Change...

... for Knots in the String.

Change disturbs me. Perhaps it’s an age thing – the older we get the more familiarity needs to be an anchor in our lives. When I was younger, I was happy to travel solo, to explore the unfamiliar, to wander along Thai streets or Roman alleys. Places where I would have to pick a landmark and note corners and street names to retrace my steps. How was it that I was happy to find my way to a Florentine train station and thence to whichever train might take me to Innsbruck, Vienna or Munich? Unfamiliarity and change every few days. I revelled in the independence and freedom.

Now, if there are roadworks and I have to negotiate a different route in my car, I groan and whinge like the old person I am. But the bigger changes – the global changes – I ponder them and negotiate a plan that will keep me grounded enough to give hope to those who surround me. My family see me pursuing as close to a normal day as I can manage and I hope that their hackles can flatten and they can go about their own lives with a modicum of confidence that thus far their world is reasonably okay.

I read this

Should I Be Doing Something about This?

and find that Tara exists in the same way and so I feel validated. (And through Inner Life, I discover the rich, layered writing of Mary Tabor – haunting and coloured.)

I’m aware that I am changing. I find I need the wheels of my mind to be greased with prose like Mary’s or Tara’s, like Elizabeth’s.

And despite that I abhor all change, my life has now changed irredeemably with the introduction of The Uncarved Block into our lives. ‘The uncarved block is a symbol in Taoist philosophy that represents a state of pure potential and simplicity. It's also known as pu, a Chinese word that literally means "uncut wood".’ Google.

My life was so simple. Walks when I wanted, swims when I wanted, gardening, cooking, writing. Time to be mindful, to meditate, to appreciate who and what surrounds me.

Ha! A dream of a life back in the day!

My return to ballet class after the summer has been delayed because Puppy School days and ballet days don’t align. So I practice pliés and tendus on the porch (the pup tries to grab my toes in the tendus. It can be painful…) and some port de bras, just to keep the mind-body continuum flowing a little. Perhaps Tai Chi would be better.

I have more facial lines than last year and suspect that the loss of our Beloved Terrier and the arrival of the Uncarved Block have incised their stories. My appendages have wrinkles as well – a horrible sight. I understand now why old women wear long sleeves and pants. But there is something in me that rebels at that change, (pretence is a great thing) and so in our (v.hot) summer, I continue to wear short sleeves and shorts. But feel in need of a badge that screams to the naysayers: ‘Yes. Wrinkles. Septuagenarian here. Deal with it!’

And here’s another change. In summer, I used to wear quality shorts, T’s and polos, a good belt, nice shoes. But now the clothes are pup-worn (the little blighter put two holes in my Lulu Lemon leggings the other day!) and my shoes are dilapidated and tired. And every morning, the moment I’m dressed, I strap on a pouch! A pouch!!! A treat pouch – my new fashion attire in fetching black canvas and mesh. Smelling not of Chanel Number 5, but of chicken and liver treats. And my neck is sore from constantly looking down at The Block, and this after nine years of ballet classes which managed to add an inch to my height, get rid of a drooping chin and actually give me a neck which I never had before! Yes, I know - vanity is the downfall of many…

The weather changes. In view of the 30’s of this week, the pup and I mulch the whole garden with lucerne hay and then water it down. The pup hangs off my thick red garden gloves. Is it the colour? Or has he become the adolescent the instructor warned us about? Surely not. He’s three months old and that doesn’t happen until about five months. Maybe it’s just teething. Which stops at about five months and one swaps it for the next change - the teenage years. Lordy! No wins here for the parents!

In any case, he has also discovered a hatred of the wheelbarrow wheel. I work with him all morning and am at breakdown point by lunch (my breakdown, not his. He has a second wind and is firing from all guns!). Time out. Then I begin again with new determination. The Block has had a sleep and lunch and suddenly he is WonderPup. Walking alongside, not grabbing my gloves. With each check-in moment when he looks at me, I reward the moment with treats from the pouch. Yesssss!

Facebook and I separated (another change) but I log in daily to make sure I haven’t missed Puppy School or Ballet School bulletins. In so doing, I’m noticing a quiet rebellion on social media – a massive change! Seeing posts from many friends.

Suddenly posts appear on my timeline with definitive black and white commentary, becoming stronger by the day. Writers I admire: Simon Turney, Ben Kane, Mary Tod, Paul Bennett, and many others are shouting for compassion, freedom, law and order. Begging that the US Constitution by rescued by those who care for democracy. Will this groundswell change? Become a tsunami? Or will it transpose to a mere gentle ripple in a large pond? It seems to me, an outsider, that there is a strong resistance forming, culminating in a call to action in the States, to rebel on a certain day in February (if I could find the link, I would share it). All those who believe in global democracy surely need to take a stand when something as important as people’s lives are at stake. Would I do it if it was Australian democracy at stake? Undeniably. I value freedom and compassion for all.

But let’s move from hypertension to peace…

This week, the Block moved from purdah to open spaces. We walk now. Of course it’s a different pace to the past with My Terrier, but it’s a change, a move forward, positive, freedom in the simplest sense. So as I walk with him along a little bush track to the beach, we smell the earthy odour of damp sand and pine needles, feel the waft of mizzle, I see it bead on his fur. I watch him sniff the sea from amongst the pines, then his tiny footsteps hasten and he canters in front of me as we head onto the white sandy foreshore where the sea is grey, storm-tossed and loud. He stands with his puppy hair streaming back like pennoncels in the warm wind and I realise we have achieved mindfulness. Both of us. Another change…

Music for this week? How could it not be?