Illustrated Diary

Hello - and welcome to my weekly round-up! You can probably tell that I’m running a little behind with these diary posts - I think I’m about two weeks behind. Having COVID this week did not help matters, this strain really seems to have pulverised my ability to do almost everything! But, I’m on the mend, I’m negative, and slowly getting back to usual.

Monday

We spend our lives curing mortality

regretting missed opportunities

we were so afraid to grasp.

So,

why,

then,

do we squander our days

fearing death?

When it’s so clear

we have forgotten

how to live.

Tuesday

Wild Geese - Mary Oliver

You do not have to be good.

You do not have to walk on your knees

for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.

You only have to let the soft animal of your body

love what it loves.

Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.

Meanwhile the world goes on.

Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain

are moving across the landscapes,

over the prairies and the deep trees,

the mountains and the rivers.

Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,

are heading home again.

Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,

the world offers itself to your imagination,

calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting -

over and over announcing your place

in the family of things.

This is, by far, one of my favourite Oliver poems. Her whole ‘Devotions’ collections is up there as part of my Top 10 ‘Must Read’ books. I adore it, not solely because of the stunning imagery created, nor because of the clever juxtaposition of humanity’s despair and the freedom of the natural world; it is because of the message it iterates, it is the questions conjured. It is the knowledge that no matter how we are feeling, what we are feeling, that nature continues in its splendour - that no matter what, we turn to its magnificence to ease our pain, drawn to it, almost as a hope to our salvation. It makes me want to stare from my window and marvel at the world’s natural form, listen to the rhythm of the torrential rain, eavesdrop on the psithurism of the trees. Observe as birds dance upon the metallic balcony, signing about the happiness of what freedom brings.

To best appreciate the words of Ms Oliver, it is best to hear them in her voice - this was taken from Krista Tippet’s On Being - You’re welcome.

Wednesday

“Reality doesn’t always give us the life that we desire, but we can always find what we desire between the pages of books.”
―Adelise M. Cullens

A couple of years ago, I read a book called ‘The Velocity of Being: Letters to a Young Reader’ by Maria Popova -

From her introduction, I was ridiculously in love with the book - Popova describes her relationship with books so romantically, so beautifully, that I couldn’t but help reflect upon my relationship with books growing up.

There are so many voices within this collection, so many beautiful tales that the book beats with life - some of the contributions to this splendiferous collection include the following -

Jane Goodall, Neil Gaiman, Jerome Bruner, Shonda Rhimes, Ursula K. Le Guin, Yo-Yo Ma, Judy Blume, Lena Dunham, Elizabeth Gilbert, and Jacqueline Woodson.

Along with the spectacular letters, there were the most beautiful of illustrations.

This is a book that made me appreciate reading more - to step back into the shoes of a child - Pick up a copy - you won’t be disappointed!

Buy your copy here -

https://a.co/d/05JjJVtE

Thursday -

But he was a magpie,

never content

with the treasure

in hand,

always looking out

for something pretty

to pounce upon.

A little poem I wrote a couple of weeks ago using the 16th century nursery rhyme -

Attuned to the caw 

   Of a midnight narrator 

With one I frown 

   Two I smile 

Pillaging magpie 

    Three for you

Four for me

     Count out your wares

Five lines palms with silver

     Six  a gold caress

Hold thine tongue 

     Button your lip, for

Seven holds the secret. 

Friday

Write short stories, they afford lots of failure”

Saturday - Tear my heart out…

Heart of Glass

A fracture runs through this fragile heart,

Penetrates it's core.

So much pain, so much heartache,

It won't take much more.

I'd promised to protect it,

Patch it up with glue;

Wait so patiently for that perfect fit,

Then I met you.

I welcomed you with open arms,

Invited you right in,

Enamoured by your wit and charm,

Doomed before we could begin.

I should have seen it coming,

That story wasn't ours,

It was someone else's destiny

Written in those stars.

This fragile heart lies shattered.

In pieces on the floor.

Once so vibrant and full of love

It loves, it beats no more

Sunday

A short story entitled 'Retirement’

I have seen Florida advertised on TV for longer than I can remember. The white beaches, the sapphire seas, the smiling residents—all beautiful, tanned, and toned. Now, it was my turn to go. At 65, it was time to retire—time to kick back, relax, and take in the warmth of the Sunshine State. 

              Betty Russo from number 12 had left for Florida last weekend, Barry and Basil Trow the weekend before – I suppose, when you’re old, like me, those who surround you start drifting off in different directions after retirement. 

This is my retirement party; everyone I know collected in the back garden of my 1970s townhouse – the grandkids as loud as ever, running around, attempting to catch the squirrels who so confidently venture onto my closely coiffed lawn; the two son-in-laws fighting it out over the barbeque, my two daughters, heads together, undoubtedly plotting as they used to when they were younger. Several friends are here too; there’s Mildred and Kaye from Bridge Club – they’re squabbling (as usual) over the availability of Roland Parsons, our resident Pastor – at sixty-three, still has another couple of years in him.

I sigh and take it all in. I file these snapshots to the back of my mind, ready to retrieve them once I’m settled in my new apartment. 

The cake arrives. It has one solitary candle- the type that spits out heat and colour – the type you don’t blow out – especially if you’re a fan of your eyebrows. 

Six speeches later, we’re on our way. I was told that I didn’t have to pack much – a few personal items I held dear – a change of clothes; I could have probably fit it all into my handbag, but I had refused to take my prised photographs from their frames. 

Three hours later, we arrived at the border. 

Florida did not look too inviting from this side of the fence.

Two armed guards patrolled the main gate; another frowned from the turnstile.

“Millie Baker”, I announce.

“Passport” the buffoon throws back.

He leafs through my documents and places them into a deep plastic tray.

“Luggage should be left at the turnstile; it will be returned to you following the necessary checks.” I nod and hand over the holdall. 

“Shoes too, Ma’am.”

Ma’am… If there was ever a way to make a woman feel old, it was calling her Ma’am – Ma’am was my mother, and her mother before that. I’m certainly not a Ma’am.

I kick the Toms from my feet; the asphalt is fire beneath them. I grit my teeth in an effort not to dance. 

Turning to my eldest’s red pick-up, I raise my hand to wave. The girls peer from behind the dash, tears in their eyes, understanding in their hearts – it’s how it must be. The way it has always been. 

A loud buzz followed by a metallic crunch tells me it’s my time. I blow the girls a kiss and head toward the future. 

Another crank, another buzz – I’ve made it. 

I can’t help but take one last look at my daughters – I stare into the windshield, make out the confusion on their faces, and smile knowingly.

I’m not the woman that walked in – my hair is thicker, longer – I can feel it heavy on my back. My eyesight is better; I can even make out the number plate of the pick-up! When I smile, the creases beneath my eyes have softened. I look at my hands, tanned long fingers, healthy pink nails. My breasts are higher than they’ve been in the last forty years. But it’s the energy I feel most of all. The excitement. The knowing that this is where life finally begins.

Thanks for hanging in and hanging out with me! Your readership is really appreciated!

Carolyn x