Gossamer Mist

2011 23rd May Monday

Too tired to write tonight - I fell asleep watching 'Two Greedy Italians' on iplayer even though I loved it.

So just briefly - a wonderful lunch with 3 gorgeous women - all of us wearing watery blue. In the centre of the table a huge ceramic painted platter of salad leaves, cherry tomatoes and grilled asparagus.....feeling nourished and circled with their care......

A tea party in my father’s room for my 96 year old aunty and my two cousins. One of them, the younger one, has Alzheimer’s disease. Every time she takes a bite of the chocolate brownie I brought with me she says,

Did you make this cake?

Her sister diverts the conversation to their planned holiday in Canada, but I'm gad she likes my cake.

I stop at Sainsbury’s to buy more pussy cat tuna. Not sure what else to give him even though he doesn’t eat half of it.

The second I walk in the door at 6 o’clock I can feel my husband’s depression hanging in the kitchen like a damp gossamer mist . We sit at the table and talk. I want to be understanding and allowing and loving but every time he says I don’t know I feel irritated. The more he slumps in the chair the stiffer my back becomes. I won’t let his pain and despair enter through my wall of briskness. He won’t believe I’ll still love him if he stops ‘being good’.

I can hear the voices of my friends at lunchtime - counselling women’s wisdom. I just can’t remember how to do it - how to give it up - that attachment to being right. But I do know it’s inside me somewhere........if only I would look - beyond the gossamer mist.