Gardening

Saturday 10.12pm

I am not a gardener. I have been, but I do not have that continual interest that it takes. But I do think about it . And I think about life. And as Nicola has just said “ gardening is life “ You can place a plant and if the condition are right it will grow well. But if the conditions are not right, while it may grow, it will never thrive and will never be happy or do well. Over the last six months, in my job I have struggled. I have tried to grow but have been stifled and suffered – some days I could hardly manage to get out of bed in the morning. But unlike a plant that has to stay where it is put I can do something, and I have, I stopped and thought about what I really wanted and looked at what I had. And now I have a new job, a job in which I can thrive and grow, a new beginning. Unfortunately, unlike plants, my old employers are not impressed with my move and are being rather petty about things - like paying me for my last month for instance. But you know, it does not matter because I have moved on, and unlike them have grown, and will continue to do so.

Inspired, energised, ready to flower – that’s how I feel just now.

All the time in the world

Sunday 7.54pm

My father Eric died today, peacefully at 2.30 in the morning. I must say it was not a complete surprise, 70 years of smoking will catch up with you eventually, but at 84 he did ok. He has had difficulty swallowing for long time now and despite my mums best efforts he has got weaker and weaker until finally collapsing a week ago on Friday. In hospital they radiographed him and of course he had lung cancer. The cancer has been growing for some time, pressing on his oesophagus, hence the difficulty swallowing. Put on a drip and antibiotics he pulled back a bit during the week but worsened again and with there being no real hope of recovery my mum along with my sister and brother made the brave and sensible decision to withdraw any more treatment except oxygen and allow him to gradually fade away.

I’ll write more about him, but not tonight – the words are not there. No, tonight I’ll just drink to his memory.

Fejoias

Saturday 8.35pm

Funky little fruits these, piled in a bowl they remind me of a whole lot of cartoon mice with their fat bodies and little ears. Their colour is incredible – an intense deep grassy green beneath a veil of misty white. The depth of colour is more than matched by their smell which to me is tropical but slightly alien, like nothing else I have smelt before and yet leaves me strangely unfulfilled because I cannot place the smell anywhere in my past. Or is it perhaps because of their taste ? This I cannot get used to. I keep trying them, cutting them in half and scooping out the squashy insides with a teaspoon - and every time it strikes me as more like something from the Bodyshop, something to be worn not eaten.

But the fruity sirens just keep calling to me, and I cannot resist.