From darkness to light

 

 Watching a distant storm skimming the horizon

while standing on dry land

with just the slightest feeling 

that the wind could bring the trouble nearer
and there we are without an umbrella or galoshes.

Then breathing a sigh of relief as it passes

and the sun returns.

If only all our worries could be blown away so easily.

Weeding

 I grasped a small three-pronged toasting fork

(for I have as yet no batterie de jardin)

planted one foot firmly on the lawn

and another gingerly in the middle of the bed,

bent down, and began to weed.

Four hours later I stopped, not from choice

but because Mrs Shoesmith wanted the toasting fork for luncheon.

As in many other affairs,

it is all a question of attitude.

I had not been weeding for five minutes, 

bent double like a pair of compasses with my head a foot from the ground,

before I became aware that my whole outlook on life was changing.

The mental and spiritual accidie which had been enveloping me

for nearly a year dropped off me like a cloak.

Problems which had seemed insoluble

laid their solutions ready-made at my feet with a neat flourish.

Situations which had seemed as unmanageable as rogue mules

crept up on their bellies and fawned.

Short stories whose characters had turned to wood,

essays which had refused to come to a point,

poems in which laboured craftsmanship had numbed and weakened

the original impact of beauty -

all these presented themselves to my inverted brain

in their finished form, masterly, unsmutched and point-device.

So uprooting grass and groundsel on my way,

I moved happily though inelegantly along;

and at every step the advantages of gardening 

became more and more clear to me.*

* Upside Down Reflections from a book of essays Try Anything Twice

Jan Struther, author of Mrs Miniver

Delete. Delete. Delete.

If anyone wondered where I was,

I have been Kondoing my Inbox.

I had to because my computer said it was full

and could neither absorb nor discharge any further information.

I understood how it felt.

There were 8835 messages there going back eight years.

Of course there must have been many more.

I certainly do delete as I go, but for some reason

these had resisted the routine culling.

It was, and is, a sobering experience. 
All life is there,
from the mundane to the momentous.
There is no easy way to approach this task.
I cannot risk taking out the box wholesale.
I have found some vital documents and some useful contacts.
I have been reminded of happy times and sad.

The computer has dropped a couple of dress sizes
and is feeling more comfortable, but I must press on.
We're aiming for a size 8.
People send funnies, and each of these links was opened and examined.
Mercifully many of them had expired.
Here are a couple that were brought blinking into the spotlight.
You'll notice a common theme:

 Retiree Bathtub Test

During a visit to my doctor, I asked him, 

"How do you determine

whether or not a retiree should be put in an old age home?"

"Well," he said, "we fill up a bathtub, 
then we offer a teaspoon, a teacup and a bucket to the retiree 
and ask him or her to empty the bathtub."

"Oh, I understand," I said. "A normal person would use the bucket
 because it is bigger than the spoon or the teacup."
"No", he said. "A normal person would pull the plug out.
Do you want a bed near the window?"

                    

If it goes quiet again, you'll know where to find me.

Also - 32,544 photos.

Delete. Delete. Delete.

It was all going so well

Lush flowers. 

Blue skies.

Serene swan.

Fresh ferns.

Smiling lambs.

Sparkling sea.

And then the wind changed.

And it has been grim grey ever since,

with a side order of chilly wind

and a return to winter clothing

of which I am heartily sick.

So I took a leaf out of Lotta's book

and culled the towels

and then felt happy for Freda

and anyone else who isn't sitting under a cloud.

Perhaps some of you remember 

Neither Use Nor Ornament.

I get updates from there from time to time

and have vicariously enjoyed a recent trip 

to the tea plantations of Munnar

and an Ashram at Kurisumala.

Time to pack my bags perhaps.

That will guarantee an improvement in the weather at home.

We are the people who arrive at any destination to be greeted by the words,

'Oh if only you had been here last week. It was glorious.'

Meh

Drifting through January in a wispy sort of way.

Somewhat like this cloud.

Waiting for a shaft of light to illuminate

 a big (or even a medium-sized) idea.

Trying not to get too greyed out.

(This picture is in unedited glorious Technicolor.)

Trucking on like these purposeful

shingle shifters.

Their work is never done.

The tides rearrange the banks with untiring dedication.

I'm getting some new glasses.

Maybe that will help to refocus things.

How is January looking from where you are standing?

Krazy Kondo-ing 2

It had to go.

The craziest of crazy paving,

never sparked a scintilla of joy

but was at least functional, until the tree

 started clawing it up 

slab by surreptitious slab

the length of its bony root system.

I think I should have been a digger driver.

It maddens me every time I drive through 

a certain major road widening scheme.

There are big signs with photos of little boys in hard hats

and high vis jackets saying,

Our dads work here.

Kondoing the condiments- again

Goodbye garam masala.

Farewell 5-spice.

Ta-ta za'atar.

Adios allspice.

Bye bye bay leaves

(there's a whole tree outside).

So long so many sesame seeds.

Well what else would you do on a dismal Bank Holiday Monday?

Might as well have a laugh at the same time.

Krazy Kondo-ing

On the hottest day of the year we were committed to hosting

a three house Table Sale in the front drive from 7am to 7pm.

Marie doesn't focus on the practicalities of getting the stuff beyond your four walls

after putting it into black bin bags, but this is a good way

if you happen to live on a busy road, on commuter and school routes

with no parking restrictions.

It might have been the heat,

but such was my feverish urge to rid myself of the clutter

that I probably would have put the cat out on the table

if we'd had one.

Ice cold Peronis all round

when we were sure that the last of the weary commuters

had straggled past.

Then a swift trip to the charity shop today

with all the leftovers.

£165 and an empty garage.

We met some very interesting people too.

Our capsule, house to car, car to house life

means we hardly know any of our neighbours

which is a real loss.

We need more people

and fewer things.

The accidental bouquet

Fennel, nepeta and salvia

being given a late and rather

half-hearted Chelsea chop.

Kondo-ing walk of shame

As it's not warm enough to sit outside 

with a nice glass of something chilled,

I have been Kondo-ing the pantry this evening.

It goes without saying that I had many packets and jars

 of years out of date pasta,

 mystery grains, pulses,

a huge bottle of Monin ginger syrup,

stale ground rice, semolina, 

flax seeds, millet, hemp,

 Smash dried potato,

mung beans, moong dal, popping corn,

aduki beans, black eyed beans,

Horlicks,  drinking chocolate, and fancy herb teas,

but what really shocked me was the seven,

 SEVEN

different types of sugar, cluttering up the shelves.

Granulated.

Caster.

Golden caster.

Muscovado.

Icing.

Demerara.

Soft light brown.

Rainbow crystals.

No wait,

That's eight.

EIGHT 

different types of sugar, cluttering up the shelves.

The only one I haven't got is cubes.

Surely I don't need all those?

Well of course, granulated for

my brother's and builders' tea,

caster for light sponge cakes and meringues,

golden caster because Nigel Slater said so,

Muscovado for rich fruit cakes,

icing, for icing,

Demerara for putting on top of cakes

because Nigel Slater said so,

soft light brown for brownies,

and rainbow crystals for. . .

old times sake, because my parents used to put it out on the

coffee tray if we had visitors

and I wanted to amuse the children with it.

This isn't going well.

The only one that didn't spark joy was Muscovado

because it had gone rock hard.

You can tell I am a child of the fifties,

 born just as sugar came off rationing.

Must I stop eating cake?

It's that woman again

Taking a step back

Yesterday I surprised myself

by making three jars of blackberry jam.

 And where you might ask, 

are the seasonally appropriate pictures of

mincemeat making,

of pine tree felling,

of pudding stirring

of Christmas belling?

Are you trying to mess with my mind?

Will it be meringues and cream tomorrow?

Are you trying to cater more for your Antipodean reader?

Well yes, all of the above because there are six egg whites in there too

 but the day before yesterday

I applied Marie Kondo's theories to the freezer food category.

If it didn't spark joy, or leave room for my chicken stock to feel appreciated

out it went.

But then I couldn't bring myself to chuck the defrosted blackberry puree

down the plughole, 

so I made jam.

And the jam can be gifts

so we will be back in sync.

Why do toadstools grow so close together?

They don't need mushroom.

I'm getting on splendidly and have made much more room

in the desk drawers and filing trays.
I dealt with stationery today and found some useful stamps.

There are 29 partially filled notebooks to face up to tomorrow.
I never got on with Filofaxes but
I do love a good notebook.
Annie drew my attention to these some while back.

I'll make room.

Out of sight

but never far from my mind,

the contents of the drawers,

(that lampshade's got to go)

(Sorting papers: Rule of Thumb: Discard Everything M.K)

Edited to say that these above are now Drawers of Joy.
You may take that quite literally.

(sweet and innocent but stuffed)

(this has a matching set on the opposite side),

shelves,

(mostly Northern husband's, further shelf not visible - untouched),

(mostly mine - hugely reduced),

cupboards,

(this above is possibly the scariest in terms of content),

(shelves above not visible),

(particularly deceptive this one as we sit on it daily

but inside there lurks a huge selection of board games

that nobody ever wants to play).

Where was I?

Piles and stacks,

(Marie has joined the stacks),

and suitcases,

of Doom.

And that's without showing you the Garage of Doom
 the Greenhouse of Doom
or the Desk of Doom at which I sit to pen
my Useful or Beautiful blog.
So there we have it.
Keeping it real.