Ending

The first signs of decay show that this season's work is almost complete. Still so beautiful though in the early morning sunlight.

Festina Lente

It's part of testing my limits and strength I suppose.  I had a wobble this morning - did too much, attempted to lift something just a little bit heavier than I can manage.  I didn't actually lift it but the slight bending and even the partial effort caused a back muscle to twinge.  I think I'm OK but I've scared myself.

When I get caught up in a task or project something akin to obsession - enthusiasm's shadow - can take over and common sense is all too easily cast aside.   I can't afford to let this happen in the future, it's how I first  injured my lower back four years ago.  Vigilance has to be the watchword when it comes to health, and to be truthful I'm not sure I know how to change, how not to be caught out again.

And I so want to have my life back.  I'm doing more, trying new things, making plans to venture out of the house.  All good but it would be terrible to let obsession and impatience ruin it.  For now at any rate, caution trumps everything else.

Now to let the panic subside.  Wait.  Think.  Breathe.  I need my guardian angel to materialise at moments like the one this morning, tap me on the shoulder and remind me.  Festina lente.  

Memory

 

I find myself thinking about childhood and those iconic bottles and packages that are printed on the memory, probably until the day I die.   It was just after the war and rationing was still in force and I was one of the first generation of National Health babies.

So this concentrated National Health orange juice, recently issued to families with young children, would have been ground-breaking.  Likewise the thick, viscous cod liver oil which my mother was convinced I would refuse but which - perversely - I used to love.  The morning ritual was this: as soon as I was old enough I would clamber up to stand on one of  the wooden kitchen chairs while my mother measured out a spoonful of the stuff.  I was now at her level, she didn't have to bend down and the oil didn't get spilled.   A special spoon.  Mouth open and in it went.

Then I remember the green gingham dress with parallel ruffles on the bodice.  The old wireless which we hung onto for years afterwards with all those names on the dial (Luxembourg, Cork, Hilversum. Moscow). Listen With Mother.  The flowering cherry just the other side of the back fence, bordering the gravel pit. One day in spring, maybe another sun-filled May day like today, the sight of the cloud of pink blossom against the bluest of blue skies is my first recollection of being awed by beauty.  I think my heart turned over.  

We moved from this house when I was five years old.