Hopes of December

Saturday December 2, 2006

I’ve had a truly pleasant day, taking it easy, reading my book, napping and, apart from a quick dash out late afternoon, generally staying home and enjoying the warm and dry.

The weather, still far too mild for comfort, grew steadily damper and windier hour by hour throughout the day, developing into a rattling good gale by midnight when I went over to fetch Graham home from his 36-hour stint at the holiday camp. Back home we were too tired for more than a night-cap and sleep, though it did seem the wind would keep us all three awake. Might have done but I wouldn’t know—I was asleep at the time.

Most of the day I kept the computer switched off, trying to avoid the trap of endless, aimless surfing that so often snares me when I have no work of my own to do. During a quick on-and-off session around mid-day, however, I chanced upon a photographic audio slide-show—I photograph to remember by Pedro Meyer. This was a detastating and deeply moving experience for me and, at the same time, strongly inspirational. Takes about 35 minutes to run and I recommend having coffee and tissues to hand because while there is a pause button it’s impossible to interrupt once it has got going.

When it finished I turned the computer off again and went to look out of the window. One of those experiences that needs to be followed by a period of quiet reflection on the subject of one’s own life and family and, for the creative individual, a degree of re-examination. I’m not sure if Meyer’s quiet voice, which has echoed in my mind all day since, will have a lasting impact on me, nor if I shall drag out my own camera and brushes as a result of the encounter. It could do, though. I have a feeling that it ought to do.

Other than that, a quiet day. I got a few low-impact chores done, though I was unable to face the task of wrapping presents, and myself, in the great rolls of gift paper and sticky tape I bought on Thursday. I always make a dreadful mess of gift wrapping. I did ask in the department store if they had a gift wrapping service but was met with looks of blank incomprehension. Obviously, with some noble exceptions, gift wrapping is a thing of the past for most shops. Shame that. I shall have to do it tomorrow.

My lungs and tubes seem to have cleared up nicely now, for which I am profoundly grateful. I sealed the final jiffy bag of gungy tissues to go in the trash yesterday, and have had no need of one since. I’m never sure about the contagious nature of bronchitis. Clearly, the attacks start with a minor virus, but the bulk of the illness is an internal matter, down to the condition of one’s own respiratory tract. Better to be safe than apologetic, however, so I observe stringent hygiene practices when I’m being all bronchitic. “Coughs and sneezes spread diseases,” I was taught, and I’ve never had reason to depart from that philosophy.

Dolly the Mega-cat seems to have decided that I’m over it, too, and has deserted her warming and sustaining place by my poor old wheezing chest for a quieter and more comfortable nest on her personal armchair by the living room window. I can’t say I blame her—she’s more than earned a break from her nursing duties.

So, on with the motley. I have great hopes of December but there’s no real need. It’d have to work exceeding hard to be worse than my November.

 

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