This pomegranate had fallen from a tree and smashed open on the ground.....we found it on a dirt road walking towards Chimaera in Turkey when we were on holiday there a few years ago...
The garden next door is now a building site. Scaffolding poles reach up to the first floor bay window, a new kitchen extension going up right by our backdoor. The wall between our houses is demolished - the only barrier is a flimsy trail of dangling clematis and a row of three green plastic re-cycling bins.
The place where I stand most often in the kitchen - at the counter - is now in full view thorough the window of men on ladders, men mixing concrete, men unloading bricks. They are nice men though. Older men with cropped grey hair, the main builder wears a neat grey beard and a brown checked shirt of experience. One of them smokes in his break but they don't have Radio One on blaring out music all the time. They just talk between themselves about the build and football and laugh sometimes.
I feel as if they have moved into my kitchen. I'm learning to work around them - find spots where I can stand where they can't see me lick a wooden spoon or break off a square of dark chocolate or give my husband a hug. Not that they are looking really - it's just that they are there - instead of my tangled tumbling screen of clematis giving me the illusion of green protection....
In spite of the builders' presence it's good to potter in the kitchen today stirring up batches of coconut flapjacks and cranberry granola, a pan of sweet green beans and tomatoes and baking garlicky Parmesan crostini for lunch. Familiar recipes I can make without thinking too much...... while inside I'm churning stomach sick with sticky shame thinking about my husband's increasing disinhibition....
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