 |
| 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, café 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.
