Aspie heaven

Haven’t been here for years. Read old posts. Even then,  before diagnosis I recognise screaming aspiedom. Suki is settled on my lap. My abuser is dead. I have lost my vast house and swapped almost everything for happiness in a tiny terrace with a truly remarkable woman. Love found me and set me free. I burnt out and gave up my job. Everyday begins with a silent paean to the peace of not ever being on call again. My social contacts are a greater spotted woodpecker, a family of bullfinches, goldfinches, dunnock, sparrows (tree and house) red kites, tits(blue, great, coal, long-tailed). All I hear is wind in the trees, tinnitus, rain on the roof and Kat. My sons are grown and awesome men whom I adore from a distance. Enough lists. Time for coffee and a poo.

Knapweed and diesel

Today was simply too hot to work. Instead we explored the Helston railway- all one and a quarter miles of it. We stood in the brake van rather like that scene in the Titanic where she’s on the prow of the ship. Happily we stayed on the rails watching the green banks chugg slowly past. There were butterflies and on the return journey, backwards, the fumes of the engine lifted me back to 1967 and beyond – family holidays before Dad learnt to drive.

In the garden at home ( after the obligatory Mr B’s icecream – turkish delight) bees were having parties on the knapweed and hemp agrimony. A patch of thistles, gone to seed, stood  charmed by goldfinches and the icing on the cake : the catalpa tree has flowered. The flowers are like large orchids in shape, white with maroon speckles and the most delicate scent. A splendiferous day and if it caused purple prose, who cares: this blog remains unseen

Lamb curry bubbling on the stove, nearly time for gin and a walk along Porthkidney when the sun goes down. Sundays= best day of the week

Chainsaw schmainsaw

So the new Bosch AKE 40S was as a knife through butter……bliss. All wood made stove-sized and piled – bring on the snow ( it’s humid and I’m waiting for Part 2 of last night’s thunder storm) BUT there is now no more wood to cut so I had to grit my teeth and brandish….. the small paintbrush.

100 small windows later….. I now TOTALLY LOVE gloss painting. What is the matter with me? I’m meant to be on holiday for goodness sake : it’s that thing people do where you lie on a beach or soak up some mesmerising antiquity.

I need more practice, I’m just not very good at holidays yet. Maybe I’ll add that my annual appraisal: Personal Learning Need #1  To improve my holiday skills. Can I go on a course? Is there a manual?

It’s very still tonight, not a single leaf moving out there. Like the tense bit when you daren’t move at the  moment just before a row begins. Cobweb the Cat is snuggled up to me – too hot. Too hot for chocolate.

The solar lamp blinks on early as the light level drops. Suki joins us on the bed but at a respectful distance. I have never spat at her but Cobweb’s manners are atrocious. Time for bed, curtains open, hoping to see lightening again. The crack in the sky where the light gets in.

funny day to start

Wondered about doing this for years. Now when I don’t have a useful thought in my head, it arrives via an aporic route involving a crazy German, a thoughtful transgender woman and an irritating site which won’t let me comment without registering.

So here I am, registered.

After working on mind emptying for years, I’m finding empty mind a little uncomfortable…guess it’s not empty, just down to the nasty dregs at the bottom.

Two boys sing and play music nearby, cat sleeps on my bed salivating on a hospital appointment letter. I feel more tied down but lacking the mental muscle to break the bonds I’ve helped to weave and wrap around myself. Even the weather reflects the oppressed mood of the day – it’s grey, humid, headachy. Outside, the trees sway just a little as if they can’t be bothered either.

Left-overs curried up for tea. The chainsaw broke so I haven’t been able to saw all the wood as I’d planned. Dreary way to spend a holiday? – No!  It’s a great alternative to sitting waiting for hours in a sweaty airport:  stay home, do useful jobs and watch the woodpile grow, ready for the winter.

Perhaps the blog will turn out to be a Mrs Miniver for the present day – though she was rather brave and unassuming, which I’m not.