Moving the goalposts

for Knots in the String...

The feeling of ‘what can I do’ can be overwhelming at the moment, can’t it?

I told my family to donate to trustworthy causes and to keep believing in the value of freedom whilst remembering that others are not as fortunate. But I also suggested they move their goal posts in close. To be thankful for their own little sphere at the bottom of the world. To take joy in the small things, to walk outside their doors and breathe deep.

Sometimes that’s all we can do – define our own safe and reasonable space.

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We travelled in the boat to a beautiful spot 25 minutes from home the other day. Once, we used to go to there and we would be the only boat, the only people. We would hear the bush birds, the seabirds, and the lap of the water against the hull. Now, whilst we can still hear the roar of the ocean across the isthmus, we can also hear the somewhat suburban sound of people shouting, laughing, bottles clinking. There’s the burble of boat motors and the rattle of anchor chains, but then we’re lucky that enjoyment still features in our lives compared to what others are experiencing. There’s that to be said…

We took our grandson ashore, the tide was low and he played in the warm, sandy tidal pools, pushing the ubiquitous yellow truck here and there. We walked across the sandy isthmus, seeing the pronged tracks of wallabies, the pigeon-toed, square-pooed evidence of wombats, the wonderful roar of mild (not wild) surf breaking in an arc around what is to me, the most beautiful beach on the whole of my island state. It’s not that I would want to swim in the surf (we know I can’t), but the scope of that arc, of the aqua water beyond the white beach, of the rocky, timbered arms of the bay that reach to encircle, and primarily the lack of tourists is manna from heaven in my view.

I found a hole close in where calf-deep ocean became shoulder deep in an instant and I was able to dunk down into rime-laced water – the sting of salt in the eyes, the brilliantly sharp flavour of the sea on the tongue. But I chose to actually swim on the leeward side where the boat was moored and where it was calm and smooth and more in keeping with my age-ing body.

Back on the boat, I was towelling off and my son, who was walking back out to the vessel, noticed what he thought was a skate. It described a graceful circle and glided toward the boat to lie in the shadow of the motor – a dark brown and sand-coloured creature which then swam away as my son reached the ladder onto the duckboard, its tail sweeping in that languorous shark-like way. ‘Not a skate,’ he said. ‘A Banjo Shark.’ That was a new one, I’d not heard of it before, also known as a fiddler ray – so elegant and unconcerned in its movement.

I love our boat trips. If we’re supremely lucky (and it’s becoming rarer with marine holiday traffic), we can see the trifecta all in one day. A pod of dolphins playing in our bow wave. They’ve been known to bring me to tears with their playful trust, letting our hands glide over their backs as they arch at the side of the boat, turning sideways to look with an amused glint in the eye. A gliding Sea Eagle (my spirit bird) – a sign of good fortune I whisper to myself.

And finally, the sheer beauty of a Shy Albatross who must surely take hours every day to manufacture that eye-makeup!

However, this trip, we saw none.

But that’s okay. One weekday soon, OH and self will venture out when it’s calm and blue, when the Mercury Passage is deserted, and then we’ll meet with the Wild Ones. These days, I cherish every such encounter and store it in the memory banks for later.

I’m big on such deposits!

Bookshelves:

Limited as I’m so tired I fall asleep within minutes of head on the pillow. But on Kindle, James Conroy Martin’s Book Two of The Poland Trilogy.

Set in the Napoleonic Wars and one draws contemporary parallels as men across Europe are slaughtered for one man’s mad dream. A good writer with strong characterisation and settings.

In print, Juliet Marillier’s most excellent bard-like hist.fantasy – Song of Flight.

And still on audio The Ruin by Dervla McTiernan.  I’m not a crime reader but this is a very well written book.

Screen time:

Escapism. Coastal Walks of the UK with Kate Humble. Beautiful.

Queer Eye – kind, funny and absolutely ‘Gorge!’

For a more mentally challenging view…

Alone – Mongolia. If only I was so intrepid.

SAS Australia. Ye gods, I can’t even ride in a helicopter without giving my husband Chinese burns.

Wisting. Black as oak gall ink. Nordic Noir of the most polished kind.

Boredom Blockers:

Stitching. Hearts in felt and silk thread, glasses case in silk thread, and a crewelwork auricula in delicious Appletons wools.

Gardening. A ute load of summer growth, revealing little cyclamen and a fledgling autumn flowering clematis.

Cooking. A sinful chocolate Ottolenghi biscuit cake just because.

And my own writing.

I don’t talk about my writing much – there’s many who are more eloquent, more successful. But I had such a lovely experience at ballet class today. One of my fellow dancers had bought my book Passage, my first and thus far only foray into contemporary fiction. She had kept the original purchase a secret until late last year and I was so chuffed when I received an email from her via my website.

This time, she’d purchased it for a family relative whose husband is seriously ill. I asked if Passage was the right book for her to read just now and my friend said, ‘But she’s already read it, loved it and wanted her own copy.’ And I was so warmed, as if that response made it all worthwhile.

I was asked to sign the book which is also a rather nice thing to do as my books are mostly sold O/S, with no signings at all. So I headed home, clad in leotard and leggings and feeling content.

If you want, you can read a little of the inspiration for the novel here.

Good too, that a very important reference book arrived in the mail – seriously secondhand but filled with translated gems of letters, documents, invoices, legal and theological orders from trade in the medieval era – which for the last seven books has been my timeframe of interest.

So you see my goalposts are close, positively Lilliputian really, but it’s a coping skill in dire times and worth the downsizing.

Thank you for reading to the end. I hope it unknotted tensions and straightened out crimped muscles. I value your company, your subscription and am happy for you to share to whomever.

Cheers chaps, and talk soon…