Hammock of Hands

10th July 2011 Sunday

This morning I waved my husband goodbye at the front door - setting off for to his last Money Workshop in Totnes. At least he had a dear friend by his side who said she would be his guardian angel for the day. I felt so touched by her offer, her thoughtfulness, her kindness.

Now my ankles are swollen and my neck is stiff. I’ve been sitting at my desk most of the day at the computer, writing letters, editing my photos. Except for a little while when I cut the grass - mowing down the new rash of purple clover and tall daisies which have colonised the lawn in the last few weeks. And I did stop for a bowl of rice salad and half an avocado pear at lunchtime.

But I also feel expanded, buoyed up by an ever growing hammock of hands holding me up with such an exquisite tenderness that it makes me cry. Every day someone phones me, sends me an email, a card, a text, a letter, saying ‘thinking of you.’ And I feel a novice in this thing - receiving - instead of my familiar giving. Coming to the table empty handed and still being fed, still being loved.

When my husband comes home, weary from giving, we sit in late sunshine in the kitchen with a bottle of cold white wine and seven steaming globe artichokes in a bowl between us. We strip the spikey leaves, one by one, from the stem and dip their sweet nubs into garlic mayonnaise curdled with lemon oil. And swop the details of our different days.

Then I think how maybe giving and receiving are the same thing - at least they have the same source - a whole heart - and a little willingness.