Time moves on, things change… this I have always known but several years into living the reality of my long-dreamed aspirations it’s apparent there are certain matters I need to take stock of. Thoughtfulness around such things takes the opportunity of early morning serenity. My contemplations in the early hours of this morning included…
Sleep vs creativity. Today’s writing is a comfortable and familiar muscle memory exercise of fingers on keyboard beginning at about 4.30 am to exorcise thoughts which had been eddying since 2.30 am. Perhaps finally an opportunity after several years of catching up on and enjoying more sleep than our city-working lives allowed to persuade my body on an ongoing basis that the wee small hours are a propitious time for peaceful creative endeavours.
Pickles. It’s almost show time: back in the day of my city office job and long hours communing with my own thoughts, one of my cherished dreams was firstly, learn to make; secondly, enter a jar of pickles in our local country show; and ultimately win first prize… of course. Several Macksville Shows have come and gone since I began pickle making, circumstances conspiring to delay the dream’s fruition: the pickles were all eaten; we were out of town; the pickles were made outside the cut off date. I have a cupboard full of Choko pickles I made last week. However, I admit to myself, the dream has died… it is enough that I enjoy the process of making something out of almost nothing and that my family and friends enjoy eating them.
Wellbeing. While I manage my blood sugar issues well enough, yet again my body is struggling with old foes psoriasis and candida. After recent flareups I stumbled upon research that suggests there may be a connection between all three. The resultant tumbleweeds of investigations via a plethora of online sources roll around in my head*. I am long familiar with their respective natures. Environmental and dietary mould, fungi and their host conditions are not my friends. I’m loathe to exorcise too much of anything from my life… everything in moderation is my motto. However, accomplishing an effective balance isn’t easy. Certain things I’m very fond of such as sourdough, pickling, baking, mushrooms, cheese, wine are moot. More research. Sigh.
Dad. My seventy-six-year-old Dad’s health challenges of the past few years continue. A week on from his recent Easter long weekend visit with us he looms large in my contemplations. In my head, I know most likely it is what it is but in my heart I wish there were magic words I could say to kindle the lifestyle changes he needs to and could make if the incentive was preferable to the status quo. Sometimes I feel too far away, other times not far enough.
Blog. My writing-blogging crisis of confidence -exacerbated by innumerable demands on my time- continues. Does the world need my thoughts in long form… does our oversubscribed culture need more of anything? Many of my longstanding blogging community are absent, sporadic and/or moved on to other creative projects and/or migrated to the immediacy and brevity of alternative social media offerings.
Big. Corporate, Food, Pharma, Chemical, Agriculture, Government… Have you watched Stink? Have you listened to this ABC Conversations podcast interview with Beth Macy author of Dopesick: Dealers, Doctors, and the Drug Company that Addicted America? Do you worry about pesticides in food? Despite being as diligent as our time and means allow, the G.O. and I are increasingly chemical sensitive, and disheartened about the welfare of our environment.
Cupboard. My latest project which goes some way to explaining the aforementioned innumerable demands on my time.
And, ever-present… will the photography course I enrolled in last semester then cancelled by Tafe be offered for the later part of this year… will I be able to continue with my studies… if not, what will I do with my time… life… in the vege garden, if the Elephant Garlic doesn’t shoot should I plant beetroot?
“Morning is wonderful. Its only drawback is that it comes at such an inconvenient time of day.” ― Glen Cook, Sweet Silver Blues