Notes

The grassy square opposite the house is strewn with fallen leaves, innumerable shades of yellow and ochre. In the late afternoon sun a little boy - fair hair, bright red jumper - pushes an equally bright red bicycle through the leaves. The bike is a bit too heavy for him to control and he swerves from side to side as he makes his way home, his small body consumed with effort and concentration.

****

Guarded forays into the outside world - no more than one a day followed by rest - but so much time is spent on my own. Reading. Watching TV. Surfing the internet. (TV has tended to take over when pain levels are up; at such times escapism and distraction rule). These days the recovery consists of small spurts of progress followed by consolidation. Energy levels are still horribly low so graded but regular exercise (important not to miss a day), a good diet and fresh air, along with fortnightly cranial osteopathy sessions, are what is needed. I can't speak too highly of cranial osteopathy and of my practitioner. It has saved me.

So hard to focus, to formulate ideas, to string thoughts together. If my ego were writing the script I would have used the past two years to produce a first novel or learn another language or read the complete Russian classics. What a joke. Such achievements as there have been seem pretty paltry from the outside but that's not what this period has been about, not at all. It's been about survival, being stripped back to the core.

****

The cat's blood test results are in. The problem doesn't seem to be kidneys as I had feared. Instead one of his liver readings is higher than normal, plus he has lost a small but noticeable amount of weight over the last three months. These symptoms could point to something ominous or they could simply be a consequence of his age. Vet's advice: bring him in for regular weigh-ins every three weeks or so. If he continues to lose weight then another blood test to clarify exactly what is going on.

Meanwhile he's happy. Eating, sleeping, purring. To be honest my instinct is to leave him in peace.

Bulletin

Subject: 1 pale ginger cat. Neutered male.

Age: C. 14 years.

Health: The heart is strong. The remaining teeth aren't wonderful but in view of the risks of giving a cat with kidney problems a general anaesthetic, the vet's advice is to leave things as they are.

Behaviour in the surgery: Impeccable.

Location: In his favourite spot where he has appointed himself guardian of the newly acquired, ahem, Money Plant. As usual he ignores the neighbours.

Weather outlook: Sunny.

Hard Cash

I worry about tomorrow's money. What's not to worry about?

Will my (very small) pension be enough? How will I manage on my own with the utility bills rising all the time? I lie in bed at night when I get these attacks, reproach myself for all the wrong financial and life choices I have ever made and imagine how I will live as a bag lady.

Self pity and insecurity don't make for a happy mix, and it's pretty obvious if I read the paper or watch the news that there are so many in a similar or worse situation. As the world population goes, believe me, I'm in the fortunate half. Even in the UK I'm not doing too badly. No debt. No dependents. None of this makes me feel any better.

So I’ll have to work as long as I can. OK. Fine. Find something that is worthwhile and makes my heart sing, or at least doesn't make it sink, and I'd definitely choose to be occupied and happy.

I have a good and exceedingly well-heeled friend who owns a couple of rental properties, who has a portfolio of stocks and shares, who is a Buddhist and who also worries about becoming a bag lady. In my more jaundiced moments I roll my eyes. This is unfair to her. I love and trust this woman and believe that when she tells me what she is feeling she is telling me her truth. Her fear is very tangible.

Her teacher tells her that she is powerless over outside events. That her best defence against financial, or any other, uncertainty is to live simply, kindly, in each moment, to make each second a mindful and one-pointed one, and to meditate. That’s it, aside from normal prudent budgeting.

Beyond logic. Yet at a deep level I know this is the answer. What is important is to accept that I see through a glass darkly and what I have to do is to finish this post then go downstairs and start the washing machine. Make a phone call. Take the cat to the vet at 9 o'clock. Mow the lawn. Laugh at jokes. Watch for opportunities today. Tomorrow. In six months time. Oh, and give some coins to the busker.

Leap into the chasm. No alternative when you really think about it. I’m still queasy and scared. I wish the ever-present fear would go away, but it doesn’t. In the here and now I'm not permitted (or required) to have all the answers. I hate that.

Visible

Small town living:

- I run into the massage therapist unexpectedly in the health food café and we exchange a bear hug.
- The owner of the Aladdin’s cave of a hardware shop greets me by name and when I request some heavy duty adhesive for a very small job, goes out the back and for a couple of pennies slips me half a tube of Supaglue that he had left over from some work he had done on his own account.
- The bus driver who tells me to take care, love, and mind how you go as I get off at my stop.

Initially I was thrown by the absence of anonymity. Not what I was used to at all after London or Paris. Being visible, recognised, felt threatening.

Now I welcome it.

****

Impossible to describe the shifting landscape, the promises that haven't thus far materialised but which feel so very imminent, the hopes that can't be dwelt on for long because they might vanish under scrutiny. Work. Love. Can I remember that both require strong boots, not glass slippers? Hold steady when the sirens start their song and the ropes with which I’ve tied myself to the mast as a protection from illusion prove to be as fragile as - secretly - I knew they were all along?

****

….. there is such complexity in us and so many layers to the human heart that we rarely ever encounter ourselves.

Anam Cara
John O’Donohue

Tuesday

Aimless doesn't work. I like having a fairly firm structure to my free days, though I often tell myself the opposite. Tuesday began early with a trip to the bicycle repair place (I fell off the bike, very publicly, two weeks ago - no bones broken but the machine wasn't so lucky) and ended with an evening yoga class.

Somewhere in between, to the local arts centre for a lunchtime viewing of Persepolis, Marjane Satrapi's autobiographical animated film about a young girl with a taste for the music of Iron Maiden, growing up in Teheran from the 1970s to the 1990s. Witty, harrowing, tragic and at times downright comical, with a political edge. I learned a surprising amount that I didn't know previously about the history of Iran and the rise of fundamentalism. One quibble: ten minutes could perhaps have been cut somewhere towards the end; the last half hour was a little too long for me.

French with English subtitles but there's a dubbed English language version out there as well. Definitely recommended.

Household gods

The ritual:

5.30am. Our neighbours are still asleep. We climb the stairs together, but as we near the landing he scampers ahead. He has eaten. I have my mug of hot black coffee. The study faces east and on June mornings like this it is flooded with sunlight.Still in my dressing gown I switch on the laptop and scan emails, blogs. He stretches out in his usual position on the window ledge, next to the brass figure of the Lord Shiva as Nataraja, the dancer.

Four-armed Shiva dances the world into enlightenment. The cat, felis catus, relaxes in the sun. He is, lest I forget, a creature of the goddess Bast, patron of the sun, women and secrets. He watches me intently. Now and again I return the favour, entranced as always by the way he folds his front paws inwards. Neat and tidy.

A few hundred yards away an early train clatters past. After a while I close the computer and head for the shower.

The cat stays where he is.

****

Summer solstice. In the abundance of such clear, generous light, everything seems possible, all barriers surmountable. Of course life isn't like that. Darkness has its own time. Dreams are shattered fairly regularly. Physical and emotional blockages imprison as deep as any dungeon.

Persistent delusion then? I don't think so. For good or ill, this is what light does.