In the absence of an advent calendar, this year, I gifted myself 24 words for each of the 24 days that run up to Christmas. I won’t deny I missed the chocolate, but I also enjoyed the appreciation of one particular moment in each day.
Head resting on my thigh, her contented breath whistles its tune. I stop tickling for a moment, and she wriggles, impatiently, into a corkscrew.
Finding myself wrapped in strong man-hands, with hips kindly held as they open, and shoulders softening into wings, I breathe. An indulgent yoga adjustment.
In a boutique hut, that served drizzled beetroot, they laughed into their chic bench as she whispered; “So, they’ve mastered salad, but… the biscuits?”
She’s named her son Solomon; is that enough, I wonder. To know a Solomon exists, born around the time I might have had mine.
As I cut squiffy hearts from thick gold card, not one that I craft is symmetrical. Perhaps love always wavers, falling a little one-sided.
The orange walls, richly coloured furniture and rainbow of flavours at Mr B’s ice cream tasting was hosted by Char, dressed simply in black.
Omelia sips at her frothy babycino as Dad pledges ambitious resolutions. Give up cake for 2015? As if I’ll let that happen, she chuckles.
A day of disconnection. Three empty articles fought with coffee, an hour of automatic writing, heavy sighs. I’m sorry for shouting at you, darlin’.
What possible good can emerge from a twenty mile drive to an empty two hour brainstorm? Lunch! Diamond idea, I’ll treat myself to lunch.
Unusually thick pages, as yet unturned, with tidy corners. A spine that I’m the first to fold. The joy of beginning a new book.
She arrived at class overflowing, with thoughts that stirred up emotions, emotions that crept deep into her muscles. Breathe with them, girl, let go.
Walking along the riverbank, frosty but sheltered from the cutting northerly, Rosie and Ruby confided in each other, the way only close girlfriends do.
I woke up happy, hungry for the day. Everything tasted delicious, from challenging headstands to stagnant traffic, even leaving a party sober, and alone.
The appalling performance was made good with a subsequent visit to the pub. Guinness, apple juice and pink heart-shaped dog biscuits. We left satisfied.
Intention set and outline sketched, she’d planned a morning of productivity. Eyes on the screen, mind in motion, she completed her tasks, and more.
With searing wrist pain, aching shoulder and wobbly knee, it seemed her body had shut itself down. Thankfully, she could still enjoy a coffee.
Body balanced in the water, moving with ease through each stroke. No discomfort in the muscles, no anxious joints, just the usual smarting heart.
Thank you. Thank you for the anger, a high voltage current of rage that’s usurped the sadness. Kapow! I have power to live again.
Let’s take turns driving, share a meal, make plans for togetherness. Let’s hug and laugh and taste each others’ dishes, this year and next.
Two long drives, promises long ago made, so tempting to withdraw. But, unlike before, she was true to her commitments, and richer in heart.
Creatively hungry, or hungrily creative? No matter. Seeded soup simmered and soupy seeds sprouted. A deliciously imaginative day with new shoots of inspired action.
Bodywork, focus, results. I give, I enjoy, I receive. Love walks into my day once, twice, then I lose count and my heart smiles.
I eat porridge wearing my coat, snack on oatcakes through fingerless mitts and enjoy a flapjack snuggled in blankets. Nostalgia for Scotland, I wonder?
Tell me, do dogs adopt the character their name suggests? Frisbie, Storm, Bandit, Sunny. Today I met a Pip, she was a shifty mutt.