Rearranged

Last night jazz at our inestimable little gig venue in town. Jenni Molloy's trio playing her Bach-inspired recent work. She is an amazingly skilled, energetic and passionate double bass player, her sax player and drummer superb, sparing, inspired. I love trios - not too much going on, and the way the three instruments talk to each other, respond to each other, fly and weave around each other, is so clear to hear, nothing cluttering it up. Now listening to her CD 'Bach ReLoaded', which it was essential to buy after the gig. Initially a bit put off by the 'inspired by Bach' tag, I found I was only dimly aware that classical themes were the starting point or inspiration for these pieces. Maybe because I'm not that knowledgable or familiar with Bach, but also because it's very very subtly done. And most definitely comes over as 'proper' jazz.

The music, the entire performance, was very exciting, and seemed to rearrange all my cells, including my brain cells, which began to give rise to a few sparks of the sort that ignite poetry (small sparks, but nonetheless...) Sadly, this rearrangement and spark kept me awake most of the night, buzzing. Rather counter-productive, since now I feel weary and miserable. Not helped by a dismal morning at work doing 'follow-up calls'.

Off to see my Mum tomorrow, taking a memory stick of photos of the house to show her on her digital photo frame. Here's one now of the kitchen!

Job?

L and I just spent the afternoon at the allotment in the sunshine. While L did lots of clearing, I forked over and weeded, then raked a bed for red onions and garlic, which L then planted - four rows of red onions, two of garlic. I had such a good time, forgetting about time. I'd forgotten how working the soil can do that. Digging, and pulling out and shaking earth off long roots, and drawing the rake across the dark crumbly soil, keeping me firmly in the moment, not thinking about being in the moment. I feel loads better. I went and bought yummy sandwiches in town, and we sat and munched them, looking down into the valley. Makes me not want a job at all!

Weekend(')s End

It was a good one, and now it's over I have hit the blues again, though L has gone off for an afternoon walk, and I'm settling fairly well into some solitary time, with old fave Joe Strummer CD and blogging. Some left over spag bol in the frig for lunch, planning a walk, taking in visit to old house for mail (almost certainly junk). A few possible little jobs around the house (L has discovered tomato ketchup is a rather good cleaning agent for manky old 'gold' taps such as we have inherited. She did one, and maybe I'll do the rest...) Could settle down with The Book Thief by Markus Zusak, which I've only just started. Could get out the poetry books. Could (gulp) get out my notebook. Could empty boxes in my room. Could, could, could - let's not turn that into should, should, should...

Old friends are a precious thing. R and I have known each other an alarmingly long time - 36 years??? Is't possible? How can we possibly be old enough? Anyway she has two lovely boys, and the best dog in the world, and they all arrived around 11.30 on Friday night (long story...) Honoured us by being our first house guests, brought brightness and laughter, conversation, card tricks, marvellous appetites, fabulous young energy, memorable moving images of cats crapping into toilets on the internet, boots made for walking, the presentation of a truly memorable mothers' day card, and it was all topped off nicely by seeing Astro Boy at the cinema in town yesterday afternoon. Green & Black's and cups of tea for us, Ben and Jerry's for the boys. A walk by the canal in sunshine, younger boy trying to out-wit courting male mallard, then declaring he actually isn't attracted to mallards!! And so to station for fond farewells. Sweet.

Day

The children walk past the window, carrying things home from school, precious things they've made, reading folders, backpacks. Or their parents carry the things for them as if the children had had such a hard day they can't be expected even to bring their possessions home themselves.

The sun slanting in through the dirty window, catches a strange assortment of things on the table. A toast rack, an enamel plate, a pestle and mortar, a star-shaped ice-cube tray. A label for pink rosemary, though we have none and can't remember ever having had.

This morning I did cold calls - part of my new temporary job - and it has had a dire effect on my well-being. It's calling schools to market something really good, so it isn't awful in the way trying to sell mobile phones or power is awful, but it touches a sore place in me about putting myself up for rejection, the fear of being dismissed without being able to explain, of making a nuisance of myself. Only two people I've spoken to have been dismissive in reality - no we're not interested said one, the other - we'd never be interested in anything like that, as if I'd proposed they acquire an instrument of torture. But the whole thing just gets my adrenalin and cortisol levels soaring, makes me feel tense and tearful, on a short fuse.

And today we have yet another man doing work in the house. Just putting up a few shelves, some coat pegs and a bathroom cupboard, and planing the bottoms of a couple of doors, but it seems to be taking all day, and something about his energy makes me very uneasy - kind of slow, heavy, depressive, a bit moany. Probably rather too close to the thing in me I'm struggling with. And strong body odour to boot. L is sorting cupboards and I'm writing here while we wait for him to finish for the day, and can fling open windows, get out the hoover, and then hang up our coats at last, put things on the new shelves and into the bathroom cupboard...

Stolen

The sun is warm on my back, and bright on the laptop screen, showing unforgivingly just how dirty it is. Both dusty and apparently spattered with who knows what vile liquid.

Washing on the line outside - sheet, pillow cases and duvet cover which will smell of sunshine on our bed tonight. Bluest sky. We walked down into town and back, picked up mail from the old house, visited friend E's house (she being in Tasmania), returned DVDs (Doubt, and The Secret Life of Bees) to the library, bought coffee, daffodils, rare breed pork chops, and baguettes, and L had a much-needed haircut. I saw a friend who was on her way to have a massage. I asked how she was. She said she would be much better in an hour's time. Maybe I should have a massage...

Nearly time to go to Guardian Jobs online for my first visit of the week. In a while we'll try to hang the last curtain in the kitchen. Improvised from a piece of material we've had for ages, (which just happens to go brilliantly with the colours in our kitchen), and an IKEA easy to fit curtain rod...

None of this is really what I want to say, but I want to say something rather than nothing, and it's these small everyday details that have saved me on occasion.

I want to say I just don't feel right. I try to let myself enjoy the sunshine, the daffodils, the house, the view, the air, the completely beautiful place where we live. But I just feel like weeping. I feel as though something has been stolen from me.

Juice

No creative juice. Just whisky, my father's evening tipple, and the salted peanuts he used to throw into his mouth, head tilted back, handfuls from the jar in the larder - an old Nappisan jar with a turquoise blue plastic lid, like the ones for the raisins and the flour and the red lentils.

Taste

Intermittent availability of Blogger continues. Anyone else having this trouble? Two days off one day on sort of pattern. Still this is two days on in a row, so maybe the sickness is subsiding. I try to see it as some kind of lesson in not taking things for granted.

I take things for granted all the time. I said to L I thought I took her for granted, wished I didn't. She asked what I meant. What it appeared I meant was I'm self-absorbed when I'm struggling. 'Forget' to give, to notice, to consider. Sending my attention away from myself could be a place to start curing the current ill, I'm sure. Focusing somewhere else.

I have felt for so long that I can't take in or give out as much as I would like. Look and can't properly see. Listen and can't completely hear. Read and can't absorb. Can't tune in, can't concentrate. Know that I have a lot of good stuff to contribute but often don't. Stay away, stay quiet, feel awkward. Then feel dissatisfied, as if only partly living.

What I'm noticing is that the sun is slanting into the room, highlighting the startling green of a bottle of mineral water, the liquid inside trembling as I type. Spring will come, it says, and I sense myself longing for and dreading its arrival, with its attendant demand to open and expand. No-one has been more vocal than I about winter outstaying its welcome, yet the actual taste of the early spring brings unease as well as relief.