Today I have been thinking about…rain. It makes the crops grow, my mother used to say. I bet yours did too.
I’ve got to say that it’s small comfort when you’ve left for the school run in brilliant sunshine, and are therefore unprepared for the deluge of – ouch, is that hail? – appearing halfway up the road.
When the jackets are still wet from yesterday and you can’t find the waterproof trousers: and the car’s in the garage, before you ask. I’m not voluntarily walking in this downpour. When the children are actually screaming with outrage as their non-soluble skin has been exposed to the horror of pure water. You drag them on, trying to remember whether Acid Rain is still a ‘thing.’
Just dreich, cold, dripping, numbing: horrible.
But…it does make the lush, green, sustaining, miraculous crops grow.
Today I have been thinking about…tiredness.
I say, ‘thinking about,’ more accurately, I have been ‘being tired’. The children woke me with yelps and screams at two minutes to six (two minutes to six!). Proof of how tired I was lay with me, as I fell asleep again immediately.
Later, I had to put the radio on for fear of not waking in time. I dragged myself through breakfast and shower and church (sorry church). I’m home now and behind schedule. I’m ratty with people. I’m sooooooo tired.
However, do not for one second sympathise with me. I have been out three evenings this week. I danced for hours on Friday. I had a special day with my wee boys on Saturday. I even fell asleep on my comfy sofa at 7:30pm last night.
My lovely, busy, tiring tinylife.
Helen’s Trial, The Archers.
Do you mind if I sit next to you?
Acting in self defence.
We were all listening very carefully.
Being pregnant doesn’t make you mad.
Sob story about being raped –
there’s always some excuse, isn’t there?
It’s my handbag, it’s wrapped around your chair.
Nice to have something pretty to look at.
She hadn’t realised how bad it had got,
how a real man uses his fists
It’s always the man’s fault:
the way he was built,
aren’t you supposed to obey your husband?
I’d have loved to stab my partner.
He took on her sprog.
He took away every last thing about her identity.
We have to keep faith that justice is possible.
Let’s get out of here … please don’t cry
They weren’t lies.
I’m not going to let you start again now.
Today I have been thinking about … storage.
As the laundry basket finally empties after a full month of overflowing, my thoughts turn to storage.
I don’t have enough storage.
I have just about enough for my clothes, unless the laundry basket is empty. Books operate on a strict one in, one out policy. DVDs are regularly culled; thank goodness for Netflix. The CD collection is bizarrely exempt. In terms of work space– we actually have a hot desk in our house. I have press coverage and a contract and nowhere to put them.
But of course I’m going to say ‘but,’ and be grateful, for if I didn’t have a surfeit of items, how could I complain about storage? I’m also going to add a ‘let’s not hold on too tightly to our stuff.’
It’s not people. It’s only things.
Today I have been thinking about … wet towels.
It’s that time of the year again. Or is it just me? After the heat (ha!) of summer, but before the reactivation of the central heating, when the towels don’t dry through the day. After my shower, I wrap myself in damp fustiness, trying in vain to soak more moisture into the wet cloth.
But, as always, I remind myself that having a wet towel is having a towel at all.
Being wet is being clean.
And I can shower every day. In drinking water – it still amazes me that I shower in drinking water. Why?
There’s more. Clothes that go on afterwards. A warm cup of tea if I’m cold. A pile of dry towels in the cupboard, if I could only bother myself to fetch one.
A tiny, fortunate life.