Haven’t written for a while for a few reasons:
- too busy thinking
- too busy doing
- experiencing ‘the shift’
Today was a wake up call. In my thinking and doing and numbness and happy to be so, I let the days slip by. Times it is necessary not to think the world will end if you don’t perform, create, meet, achieve etc, but just appreciate the waking of the birds and the glorious sunsets. I should have been at the beach doing this but for lack of beach in London, I just did in in my own little world.
Today was a wake up call. My darling neighbour, of whom I spoke, is back in hospital, and not coming home with talk of care homes and such. She is not present, as my visits have proved and in my worst ‘you have seen this scene in a movie’ I find her propped in chair, facing a wall, sleeping, always sleeping. The opening of her eyes is a monumental task and she fails at it 100%. So we just sit and she holds my hand tightly and it is my mother all over again. Her lids no longer flutter. And I am going to flutter mine like a propeller.
In the thinking of how suddenly life always seems to come and grab us by the scruff, I realised that the good of just thinking and being is great for part of the time, but using my time here in a valuable way is a promise we should all make to the maker of us. In fact, so lost in the sadness of the visit, I found myself throwing my underwear, not in the laundry basket, but in the bin. And I know what you’re thinking: nutter with a flutter. Not quite. Dilly with a dancing step I would phrase it.
I have been flat lining. My heart, broken and battered is pumping a pace to make glaciers seem like marathon sprinters. It’s not unusual, we Silver Streeters are more at the downhill part of the mountain than the climb, but letting ourselves slide into a numbness and acceptance will make of me my neighbour before I know it. I think that’s why we become so obsessed with grand-children, they spark things up again, give us another purpose – some take it more seriously than others and the photographs prove it, but hey, it’s good. A long way off, I chose to flutter life back into my business, my daily pursuits … you get the picture.
Whilst standing over the dustbin, retrieving the bra, I thought how much my neighbour would want one more opportunity, at anything. I have a zillion methinks, and you, so as I sit here with the clay face mask on (careful not to be on the balcony though Matt and Simon would simply giggle and let it go, the other neighbours may seem more concerned with the brick red tribal look), I have to, in a weird way, thank my neighbour for reminding me that I still have aplenty of fluttering to do.
You know when they say ‘ the heart is fluttering, there is a pulse, doctor, I think she’s coming back.? When the patient comes round and the eyes flutter at the light? Oh yeah …
Time for the pretty making up of those eyes for someone is going to flutter them.
Also did about 30 squats today – it was a horrible picture.