This
was a better year, in many ways, than the last. Personally, anyway. The world
beyond my window is generally peaceful, though I feel the weighty energy of a
greater world gone mad and the good people in it buckling beneath the strain. I
have to turn that off, sometimes. If I don’t, I get edgy and contrary—not my
natural state despite the hardwiring of my mortal form.
I
realized this morning that I need regular exposure to nature. Sitting by the
ocean, walking through the woods, even a stroll up the main drag to see what’s
happening in the metaphoric village square, will calm my mind and bring me back
to centre. My qigong and yoga practices are critical as well, since they keep
me mobile and build strength. I’ve improved in that regard over the past twelve
months. (Let’s ignore the flare in my left foot that stalled my progress during
the past two weeks—augh!) My immune system has settled after last summer’s
disaster of the covid vaccine response. I can almost claim to be normal again,
assuming my recall is accurate. Weight is improving, mobility is improving,
mental state is good if I stay in the moment and don’t let my head get, well, ahead.
Which
reminds me of the sarky remark the Father of my Unborn Children made when
filling out a stupid rock star survey in the mid-80’s: “If you want to get
ahead, get a hat.”
My
writing is still on the mend. I’m not nearly as prolific as I once was—I
completed one short story this summer, but aside from a few errant stabs at a
longtime work in progress, I’m more interested in reading than writing these
days. I’ve rebooted my library card. It saves shelf space at home, and I can
explore a multitude of genres without blowing my allowance on misfires. That
said, I’ve downloaded some dandies to my Kindle in the past year. The best was
“The Book Eaters” by Sunyi Dean, with Cornelia Funke’s “Inkheart” running a
close second. Great fantasy works both, each fantabulous in its own way. Right
now I’m on the second of Alison Weir’s “Six Wives of Henry VIII” series; I’ll
always be a sucker for historical fiction, particularly stories set in Tudor
and Stuart England. I’ve got pieces of my own Charles II story yet to be woven
together. I’ll finish it eventually. Maybe when I’m retired?
That
won’t be for a while yet. I still enjoy my job and the people I work with; I’m
now at the office three days a week, to give Ter home space and me a change of
scene. I get more work done on my two home office days, so it works out. The
extra office day was added earlier this summer as an experiment to see how I
held up physically. I did so well that it’s a regular thing now. Next plan is
to take the community limo twice a week; I dislike hauling the gov’t laptop on
public transit so Ter drives me in and home on occasions when I’m carrying it.
My outlook
hasn’t changed all that much, despite having to monitor my tendency to become a
recluse. I still believe implicitly in a loving, friendly and generous Universe
that works in my best interest even when I’m going “Uni, WTF??” Like attracts like, so I try to remain positive where
possible ... but thank the gods that hockey season is on the horizon—I can use
my naughty words without compromising my everyday principles.
I never
tire of living; I just get tired of life, sometimes. When I feel that darkness
start to creep in, I turn off the news and go to the beach.
It’s a
good life. I am grateful to be in it. I love my people and especially my Ter.
Miracles abound, big and small; even the tiny ones appear when I look for them.
It’s not always good, but it’s all good, if you know what I mean.
Happy birthday, Ru. With love,
