Flash Blind On Thursday
April's Alphabet Challenge is completed: I look it over, satisfied. This years tactic of the random word choice proved easy in that there was always a subject available for each letter; difficult in that I don't write from prompts. It was a shove outside the comfort zone. Any exercise performed outside this zone gives maximum benefit for effort: I feel toned and ready for May's challenge: a (fingers crossed) final push of Finishing The Novel.
This morning and more is taken up with a slug war (fighting back for the basil and melons with salt and garlic: smells better than other wars) and driving Boy to Places. Later this afternoon, with Dog, walking, down by the river: not the desk time I had envisaged, too beautiful to argue with: all the trees gain leaf weight, the hedges swell, the summer birds arrive. Time, then, to ready oneself for going out to work, to let go of what has not been achieved with the day.
We are on the doorstep, about to get in the car. A passing embarrassed blonde in running gear loses control of her three dogs in our driveway. The potted grape vine is knocked over. Cat spits from the fence top. We help catch the animals while the poor girl apologises. Her earphone cords are tangled in the big dog's muzzle.
Thursdays, I think: what is it about Thursdays?
We head for Bude. Six of our twelve students sent to Blackbelt grade recently are from Bude: they gather tonight. After the classes are called to dismiss, we line up for photos. Eyes blur with the flash bulbs popping. We are smiling.
Impossible to say that not much was done today: it all sets up that line about years of work paying off.
Start now: what ever it is you chose: one foot, one word, one other: without this, nothing. See it through: one foot, one word, one other at a time. Without this: nothing.
Plum Times On Friday
It is time for me to get my current Work-In-Progress finished. The house is in a bit of a mess, which is entirely normal for here. But a workstation will be required for the last writing push, so my notes don't get lost or smeared with illegible gravy. So first I must Tackle The Office.
(Imagines self a mere dot surrounded oppressively by dusty grey concrete immoveable blocks.)
Everything here is waiting for another thing to be finished, we are all stepping over things and fixing and hoping it will work out: wobbly like novice tightrope walkers and a bit further up than we are comfortable with… It is time to hold nerves tight and be thankful for our opportunities. The budget is certainly tightrope thin: but it is present and we are clever with our limits. We have two creaky leaky yet functioning cars, at least one of which is usually road worthy (my car's bumper fell off this week.) There's a minor slug war in the polytunnel but I love sitting in the tropical steam. Nextdoor Chickens love their daily slug food parcels. We have a cheerful chaos, out of which wonderful flowers may swell to wonderful fruits!
(Imagines self in gaily coloured folk costume, singing from the top of a compost heap, holding a ripe plum.)
Tonight's teaching takes me to Plymouth, where four of our newly Blackbelted students hand over bottles as expressions of gratitude. Plum times, indeed.