Sometimes life’s filled with stuff. Stuff we don’t want, stuff we don’t need. I don’t just mean possessions. I mean… ‘stuff’! ‘Matter, material, articles, or activities of a specified or indeterminate kind that are being referred to, indicated, or implied.’ (OED)
I suppose it’s actually one of those ambiguous words that can be used to designate a vast number of things without having to be too specific. How very 21st century where nothing is at all particular.
In the case of my week, stuff means a melange of threads that are tangled and knotted and making life a tad difficult (see further down…).
But also, in that serendipitous way that life sometimes has, just as I start thinking about stuff complicating my life, so various blog and Substack writers have talked about what complicates theirs.
They’ve talked of downsizing houses, of decluttering, of clearing out their parents’ homes of a generation of stuff, of retreating from the stuff out there that threatens to overwhelm them. Of finding the meaning of life in a future where they don’t drown in stuff from media of all kinds, from influencers, maybe even family, friends and neighbours.
And some just say what’s stuff anyway?
But in the spooky way of all things serendipitous, this little quote below popped up in my Pinterest feed as I finished up a day of reading about stuff and I felt that yes, that’s truly all that really matters in the end.
Not stuff but memories.
Our ability to experience and store memories is infinite and we can take them anywhere. Not so with stuff, which has a finite space and often, a finite life.
Besides, isn’t the word memory lovely and redolent, compared to the disreputable word, stuff? Say each one after the other and you’ll see.
My time:
*Coping with an exacerbated injury – now that’s really murky stuff!
I may have mentioned that I became tangled in my dog’s lead, just as my gluteal tendons and damaged sesamoid were almost healed. I was flipped onto the ground, he took off after a ball in the garden, dragging my right leg with him and doing a bit of tearing and straining in the process. Sadly, the glutes aren’t really improving, and whilst when I first leap (step gingerly) from the bed in the morning and can manage a half day almost pain free, by early afternoon it’s pretty ordinary. I’m not one for pain killers, instead relying on anti-inflammatory creams, heatpacks, icepacks and a super-duper little TENS machine that has become part of my body structure.
*In amongst the ouches and oofs, I’ve limped with the Terrier along country bush roads, coastal beaches and flat city footpaths listening to birdcall, allowing the pull and suck of wavelets to ease my distrait and in the case of the city, peaked over low fences at gardens and houses.
*I went to ballet and waved my arms around for port de bras, with a few one-sided tendues and frappés. Disappointing! If you know me at all, you’ll know how I live for my ballet class.
*My husband spotted a size discrepancy in one of the squares containing diamonds in the tapestry #KinselBag. I unpicked it because it offended me, remembering that it was the first square I stitched (and I’m never any good at counting anyway!).
*I’m still trying to find comfy shoes and on the advice of #CindyHattersley, have purchased red sneakers from Cariuma that might help with the above disabilities.
My feet can’t wait till they arrive. And whilst it is more stuff, in the spirit of de-stuffing, I’ll get rid of all the other shoes that don’t help my feet.
Reading:
Gyles Brandreth as mentioned in previous weeks. I manage a chapter a night when in the city.
On Kindle for the rest, I’m rereading Reliquary. I need to make notes and bring myself slowly back into the 12th century.
Also my favourite Substack this week was
I always find Jo’s thoughts so inspirational and LOVE her Instagram account 11/10! On my list of things to learn before my designated number of summers come to an end (see Jo’s Substack) is how to take pics and do reels like Lady Jo.
Watching:
Aftertaste on Netflix.
A brilliant bit of comedy from Australia, EP-ed by Rachel Griffiths and featuring some stellar talent. Binged episodes, laughed and was hooked with strong screenplay and acting from the get-go. Looking forward to Series Two. It has echoes of 800 Words of which we were huge fans and also the idiosyncratic and delightful Sea Change.
Listening:
Music to do stuff by. In my case, my default is always the Real Coastal Grandmother’s playlist on Spotify.
Or else listening to Jonathan Keeble’s excellent narration of Book Two of Doherty’s and Turney’s collaboration entitled Masters of Rome.
I’ve never been invested in Roman history. I failed Ancient Civs in first year uni through total lack of interest, swapping to law subjects away from crusty Greece and Rome. But Turney and Doherty have brought the whole world of early 300 AD Rome to life in such a brilliant way that I wonder, did I miss out as a 17 year old uni student?
I don’t think so because the die was cast with my medieval history lecturer. In finding the Middle Ages, I found my metier and it’s been that way ever since.
***
That said, I’m writing the last bit of a fantasy, The Red Thread.
I was so busy writing today that I forgot to publish this newsletter so here it is!
I’m at the epilogue of the novel. After that there’s Author’s Notes, then a lengthy and very quiet read and edit. Then it heads to my editor in the UK for the full Monty – the tough structural edit.
While I’m waiting for it to return, no doubt heftily marked in red, I’ll take time out to do other stuff – prepare for the next book (a 12th century hist.fict – back to my metier), maybe a few winter swims, even a kayak so that I collect memories rather than stuff.
It’s tantalising to look at books that are beautiful coffee table editions, miniature art pieces that it would be so easy to collect, artworks ( I love printworks from Tasmanian artists) to admire and buy, striped Cornishware, memorabilia, – whatever! But I must not - its stuff, not memories!
Let it be said though, that the #KinselBag is being stitched from woolen thread remnants, ubiquitously called stash but which could just as easily be called stuff. But at least I’m using it up!
You see, when I cast my mortal coil, I don’t want my kids to have to fill dumpsters with stuff. I want them to find a clean house, tidy gardens, minimal wardrobe, organised paperwork and a few special things that brought me joy in my lifetime.
Because…
The song this week?
Boy, does this resonate! Both my husband and I have our sentimental side, which means we hold onto things that we probably ought to let go. But, we also prefer a tidy space. Finding balance isn't easy. I need a week off work to really dig in on a few de-cluttering projects. In the absence of that, I just look the other way.
I do hope your injuries reconcile enough to allow you to continue to enjoy your favorite activities. Pain is no joke, and inactivity can be so demoralizing! Hopefully swimming will always be accessible. I know its in your Tasmanian blood, but your willingness to jump into cold water impresses the hell out of me!
Oh thankyou lady- I have to work out how to navigate this space better - I cant do the space thing very well as the cottage we are in is tiny! But how lovely is it to read your words. I must make more time to sit and read this….