Muesli for breakfast. It made me miss Nan who used to eat it with tea poured over instead of milk.
How many people in the world have eaten something today for it to remind them of someone that’s gone? Maybe on purpose to feel closer to them? Like wearing a pair of grey trackies of someone who’s no longer in your life five years after they’ve left.
The thing that gets me the most is scent. How it can stab a feeling into you from the past of a person or event and for moments you’re debilitated or torn apart. Full of joy perhaps.
Today was still. Physically. Mentally, I did: writing, reading, editing, violin.
I am handicapped by the temperature drop: walks and garden work-outs aren’t so appealing in the cold and wet. So I stay in.
My violin… I waited for Israel to leave to avoid subjecting him to hearing me repeat the same phrase of song over and over. And over.
That’s the thing about learning an instrument, it’s loud and unless you’re the devoted “musician” learning, you’re a person listening and it does your head in.
Well, I worked on bowing an Amy Winehouse song…
“We only said goodbye with words,
I died a hundred times.
You go back to her,
and I’ll go back to black.”
Over and over, till Israel returned. By then I couldn’t stop and carried on for a good hour.
Poor brother. But he is much more patient about music and noise than I am. I’m at home in silence, unless it’s dark and the lights are off.
There was something fitting: the repetition of the same bit of song aligned with the repetition of the stillness of each similar day. For once, I wasn’t frustrated at being an amateur violinist who wasn’t moving on quickly to harder, more technical songs. I was happy to be slow, patient. In the moment.