29th April Friday 2011
Royal Wedding Day Moments
I crush a Nat Mur homeopathic tablet in a pestle and mortar and slip it into the pussy cat’s breakfast. He eats it all unsuspecting. The vet says he’s an aloof cat who wants affection but doesn’t want to give it. I say he’s a majestic cat, carrying our troubles like a head of state.
I roast white onions and cubes of butternut squash with garlic and sweet balsamic vinegar, toss them with chopped fresh coriander and pile them on top of a thin layer of mustard smeared puff pastry, rolled out in a big baking tray. I burn the top, but it’s savoury cheesy smell fills the car as I drive to friend’s house to watch the royal wedding on her ginormous TV screen with a dear group of lovely women.
We ooh and aah over The Dress and the trees in the Abbey, and the golden coaches and the prancing horses and the Kiss on the balcony. We toast the bride and groom with pink champagne and make our shared lunch into a party.
Later, in a tiny upstairs room in a Dartmoor town, I lie on a high massage table under a blanket, the air smudged with sage smoke, and humming with crystal bowl vibrations. I feel the gentle hands of our pussy cat healer on my back, my neck, my heart.
I feel blessed with more healing from our walk through evening woods with dear friends, the sun a low golden ball suspended above the trees.
Eating our supper on trays, watching highlights of the royal wedding on our small TV, my husband and I argue and fall out, old and new tensions hanging like acrid smoke in the air between us.
Now it's way past midnight and I can hear rain spattering on the window. Time to go to bed, slip in next to my husband, hope he won't wake up when I snuggle my cold feet close to his warm ones.