Siren Call

4th December 2012 Tuesday

I’m not really home yet. Part of me is still lodged in last week, walking along the sea shore with my dear sisters, hard cold sand under my soles, waves slushing in my ears, seagulls ripping through a cornflower blue sky above me, anticipating the salty, smokey golden bream I’m going to eat on the terrace of our favourite beach cafe, with the sun freckling my arms. In a place where I know how to be happy.

And home isn’t how I left it. No dear pussy cat to love and take care of and agonise over.  Leaving a huge pulsing space in my heart and in my kitchen and in the hours of my days.

I’m wondering what will wash up on the tide and fill that cave.  If I let it, probably just more of too-much-stuff-to-do. But I can also feel the tug of my husband’s need like a siren call from the future  - threatening a shipwreck in my reclaimed seascape...

I wasn’t going to blog tonight - feel I’ve lost the point of it. I’ve been reading Susannah Conway’s moving and inspiring book ‘This I Know’ - Notes On Unraveling The Heart’. I want to do her e-course about blogging. Her tips are to write what you care about, be honest, and don’t try and be wise. Her courses are so popular - her last one was fully booked up in ten minutes so don’t know if I’ll get on....

Now I can hear the rain directly above me, pounding on the sloping attic roof over my desk and the sound of my husband coughing in the bath. The smell of hot mincemeat shortbread I baked earlier is still lingering on the stairs. I keep thinking I can hear the pussy cat squeaking in the kitchen - calling to me, needing me.....