October

A heavy, warm rain. The horse chestnuts have turned a gold-brown though the silver birch, apart from the odd yellow leaf, remains stalwartly green, resisting the steady march towards winter. In the next few days I'll phone the gardener to arrange for the final tidying up session of the season. Lavender to cut back, ditto lemon balm. Lawn to mow. The dying laurel bush to be despatched.

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A nervous week. The cat - already on a special renal diet - started drinking more water than usual. A while ago I was warned by the vet that this could be a sign that the feline Grim Reaper is sharpening his scythe. In the last 24 hours the drinking has diminished but to be on the safe side we are taking him in for blood tests. A friend has been roped in for assistance - at 5+ kilos he is far too heavy for me to carry at the moment.

We've had these scares before but I'm aware of the fleetingness of life, even for one seemingly so resilient. When the time does come - be it next week, next month or next year - it will be very hard without him.

On the fence

Seventeen years old and for me each day counts. This was taken two or three years ago and the back legs are creakier now, so he stays earth-bound for the most part. But he still purrs loud and long and the sweetness of nature is unchanged.

Infrastructure

It's about very slowly claiming back bite-sized chunks of former independence. On the forays into the outside world, asking the taxi driver to stop at the ATM machine, getting out and withdrawing the cash myself rather than begging someone else to do it. Ditto letters at the letter box.

And also:

Changing the sheets
Hanging out the washing
Dusting
Rearranging pictures
Upping the distance of the daily walks

Progress. Exhilarating and frightening at the same time. Hope feels dangerous.

But there are helpers, of course there are. A cleaning lady every two weeks, and a gardener/handyman for whenever the lawn runs rampant. In both cases compatability has been key. Can't be doing with someone I'm uncomfortable with; isolation and pain have upped the sensitivity. These two are friendly and non-pushy. The cleaning lady's husband is also my plumber. He charges reasonable rates and (oh so important) is willing to turn out at short notice.

The gardener and his brother-in-law, the roofer, were here this past weekend. Guttering and loose tiles fixed. Apparently there were two holes in the roof - a result probably of the harsh conditions of last winter. Truly glad I didn't know this. In addition my neighbour has replaced the dilapidated fence that separated our two properties. Strong south-west winds are common and I would guess the fence only remained upright thanks to some wonderfully tenacious ivy.

I'm praying, crossing my fingers, that feng shui practitioners have got it right, that mending and adjusting the space where we live does affect the person who lives there. That as the roof is fixed and the gutters are cleared, as the floor is mopped and the garden weeded, as boundaries are strengthened, so healing on some level or another is happening. And I do - kind of - believe it.

Back

After such a period of silence, after so much pain, a glimmering of light. The understanding that not yet but sometime I will inch my way back into the world. The extraordinary world of people and independence and buying your own groceries and posting your own letters. The world of walking. The world that isn't limited by four walls.

Still feeling unformed, semi-transparent, I've almost forgotten how to write. So I piece together word after word. Impossible to explain what has happened and no real need. Just now and again, when I can, I want to leave a mark here.

Therapy

Just about a year ago, as Saturn approached the ascendant, the ligaments of my lower back and sacro-iliac joints gave up the ghost. The centre, literally, could no longer hold. Displacement, severe muscle spasm and weakness and flare ups of acute inflamation and pain. Since then a repeat prescription for cocodamol, a round of alternative and conventional medical treatments and far too much TV.

It's dawning on me that the job is to rebuild the centre - and what is more central than the pelvis and lower back, and what they represent? Or rather to give it space to do the rebuilding. I imagined my centre could look after itself while I led a busy life but apparently this was not the case. Maybe this was the only way to get my attention. After much inner resistance I am revisiting relaxation and meditation techniques.

Six weeks ago I ventured outside again. Ten yards and back home, fifteen the following day, then twenty. Today I reached the next street up from mine. The first goal is to reach the river. At a guess, I'm just just under halfway there. The strangest feeling, learning to walk again. Each time I go out, a mixture of pleasure mixed with terror lest there is a setback. Learning to trust this body that, seemingly, has turned against me for a season.

For the first time for a long while I hanker after the scent of essential oils. Lavender scented body lotion, orange and ginger shower gel. The physical as a source of peace and pleasure.

A desire as well to get creative. Photographs. Blogging.

About the same time as the back went, the computer hard drive died, and with it my stock of photographs. Right now I'm using a friend's PC, loaned on approval. No photography programmes so no new photos.

But thank god for Flickr. I'll be reviewing my on line stockpile and posting some of them here from time to time - at least for as long as the back stability lasts.

Therapy, you might call it.

Seven

The brain has shrivelled. I'm finding it difficult to string together a coherent sentence, never mind a post, so am resorting to the old standby, a list. The equivalent of a musical scale, an arpeggio. It may have limited interest but it is the doing of it rather than the end result that counts.

1. Less blogging, more reading. I am re- reading Molly Fox's Birthday. It was, yes, a birthday present and turned out to be such a page-turner that I galloped through and only realised at the end that I had skipped much that was good, that deserved time and care. You could be tricked into thinking of this book as superior Irish chick-lit. It isn't. A subtle, compassionate writer, Deirdre Madden. (The Indie liked it too.)

2. Prompted by the news headlines I took down Reading Lolita in Tehran from the bookshelf where it had been gathering dust since I brought it. You probably need to have read more Nabokov and Henry James than I have to appreciate it properly, but the book shines a chilling light on the realities of living in a theocracy. At around the same time I caught Iran and Britain on BBC 4. Very, very good. Unfortunately it is no longer on Iplayer on the Beeb's website, but if it ever comes your way, watch it.

3. I dreamed the other night that I was temping in a grey steel and concrete office that I shared with a man and woman that I didn't know. I had been careless and made a mistake. I knew it, tried my hardest to concentrate but to was unable to. Nightmare.

4. My boss has gone down with swine flu. Am checking whether or not I have a sore throat.

5. The cat's fur is a totally different colour in sunlight. Bright ginger. On grey days he is sandy, mottled. A lion's pelt.

6. An afternoon of summer sun, warm strong wind, pink rhodendendrons, the first fuschia. Ten bumble bees on the lavender bush at last count. The silver birch outside the window sways in the breeze, slender and loose-limbed branches in perpetual motion.

7. Feeling the way forward step by step after a trying time. Tentatively. The landscape has changed. Certainties are no longer as certain. (Astrological note: Saturn transiting 12th house. Still).