the same time again Meg, so I wish you happy, positive thoughts tonight, and how interesting that your mind butterflies so widely as does mine. I wonder if that is a female thing or ?
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Thank you. A splendid day geologising on a new beach (to us – 400000000 years to itself – think I’ve got the huge timespan right), so plenty of beauty and ignorance to cogitate on. “Butterflying” is a lovely way of describing it. As for a female thing, I don’t know. Possibly so, but maybe not seen as desirable!
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I love this post. How beautifully written and exactly the way I feel sometimes in those same hours. And how hard it can be sometimes to turn off those thoughts and get to sleep.
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Welcome to my world! Thanks for reading me, and recognising commonalities across the generations.
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Trust me, it’s my pleasure. I was surprised I wasn’t already following!
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An interesting look inside a fertile mind that make the memories purr, and a lovely way to end the day, until the thoughts turn. I chuckled about you booking tickets to see “Everyman” then being the only one there.( it will be here when we are away, so will miss it) I applaud and enjoy your open and frank narrative and the lovely descriptive phrases “fencing yourself in with your tidy up refugees”. Wishing you a mellow Sunday Meg…
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Thanks so much: I nearly deleted this post five seconds after I posted it. “Everyman” was great: challenging and very energetic – a pity you’ll miss it. I hope your Sunday was mellow too – I’ll be sharing mine when I get my head around its diverse delights.
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Sunday was perfect. Jack’s eldest son and wife came round with the 5 grandkids. First spent time at the beach then bought a very eclectic, alfresco selection of specials as the grocery store was due to close and had a picnic on our granny flat floor. Great way to celebrate Father’s day…
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