Pffft!...

... for Knots in the String.

Sometimes, all our plans, maybe even our dreams, can get squashed in the minutiae of life, drowned in a flood of ‘must do’s’.

It’s true. We might crave to do something but oh wait! There’s the dentist’s, the doctor’s and I need to food-shop, the car needs petrol, the garden needs weeding and the washing must be hung out to dry. I need new runners but should I really spend the money? In a few hours, a dream can disappear amongst the extranea… pffft! That walk Outdoors, or a dance around the garden is wasted because the garbage needed to be taken out.

I remember the philosophy of ichigo ichie and as with ikigai, wonder how the Japanese always manage to get it right. There’s a book about Ichigo ichie and the blurb sums up the philosophy neatly.

“Every moment in our life happens only once, and if we let it slip away, we lose it forever--an idea captured by the Japanese phrase ichigo ichie. Often spoken in Japan when greeting someone or saying goodbye, to convey that the encounter is unique and special, it is a tenet of Zen Buddhism and is attributed to a sixteenth-century master of the Japanese tea ceremony, or 'ceremony of attention', whose intricate rituals compel us to focus on the present moment.” Hector Garcia and Francesc Miralles from The Book of Ichigo Ichie.

So I wonder what moments I’ve pursued simply because I might never have another chance. Perhaps the biggest has been writing. Writing has been chocolate to my craving. Sixteen years ago, I debated following an indie path for a novel that had been favourably received by a literary consultancy in London. There were many detractors in the mainstream publishing world in respect of the indie way, and in fact I was verbally attacked by an agent for being stupid enough to even think about it, most likely ruining my career. But I was heading rapidly to my 60^th birthday, and frankly I had no time to wait. This was a moment in my life which might ‘slip away’ and I could ‘lose it forever’.

Ultimately publication took me to people, places and experiences untold and I’m forever grateful. Words to be recorded and pages to be turned.

And ballet... I had done ballet as a child and later as a university student. As a child I was called The Fairy Elephant by my R.A.D teacher – off-putting one would think, but I never lost my love of the artform, even though I left classes and moved on.

As a university student, I returned to classes for the exercise. Could I then as a senior find a similar opportunity? Remembering that ‘Every moment in our life happens only once, and if we let it slip away, we lose it forever.’

Of course I could return to dancing, if I wanted to take advantage of the moment. Do it now while I could because I was approaching a 70^th birthday and who knew what might be around the corner. The story has been told elsewhere on Knots in the String but let me say that every Tuesday, I walk into the studio, slip on my ballet shoes, feel the sprung floor beneath my feet, walk to the barre and begin the routine under expert instruction with beautiful music and as with time in the garden or on the beach or in the bush, problems just melt away.

This week, as I positioned my arms in second, I could see my right elbow needed lifting and that yes, I was lifting my right shoulder in consequence. I needed to think of a drop of water rolling over my shoulder and running around the curve of my arm in a perfect line to fall from my extended fingertip. I needed to remember too, the words taught to me by my late friend, David, who trained in Adelaide with Madame Semberova: ‘Breathe through backside’ (in David speak – arse!) and ‘Stand with string to heaven from top of head’.

(A bit of fun at the end of practice. We’re a reduced number currently as some are away on holiday, visiting family, injury… Normally there’s about 9-10 of us, with numbers occasionally higher.)

To be honest, this week my footwork was like the tentacles of a jellyfish. Floating everywhere but where they should. My pas de bourrée pique needs a lot of fine tuning. Probably the pas de bourée needs it too. Maybe even the whole routine!

Reading:

Just finished the audiobook Maggie Smith, a Biography by Michael Coveney. I’ve found it dry, sometimes heavy going, revealing little of the woman, but she chooses to live a very private life and I admire her for that. I’m a devoted fan and wish I’d seen some of the many theatre roles she has pursued.

In print, I’m enjoying the biography of Charles III by Robert Hardman. Deferential and honest. Likeable.

On Kindle, I’ve just finished Antoine Laurain’s French Windows. Stellar!

Watching:

We’re into Series Three of Wilder. Filling time until the ParaOlympics begin. However… we’ve watched two extremely satisfying productions. Grand Designs UK Series 21 with Kevin McLeod - beautiful homes sunk deep in undamaged woodland. And from Australia, The Assembly where a group of neuro-divergent student journalists interview notable people. Poignant, deep-thinking, blazingly honest. I’m in awe and have such huge respect for these students and I’ve learned so much about autism. It’s a must watch.

I’m glad I’m at the cottage. As I make up the last of the frozen cherry plums into jam, and the last of the stored apples into chutney, the cherry plum tree is awash with blossom. It’s like a drift of snow-white tulle and the bees are frenetic. The almonds, the nectarine and the quince are in blossom and the two massive whomping willows and the horse chestnut are bursting into leaf. And yet, the weather bureau still maintains spring is ten days away. Cripes, in our gardens and in the bush, it’s been spring since the beginning of August!

This week, the Terrier and I sat on the beach watching a pod of dolphins leap back and forth with such joyous freedom! That’s the wonderful thing about this time of year. The boaties all bugger off and wildlife, avian and marine, returns to our bay for a few months. I walk with respectful care so as not to disturb. After all it is their territory not mine…

The Welcome Swallows arrive, flipping and flirting along the shoreline. Absent through the late autumn and winter, they are more than welcome. A sign that the seasons pass in comforting regularity. Such inevitability in a country year creates hope. Spring is here and the whole cycle begins again.

I pick the first bouquet of freesias and the scent drifts from the bedroom. This is a rustic, eccentric coastal cottage and instead of posh vases, I have bottles. Apart from the fact that I love Saint Dalfour marmalade, the empty bottle fits the whippy stems of the flowers so that the flowerheads can sit naturally.

I make the most of spring, the extraordinary way it touches the senses and the soul. And as spring arrives early with the Welcome Swallows, I have to take advantage of the blooms and the scents, otherwise in a matter of moments, the blink of an eye, it will all be over.

Like I say – Pffft! All gone, so never waste a second…

Song for this week?