Right now ~ 9 June 2012

I can hear Jake chewing his potato waffle Batman and Robin are on TV and my tongue is still savouring roasted asparagus with garlic and hollandaise sauce.  I went to bed at 4am.  Got home from bridge at 3am and couldn’t sleep.  The later it gets, the more awake I feel.  So I wrote in my journal and read a sample from Bankei Zen on my Kindle.  I was woken before 9am by Yoshi wanting his breakfast.  Nights out aside, I haven’t had a good night’s sleep for over a week and I just can’t seem to shift this cold.

Right now ~ 8 June 2012

The wind is making the silver birch tree sway my fingers smell of clementines my laptop is making a wailing sound and I feel too stupid to blay pridge.  This morning Jake woke up laughing and singing.  Even when he said, “Sing along Mummy,” I didn’t know if he was awake or dreaming.  He was awake.  I said I was tired so he sang me a tired song:  “Starry dee doo.  That’s it!” I need to feed Yoshi.  He likes to stick his head in the fridge, not to sniff meat, but to chew on the packaging for the grapes.

100 word diary ~ 4 June 2012

I am rather fond of moments of insight.  I live as if I’m supposed to see them everywhere.  It’s annoying cos it gives the impression that I know what I’m on about.  Words aren’t the truth.  Just cos this is written doesn’t mean it’s complete and infallible.  If these entries were spoken, would they feel less weighty, or make me feel less twitchy about being misunderstood?  Does it matter?  Don’t we only see what we’re inclined to see anyway, react to what we’re inclined to fear?  These words are not the sum of me.  Then again, who knows what is.

100 word diary ~ 3 June 2012

Most days, I don’t like my face.  I don’t like admitting that.  When I do, people think I have low self-esteem or I’m fishing for compliments.  But it’s because most of the time, I don’t see my face but my mother’s.  I appreciate her more now but I still don’t want to be her.  I want to be me.  I’m slowly getting that life is not about what I want.  But today I looked at my face and loved it.  Sunken half-moons under my eyes, shaky beginnings of crow’s feet, all of it.  I smiled.  And I saw myself smiling.

100 word diary ~ 2 June 2012

My Dad forwards me emails.  It used to be pretty pictures and inspirational quotes.  Lately though, they have been WARNING emails.  Don’t eat this candy and drink soda afterwards cos your stomach will explode.  If you microwave water for more than two minutes it could blow up in your face.  Know how to spot the signs of stroke.  What to do if someone is having a heart attack.  His unnamed anxiety packaged up in neatly wrapped parcel bombs and labelled as Practical Concerns.  I’ve been accepting these parcels my whole life.  Storing them under my bed, listening to them tick. 

Right now ~

Right now, the clock ticks.  My body houses flaming aches that stretch and pummel when I cough.  Sometimes my breath grates my chest.  Right now, friends are meeting for a bridge game without me.  And tomorrow, my ukulele class, my yoga class, another friend will carry on without me, because I am sick.  THAT voice already needles me – so people get sick, get over yourself.  But I don’t want to.  I want to feel sorry for myself because I am alone, because I can’t ask for someone to come and take care of me, because maybe there is no one. 

Surprise ~ 100 word moments

Yesterday, walking through the marshes with Jake, away from a park full of couples and families belonging to each other, a bloke rode past on a bicycle, trailing a sound system under a huge yellow umbrella.  Through the chilly sunshine, Frank Sinatra sang.  I closed my eyes…Someday, when I’m awfully low, when the world is cold, I will feel a glow just thinking of you, and the way you look tonight... Yes you’re lovely, with your smile so warm and your cheeks so soft, there is nothing for me but to love you…

Why does longing always take me by surprise?

~

If you can, go grab someone and dance...

Right now

I'm feeling a little sad and I wanted to say so.  I don't know why.  Sometimes, when it's been a lovely day or I've seen something beautiful, it makes me sad.  There is a magnolia tree in somebody's front garden in my neighbourhood.  I love magnolia trees.  When I saw it, for a moment, I thought it was full of quiet pink birds perching.  It made me stop, its beauty clutched at me.  And then I felt sad.  I didn't see it today but when I thought about why I might be feeling sad, that is what came to me.

12th February ~ a small stone (in 100 words)

Making Jake’s jam toast, I notice a thicker blob being flattened by the knife.
I don’t look closely but file it away as a piece of strawberry.
When I hand Jake his plate, he inspects it and points ~
“What’s this Mummy, don’t like it.”
It’s just part of the jam Jake.
He looks at it again and hands me the plate.
“Don’t like it.”
Ok, I’ll take it off for you.

As I pick it off, I see it is the starry cap from the bottom of
the stem, darkened from green to black, looking like
a squished bug.

10th February ~ ug!!!

aches and hot flushes
but I still have to be a Mum
(for at least half a day)
a mug of fevergrass tea
holds all my hopes

walking home in the rain
I wonder how it is possible
to be frustrated and enchanted in equal measure
by a small boy stopping to jump in every puddle
and pick up every stick and throw it in the stream
of water running along the sides of the road into the gutters
and running sticks along railings
oblivious to the wet in his shoes, socks, hair
and to his sick and tired Mummy
shouting “Come on Jake” a little too much

9th February ~ a stone or not a stone (100 word question)

I’ve tried but it’s not happening today.  The eggshells in the bowl are just eggshells, holding nothing of my anticipation of buttery toast dipped in runny yolk, and the blue sky is just blue sky, indifferent to my dismay at another wall of grey this morning and my surprise when I looked up and it had changed.  Maybe this is a stone, a fully engaged moment where I feel my inability to engage.  Or maybe the engaging today is painful.  The flu-ey cold ache in my body dominates all.  It wants to drag me to bed and keep me there.

February 8th ~ a small stone (and 100 word diary)

Jake watches his shadow punch the air, carefree
delighted with himself, he turns to me with his mouth open
spilling out laughter

~

It's been a day of mixed blessings.  Gorgeous light, first sunny day since Thursday and I really wanted to take Jake out.  But we have both been tired-cranky-brittle and I haven't had the patience to be understanding about his toddlerdom, his frustrated hitting, his sudden loud crying when he doesn't get what he wants.  Although his naps are rare these days, he really needed one today.  After an hour and a half of cajoling / shouting / negotiating / persuading, he succumbed while I held him on my lap, his head falling onto my shoulder.  Finally too tired to resist.

6th February ~ 150 word diary made of stones

The first crocuses! Delicate purple petals shiver in the wind. I see them and squeak.

Eating my soft-shell crab maki rolls, I glance at the nature film being shown on a screen above our table. A scene of herons shifts to a mass of emperor penguins. I dip my maki roll into my soy sauce and wasabi and take a bite, looking up to see a fluffy grey penguin chick being pecked by a huge gull. The camera zooms in on the gull’s bloodied face and then to Momma Penguin lifting her beak to the sky. Even though the sound is muted, I can hear her keening.

At the Imperial War Museum, away from textbooks and movies and the Queen’s grave face on Remembrance Day, the carved metal and striped fabric becomes real. Even in polished, framed boxes, every medal becomes a story, the wounded skin of a person’s heart.

5th February ~ 100ish word diary made of stones

There is no sky today, only cloud and dark grey light.
Although I know it isn’t pressing down, a part of me disagrees.

A small dog lies on green matting under a market stall. 
He trembles and the noises around us suddenly seem louder.

After yoga, such a tangible sense of space in my body
that I visualise it in a diagram, somewhere between the heart and lungs.

I forgot about the bubble wrap under the book on the floor.
Stepping on it lets off a noise like scatter-gun farts.
This time it makes me laugh.
Maybe because I feel lighter.

As I spread Marmite on Ryvita, I remember

kissing Jake's plump cheek, the taste of wet tear and peanut butter.

4th February ~ a small stone (and some other stuff)

our silver birch tree has had a trim
I watched in anxiety as her witch’s hair was shorn
wanting to tidy a stray branch left straggling
wondering why I should feel bare

~
 
Today Jake and I watched a young man in a turquoise hard hat scale the silver birch trees on our street in order to give them trims. He had a rope and pulley system and special boots and his chain saw was hoisted up to him on a separate rope by his colleague. It was strange to see so much equipment used to scale a relatively skinny tree.

Last night on Human Planet, I watched in awe as a rainforest tribesman scaled a 100-ft tree to retrieve honey from hundreds of angry bees. He climbed up with his bare feet, using a single rope and a machete. He said, “When climbing big trees, you have to empty your heart of fear. If you have fear you will fall. Many good friends have fallen.” We also saw a group of children no older than 7 or 8 years old hunt enormous tarantulas and then cook them over an open fire as a snack.  What's normal depends entirely on what you are used to.

~

No shred today, did 40 minutes of yoga instead.  After the "Shanti practice", I added a core practice to my routine cos Jake was happily watching trains on you tube.  Thus ensued 7 minutes of the most hilarious attempts at "situ-ups" I've ever done.  Shiva Rea made them look graceful. I giggled through much of it, but definitely felt it.  I'm surprised at my response to all the ab work I've done this week.  I used to hate and dread it and always struggled through it, but this week I've enjoyed every single crunch - athletic or yogic, thrown at me. 
(100 word diary)

 

30th January ~ 100 word diary made of stones

A grey tabby washes his face
on our green garden chair
~
pale sunlight reflects off the puddle
on Jake’s overturned paddling pool
~
patches of blue through speckled window
squares of yellow light on the wall
~
Our 2.5yr-old stands on a chair and says Bollocks!
doubling over with chuckles
Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks!
egged on by our unrestrained laughter
~
I piss myself laughing
while doing jumping jacks
Jake says, “That’s really good Mummy!”
then decides to lie down on top of me
during the abdominal crunches
~
pressing his face against the window
Jake catches the sunset
“Wow, look at that colour Daddy!”

28th January ~ my morning in stones (100 word diary)

Brushing my teeth
Jake stands next to me
imitating the sounds of a Hoover
I look down and see him using
Bagpuss’s tail as the Hoover nozzle
I laugh
Jake laughs too then says
“It’s not funny Mummy”
“But it’s cute,” I reply
“It’s not cute,” he says.

~

Breakfast:
Dried pineapple chunks
the shape of sunken squares
tinkle against the sides of the bowl

~

Words from my magnetic poetry kit
scattered on the carpet
I see words I want to form into sense
Jake says “Let’s make a tower”
He asks for more
I place Love in his cupped palms

27th January ~ a walk in stones (in 100 words)

Snowdrops in a neighbour’s window box,
smashed baseboard of an acoustic guitar,
the door to no. 46 slightly open,
a large woman pushing a shopping trolley trying to run for the W12,
a stoop painted fire engine red,
a ripped bin bag spilling clothes onto the street ~
chiffon polka-dot blouse
one cork-heeled sandal
a pink and cream striped tail catches my eye
sticking out amidst soft toy torsos
I stop and lift it out
Bagpuss! Brand new with the tag still attached
I place him in the seat of Jake’s pram
furry striped body rattling
all the way home.

~

This is from my walk along the same stretch of road as yesterday, returning home after dropping Jake off at nursery.  I love that I can walk the same road every day and see something new each time.

26th January ~ a snippet from the other day (150 word diary)

Lunch at Tokyo Diner
Jake tries edamame and likes it
He takes a pair of unseparated chopsticks
and pokes at the compartments of my bento box
stirring the seaweed, turning over the salmon sashimi
He points at it - “Jake want try this”

I slice a bit off, dip it in soy sauce, offer it to him
He looks at it
“Do you want some?”
He shakes his head, then nods.
I offer it to him again

This time he opens his mouth
chews chews chews then
makes a face as he swallows

I imagine the feel of the fish on his tongue
“Don’t like it” he whimpers, pointing to his water bottle
I hand it to him and he grabs and guzzles

I’m just proud of him for trying
I never would have tried sashimi at his age
I wasn’t even brave enough to try it in my 20s

25th January ~ At the Museum of Childhood: 100 word diary made of stones

A child in tomato red jumper
lies down in front of the crisps and screams

Tiny-legged Alice in a blue dress
escapes from her flustered grandmother
ordering macchiato in the café queue

Bigger children
wearing fluorescent vests
choo-choo around the model rail display
edging Jake out of the way

Strawberry Shortcake still in her box
takes me to the car park at Toys R Us
Long Island
a bright cold day

Drawing an American Teddy Bear
from 1904
the bear’s torso shakes
as children stomp by

(Later...)

At the Bethnal Green Gallery Café
two labels beneath paintings
Grief, £150
Joy, Not for Sale