and it was a quiet, noisy day. I strung film spools on wire and hung it on a pillar in a basement and called it an installation of art. I went to two new places, met four new people and a very nice dog. didn't get lost, or flustered by exits or traffic. followed through on promises made, made more. came home, sat with a cup of coffee for twenty minutes and then made roast beef and mashed potatoes and diced carrots and gravy for supper, and chocolate chip cookies for a bedtime snack.
the girls are sleeping on the futon in the living room, a friday night tradition that's been going on for a few months now. they're watching a movie, in their pink pajamas, happy on blue sky flannel sheets with clouds and smiling suns on them. two cats are purring, there are crayons and playdoh all over the table and a basket of laundry to fold. and the weekend to look forward to, and next week, and all the days past that to whenever the days stop.
it was a good day. I'm thankful for it.
Friday, November 14, 2008
the whole day I thought in black and white. well, with occasional flashes of colour.
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7 comments:
oh those "fully" days - so glad they come your way. wish I'd been there for dinner. I can't remember the last time I had roast beef!
they probably do come my way more often than I know. I tend to dwell on the less full days, why I still don't know. accustomed to misery, I suppose, expiating past sins, craving melancholy drama, too many sorrowful dreaming maidens in castles lurking in my imagination.
some days suck, it's just unavoidable. or is it, I don't know. this morning I was so sore I soaked in my "aches & pains" bath salts like the old woman I am and am not (my body and brain don't agree there, sometimes, squabbling like fishwives) and I thought you know, if this is the worst I feel all day, as bad as it is, I should be grateful for it. because it does ease as the day goes on, though it never completely goes away, but it's hard sometimes not to cry when I can't do the simplest things, I give in to tears and despair so often.
the roast beef was lovely. whenever you're next on this side of the country, I'll make whatever you like, as long as you promise to stop by and visit.
I remember a period of angst when I was younger, self-induced because I latched onto the idea that if I was suffering, I'd be noticed and helped. It didn't work out that way of course, but sweeping out those "sorrowful dreaming maidens" lurking in my imagination turned out to be a difficult task. They call to me even now but I'm on the outside of the castle. I made another discovery - that I'd rather fight my own dragons after all than be trapped in those walls. I know it's not a good analogy to what you suffer but sometimes it helps to know there are people with swords outside the castle, willing to help you slay the miseries.
When I'm on the west coast, I'd love to come visit!
Those girls are very lucky to have a mum like you.
thank you, pauline, I thought the analogy was a very good one, actually, the dragons and castles and so on, and how I feel trapped or overwhelmed by things. I'm much happier when I feel capable rather than helpless, leaning out from a casement window with my pale melancholy face framed by masses of luxuriant hair that tumble in a riotous...well you know. I read too many overblown romances when I was younger. gallant but stern, misunderstood knights and maidens with impudent breasts straining their bodices and all that nonsense.
peter, thank you. I'm a much better parent now than I was when my oldest daughter was growing up and I was growing up alongside her.
I have a question about the "sorrowful dreaming maidens" that you mention, if you wouldn't mind answering it.
Where did you come up with this analogy of these dreaming maidens?
The only reason why I ask is because I thought that I had come up with that analogy myself years ago. Since then, I have actually run into others who have either heard of these "dreaming maidens", or they have dreamt of them themselves.
I would surely appreciate an answer if you feel comfortable answering my question.
jackalgoddess, I'm not certain, actually. I never am - or no, not never. but often I'm unsure whether I've come up with something on my own or whether it's something I've read or heard about and just forgotten the source.
I read a lot of old poetry and romances, have always loved slightly melancholy celtic music, have prints of the pre-raphaelites' work up on my walls. I was always a deep-thinking and often sad person, even as a girl.
when I write, posts or comments or anything, really, I just sit down and type whatever comes to mind. I was sorry to see there was no blog link for you; anyone with an interest in sorrowful dreaming maidens would be an interesting read, I'm certain.
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