Not United Nations

24th October 2011 Monday

I’ve had a horrible day. Anxious, cross, tearful and sad.

When I arrive at my father’s to take him to his hearing aid appointment he’s still having breakfast and I can tell he’s not right. He says he’s zonked out. I'm worried it’s his heart. Later I sit in an audience of eight people in a big empty church on United Nations Day and listen to him talking about the Prayer for Peace - off the cuff for nearly forty minutes - no notes - about his own peace journeys. We have egg sandwiches and sausage rolls and tea in the refectory afterwards while the rain slashes down on the Peace Pole outside. He can hardly make it back up the stairs to his room.

The kitchen reeks of vinegar - I smell it the second I put my key in the door this afternoon. My husband is making green tomatillo chutney. A lot of it - four saucepans boiling on the hob. We argue about it - too much vinegar which will never evaporate without burning - I am unreasonable and unkind. He’s at a loss about what to do.

It’s 8pm when I come back from my first yoga class - where I’m shocked at the loss of strength in my legs, where the pain in my right wrist means I can’t do a downward dog any more - the chutney is still simmering gloopily - not getting any thicker. When he asks what should he do I say I want to hurl it onto the compost heap. In the end I strain off most of the liquid and cook it some more. The pans are all burnt black at the bottom. He spoons it in to hot jars. He says it tastes wonderful. If you like that much chilli in your chutney.

I can see that I need to say my own prayers for peace. How can there ever be peace between nations when there is war between two people at home...

Tonight I’m dedicating this piece to my sweet niece who taught me to blog. In my life she is a rose poem to love and truth and shining beauty.