Inside out...

I’m not the most outgoing person in the world. A bit of an introvert.

Introverts prefer talking one on one although sometimes they’ll also get joy from attending a function. But perhaps they won’t stay long because the act of socialising can be infinitely tiring. They soak up atmosphere like a dry sponge in the bath, becoming waterlogged swiftly. And then they need to be left to dripdry in the sun…

I needed to do exactly that this week, after socialising. It doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy my time at a function but it’s just the way of it.

I often look back at what I might have said when I’m socialising – second-guessing myself, pathetically self-examining. Thus I was rather surprised when I realised I’d admitted to a new acquaintance that I’m a writer.

I rarely do this because it’s been my experience that few people understand a writer’s life nor have any interest in the writer unless they’ve been published by one of the Big Five publishing houses and are famous. I haven’t and I’m not, which is why I rarely mention being a writer. Despite that there are 14+ books out there in Bookland.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m proud of my list and that the books have won awards (see this About page) But by and large, Prue Batten Writer is not me, not the person I am in real life. Just an outer veneer. Although the more I write essays for Substack, the more I can see little bits of Inside creeping forth.

So My Time today is Inside Out, time where life seems to bud and blossom despite the angst chewing the world apart.

*This week, Huey has thrown everything at us. We’ve had thundering rain (thank the stars our spoutings are clear), gale-force winds (the paths and lawns have been covered in snow from the Viburnums, and what flowers existed in the gardens are almost gone) and there’s been a polar blast that froze my fingertips off as the Terrier and I walked.

The spring garden is no more – slowly morphing into the summer garden – just shades of green with terracotta tubs here and there stuffed with white petunias and white lobelia which if I’m lucky, the beasties don’t devour. Over the last three weeks, I’ve planted 36 white cosmos in the windbreak garden and tubs of white petunias and lobelia and every week, the plague of rabbits has eaten them off - even with wire over the top! I want to let the Terrier loose but I can’t abide the bloodshed, so I gnash my teeth and give up on the tubs of summer white.

*Ballet. Repetition. Repetition and more repetition. Our teacher, Catharine, has such innate understanding of the demands of our older bodies, and structures our classes accordingly - not just physical stretches but brain stretches. And laughing, so much laughing. I suspect we would do a class every day if we could.

*Iontophoresis as the injuries keep on keeping on. (Older bodies…)

*I buy a better class of hat from the Cancer Council. I’ve already lost 1/3 of my right ear to invasive cancer last year and stitches on my back this year, scars on my face and a hefty double scar from a squamous cell carcinoma x2 on my left thigh. Thus its hats, long sleeves and lotions. I’ve even bought a swimsuit with a full back and short-sleeves, just like a leotard, because if summer and seawater are my happy places, I need to be covered.

*A stunning walk with the Terrier.

Hughy bestows a lapiz lazuli day with a seabreeze that fizzes with smells of the ocean. I wear shorts (and Factor 50 sun-protection lotion), forget the dog is with me, and just wade in the waves, thinking 12^th century scenarios in my head.

There are gelatinous sprays of squid eggs washed up on the wind-buffed beach, but not much else. No shells nor contorted driftwood and no plastics. Bonus!!!!

The Terrier, inexplicably, is good. Spending time sniffing the seabreeze. What does he smell? Dolphins? Whales? Crabs and crayfish? Seabirds? Maybe New Zealand, which is over the water. His calm mindfulness is awesome as he tips his head up, his nose actively sucking the scents of the sea right in. It’s his Shipping News…

I wonder if his equanimity is the product of his CBD Oil. Maybe I should have some. It’d stand me in good stead over the next week or so.

*Our family is being tested by health just now. We’re holding our collective breaths.

*Reading:

1. The Echo of old Books. I can’t remember how I found this book and I’m surprised when some of the reviews call it a romance. I see it as a family saga. It is by turns poignant, infuriating and exhausting and whilst I’m only just over halfway, it’s a book I’m thoroughly enjoying and want to hurry to bed to read on.

2. I’m a lifelong Jilly Cooper fan and when I read this, I was cockahoop. I’ve got everything she’s ever written and crave her acid wit and her belly-laughing double entrendres. No one tells it like Cooper – can’t wait! Not for those who want intellectual content, but definitely for those who want to laugh at life and Heaven’s knows we need to do that, just now.

3. An online rural Australian newsy-letter, Galah, with lots of interesting links. I’ve not subscribed to the mag. Yet to be convinced, especially with so much that is perfection on Substack.

4. Mike Sowden who has begun a series where he looks at islands from every angle. I’ve been waiting for this as I am an islander to my soul.

How The Modern World Lost & Found Its Newest Continent

5. Substack with Stella. I dare anyone not to crave her head massage, nor not to love the poem, nor not to be touched by the emotive statement on caregiving. In addition, I fell in love with Stella’s collage.

October Medley

5. From my cover designer and friend Jane Dixon Smith’s cookbook, I made Ginger Crunch.

And can imagine it having it out on the boat, the gingery taste fresh as we have tea and the water plays music on the starboard and larboard sides of the vessel. It is buttery, gingery and very yum!

I also found a recipe online for camomile and ginger icypoles. Apparently, they’re good for sore throats, but I think they’d just be beautifully refreshing on a warm day. I need to find an icypole mold. (I think the rest of the world might call them popsicles…)

Watching:

1.     Right up front, I’ll admit to being a fan of SAS Australia. I wish I had half the courage and strength that those men and women have as they go through a kind of SAS selection, confronting their demons. More than anything, I really enjoy the way Ant Middleton spells out the need to take fear by the short and curlies, and use it to motivate oneself. How not to listen to those inner voices. I need him shouting ‘MOOOVE!’ to me over the next week or so. And yes, I do know his tumultuous history.

2.     Further, I’ll admit to really enjoying Beckham on Netflix. He and Posh have never been on my radar but this shows them in such an interesting and kind light. Is it the real Them? Football aside (and my God, what a player!) is he really so very humble, so lacking in ego, so highly respected by his peers, so loving, so clean, so tidy? Is she really so approachable? Does she really love him so much? I hope they are what they appear to be because there’s always that smidge of doubt from an on-screen presentation. Don’t you think?

I’m a late comer to football (soccer) and prefer it a quazillion times to Aussie Rules Football (thank you, Matildas!), so to see those bending Beckham shots. Wow!

3.     Macdonald and Dodds. Britbox. Such a polished series and not at all nerve-wracking.

4.     All Creatures. Britbox. Still weepy when I hear the theme.

5.     Old People’s Home for Teenagers. Brilliant. Makes husband and self think hard about our lives as we age. And how vulnerable our teenagers are. More weeping, but such food for thought.

6.     And on November 1^st, World Ballet Day with intimate views of a ‘Day In the Life Of…’ dozens of different world companies as they show their daily routines via You Tube. What muscle, what feet, what interpretation, what dedication, what grace!

7. Delighted too, that the 8th series of The Great British Sewing Bee is on Britbox. I used to make my own clothes, I’m the daughter of a brilliant seamstress (nothing less than intricate Vogue Couturier patterns) and being an embroiderer, the show’s made for me.

***

What I’m not watching is the news footage from Gaza. Simply because that too makes me weep. And it makes me angry and anger has no place in my life.

Or does it?

I so wish the World would pick up a history book and look back. Or even look in the mirror and tell me that it likes what it sees. So yes, I’m angry, despairing and defeated by turns and it does my five year old grandson no favours as I endeavour to make his time with me something to give not just moral fortitude but equanimity and kindness. And fun.

Love goes a long way. His words: ‘I just give love to everyone, Nanny.’

Anyway, that’s it from me. From Inside Out.

And what sort of music?

Oh I don’t know. Maybe A Day in the Life of a Fool?