movement

Buns trapped in his penance was more cheerful last night than I have heard him for a while – tired out, full of cold,

snow at the window (yes, really) but clearer – a audibly polished glass.  Sick of the demands of the old house which he bought with one eye closed and other covered, fed up with the rain and chill, deep in his warmest sweater, he said “ But it’s still light at 6.30 in the evening, so there’s movement…”

On the one warmer drier day of the last several weeks, robins arrived,

checked out my garden and started to explore a derelict plant pot for a nest.  They fled the next day, tiny things, damp and chilled to the bone.  And I like the long dark evenings – candle heaven.  But while waiting for the engineer to look at the beast in my boiler (it growls illogically, at ungodly hours), I looked at the files on the shelves and thought “And how long have I sat on those ?”  

I have every sympathy with people who find throwing away difficult.  Forget hoarding, just those of us who work on the principal of keeping things tidy and thus not thinking further, pushing things into the back of the closet, the top shelf, the filing drawers.   And I can only throw away personal stuff when the mood is on me.  Sometimes it is a matter of identity (was I this person ?) so I do not as Jud said all those years ago “sever and chuck”, I think before I throw away.  Never good at regret, me, working on the hard learned principle of “ if you are going to regret it, don’t .”   And on Tuesday, round the wonderful Tony boiler fixer, truncated shopping and all, I shredded

10 years of personal papers, writing, confidential stuff.  Bagged it, put it out, washed my hands and ate supper.  

I cleaned the kettle this morning – stove top, French fag packet blue enamel, clarted up with limescale.

Putting it off, you see.    I shall have to have another go when I have bought the distilled vinegar the helpful internet tells me I need.

And I thought about a new kettle and spent a long time looking at alternatives, choosing between what was lovely, what I wanted, what I could afford and what I needed.   Same for coffee percolators.  Bought nothing, permitted myself to think.

This is a long way from buying something to cheer yourself up but on a budget, the possibility

of any purchase outside vegetables and laundry fluid is exciting.   (The last time I bought to cheer myself up I was careful and thoughtful – the colour is fine, the garment is lovely  – but I was then so ill that I changed shape and lost what I was dressing, so it hangs like a reproach in the wardrobe.}  I’ll get to it.   Especially if there is movement …

In between bouts of rain, I noticed a man up the road, meticulously cutting back the ivy hedge that threatened to take over the world.   So I went to tell him how grateful I was and how nice it looked.

And though you could never call the dust and vac I did yesterday more than a lick and a promise – I don’t do major spring cleaning

until warm enough air to have the windows and doors open – that’s not yet a while.   But there is movement in the air, in the sky and so I can move a bit too.

As an inveterate maker of lists, I have what I call the Big List and I try to address most of it, like dentist and optician, an estimate or two for painting the bathroom.  A new clothes line and a new yard broom are included and though there is no point yet, you’ll see – slight, don’t speak too loudly or you will frighten it away  – movement.  

While an old friend wrote me a card this morning in which he describes his hilarious  but fulfilling attempts at the local health club

where he has much enjoyed meeting a whole new group of people and the manager (he says) knows exactly how to handle him – “and that’s interesting too .”   Movement.