Saturday, 7 February 2015

Nesting days

Warm and pretty
My flat feels more like a home now. It is more friendly and welcoming, with splashes of color and clutter. I had a couple of homewares accidents in the Boxing Day sales – a rug for the living room, new sheets, a mug for my morning tea, hand towels with flower designs and some big pillows so I can sit up and read in the comfort of my bed. The rug reminds me of Fair Isle knitting patterns, with rows of twisting complicated patterns. The dark brown, cafĂ© latte and cream colours are an excellent match for the sofa which is brown with cream piping. Last week I found a divine vintage green checked blanket at the local second-hand store. This has quickly taken up residence on my sofa and will serve to keep me warm in the early mornings tapping away at my computer.

Another slice?
I have slowed down enough to be cooking again. As well as the regular meals I have started baking for afternoon teas. I bought a recipe book on country show baking which has all the classics that you find at annual agricultural shows. So far I have made the scones, an orange and poppy seed cake and the French fruit tart. I follow the recipes to a certain point and then I add my own inspiration. I put an orange butter icing on the cake because what is cake without icing and I stewed the fruit for the tart to give depth of flavour.

Fun times
This nesting is helping me to come back to myself. My whole world is not so chaotic anymore. There is a bit more order – to my days, weeks and expectations. It is nearly a year since I got back from overseas and my life has a recognisable and predictable shape. I am back into the rhythm of working. And I am planning things into the future – buying tickets for the cricket and Cirque du Soleil, discussing dates for a visit to see my sister in Sydney and anticipating the release of the program for the French Film Festival.

Plant a seed
I’m still struggling to get back to my writing. I was listening to the radio the other day and they were talking about method acting and how an actor had to reach inside themselves to find a connection to the character and situation in order to be able to play their part. Writing the memoir feels a bit like that too. I have to transport myself back to where I was, what was going on and how I felt about it all. And sometimes I don’t really want to. I don’t always acknowledge that I don’t want to, I simply avoid doing so. I find something else pressing to do instead – watering the plants, cleaning the kitchen, ironing… something to distract me long enough that I lose my train of thought and decide to abandon it for the day.