Ringing the changes
Linda Rushby 11 April 2020
through the turn of the seasons,
promising summer.
Day 11 – Bluebells
Happy Days
A couple of weeks ago, a friend said to me on Twitter: ‘This must be a good time to be alive for people who don’t like to go out’. Which incensed me because what I’d been saying was that I need to make myself go out and interact with people, because otherwise I’m worried that I will close down and disappear inside myself. Anyway, who was he to tell me how I was feeling?
But, strangely enough, I am enjoying life at the moment – well, I know I wasn’t a few days ago, but that was for other reasons. The relief of not having to think: ‘It’s such and such a day, I need to be there by this time and be with them…’ is actually helping me to relax and accept life. My simple routine is starting to sort out my days. I aim to do my half hour of exercise and meditation, feed the cat and let her out, and be at my computer with a cup of coffee by 8 o’clock – it doesn’t always work out that way, but I don’t beat myself up if it doesn’t. No one is expecting me to be anywhere else.
My health is good, my finances comfortable, my freezer full. The sun is shining; I have breakfast outside every morning after I’ve finished my 500 words – sometimes it’s as late as 11, but it doesn’t really matter. Last week there were three times when I connected with people through Facebook, Zoom or Skype: for meditation, tai chi and my weekly session with my psychotherapist. The fixed points of my routine are more frequently dictated by the radio schedules – 1 o’clock on weekdays for the half hour drama serial on 4 extra, and 3 pm every day for an hour of drama on 4 or 4 extra (though I can always catch up online). I’ve had to go out to the shops on four days out of the last seven, but for now I’m fine, until the milk runs out, which will be about Tuesday.
Having reduced housework to the level of: ‘I’m out of clean knickers, better put a load of washing on’, I’ve caught myself once or twice spontaneously tidying up some small area just to make my living space more pleasant, rather than because I’m frantically looking for something vital – yesterday I even started weeding the garden, and found myself enjoying it – I think partly because it’s quite satisfying to be pulling things out, rather than trying to coax them to grow. I crochet and weave – I tried something new in my weaving the other day, which didn’t work out, so had to undo it, but that’s ok because now I can do it again but better. My paper crafting stuff is all over the kitchen table and has been for weeks now – I keep thinking I’ll do something with it. Might even revive the idea of making a book from the haikus I wrote for NaPoWriMo in 2018.
Day 10 – Wallflowers
I am now seriously, seriously pissed off.
While out in the garden weeding, I had an idea for a poem for today which I typed into the laptop so I wouldn’t forget it, then emailed to myself so I could access it from the PC.
When I came to upload it a couple of hours later, the attachment opened in Google docs and I looked at it and thought it was pretty pathetic. Then I had a brainwave of how to change the third line to make it a bit better, but when I tried to edit it, I fell foul of the same problem I described in my post this morning. Then by the time I had opened it in Open Office I had forgotten what I was going to do to improve it.
So, I decided I would just post the original version, and explain all this, which I duly did, typed directly into WordPress rather than in Word (which is what I usually do).
Copied the ‘poem’ into the post, formatted it as a poem (which didn’t go too well), looked at the preview, chose the categories, pressed the publish button, then changed my mind about something (now I can’t remember what). Tried to get out of the ‘publish’ menu, but when I tried to press the ‘x’ to close it and get back to preview, for some reason it kept flashing to another menu. (I think that the curser had got too close to the top right hand corner of the window and it was trying to open the Profile editing window, but there seemed no way I could close the other one if you see what I mean).
I tried to go back a screen, assuming that the post had automatically been saved as a draft (I’m sure that’s what usually happens), but apparently not, and I’ve just had to explain all this all over again.
And I nearly published this without copying the poem in again.
Wallflowers,
Linda Rushby 10 April 2020
with their fiery colours
bringing the power of summer
into a sad and fearful spring.
Technology Moan
Not feeling much inspiration, poetic or otherwise, at the moment. I was earlier, honestly I was – or at least, if not ‘inspiration’, motivation to sit down and start writing. But the technology has got to me.
A friend has sent me a story and asked me to read it and give her feedback. Which is absolutely fine, only that I decided to print it out to read in the garden.
First I opened my email, and saw a new email from somebody I’ve asked to look at my blog, so I opened that first, read it and replied. Then I opened Word and remembered about the story I was going to print. Opened emails again then remembered there was already a tab open with emails and that was why I’d got distracted in the first place.
I found the email from my friend, the attachment opened in Google Docs, and I downloaded it to my downloads folder.
Then Office 365 opened automatically and asked for a product key. I have never bought a licence for 365, because I am perfectly satisfied with my copy of Office 2007, bought in good faith about ten years ago, and don’t see why I should have to pay to use 365. I do have it on my laptop as a 12 month free licence which came with the machine, and I’m using this temporarily until I can find a way to install Office 2007. At present I can’t do so because the software is on a CD and the laptop doesn’t have a CD drive. It’s been suggested that I take it to a small helpful computer shop, but of course that’s not an option at present. I’m holding out against Microsoft’s nasty insidious marketing strategy because I’m used to 2007, and having tried both I much prefer sticking with that to paying through the nose for something I consider an inferior product.
Of course, there is always Open Office. I do have that on the PC, and it is pretty good but there are small things which I find irritating and would rather stick with Office 2007 (which, as I said, I bought in good faith and have a legitimate licence for).
When I went into my version of word and tried to open the file from my downloads folder, I got a message saying the file was corrupt. It was an Open Office file – which should be compatible with Word.
I opened it in Open Office, and tried to print from there. Went through the usual rigmarole of removing the memory stick from the front facing usb port so I could connect up the printer, then restarting the printer, then having two copies in the printer input but the printer wasn’t printing, switching it off and on again and having to stop it from printing two copies…
Then rummaged in my desk for a paper clip. Which reminds me – remember the stupid Microsoft ‘Office Helper’ from the 1990s? I’ve said enough.
Day 9 – A Strange Road
I stepped onto a strange road
and oh, the excitement of knowing
the not-knowingness of the world.The future an empty page.
The adventures I planned,
and those that I hadn’t.
The paths that I travelled,
the places I saw,
the people whose paths
crossed with mine.Then one day I stopped,
and looked around
and saw there was no one
who made me their centre,
their lodestar, their true heart.I have known
the devotion of children
the whispers of lovers
the kindness of friends,
and I’m grateful for these.But only one person
Linda Rushby 9 April 2020
can fill my void
and I must learn
to be that one.
Day 8 – Pest Control
Pest Control
The moon approaches,
Turning its bright face
Towards its ailing parent.‘Hang in there’ it whispers,
Linda Rushby 8 April 2020
‘The treatment is working.
You’ll soon be relieved
of this wretched plague.’
On My Desk
Difficult to write with a cat where the keyboard should be. Fortunately it’s a wireless keyboard.
Does mean I’m sitting very awkwardly. If I sit with my knees under the desk and keyboard on it to one side, I have to twist my lower back to reach it. Not good. If I move my chair so I’m directly in front of the spare bit of desk, my knees are hitting the desk drawers and I have to stretch forward which also puts a strain on my back, and I have to reach over the keyboard when I need to use the mouse, which is awkward. I’ve tried with the keyboard on my knees, but that’s also awkward and I can’t look at the screen at the same time.
In trying to take a photo of this situation, I noticed the mess on my desk. What on earth is the end roller of my old Dyson vacuum cleaner doing here? Box of tissues (fair enough); empty cassette box (who knows what happened to the cassette?); CD box containing – a CD which – yes! – does match the title on the outside of the box (Neil Young’s ‘Harvest’); copy of ‘Tea With Douglas’ which I was using for reference in my last book design job; two empty (used) jiffy bags in different sizes; copy of ‘The Culture of Contentment’ by John Kenneth Galbraith, which I was also using for reference (for the same job, on the order of the front matter for a non-fiction book); a dozen recordable CDs, some with backup data from years ago, some blank, all on a spike; a note book; a Black and Decker Dustbuster on its charging stand (which is here because I’m supposed to use it for picking up dry cat litter off the bathroom floor, and this is the nearest place I can plug it in which isn’t on the floor where it’s liable to get tripped over); a ceramic pot with a large capital ‘B’ on the side and ‘RUSH’ inside the bottom bulge of the B, which is intended to hold toothbrushes, but I bought it because if you think about it could be a pun on my name, and I intended to use it for pens but it contains only a green CD writer pen whose felt tip is fuzzy, dried up and unusuable, an orange gel pen (probably also dried up) and a pencil with a hand carved and decorated end like a cute penguin; stack of four 5 cm diameter semi-clear pastel coloured round plastic boxes containing small stationery items (on closer inspection, two hold buttons, one pins and one miscellaneous including staples, picture hooks, screws, drawing pins, freezer bag ties, a green magnet from a notice board and a small metal plate with East Asian characters which appears to have come off the back of something); three coasters and a coffee cup.
And a cat. Except that she has now woken up, jumped down and walked off in a huff.
Day 7 – A Day Without a Poem
A day without a poem.
Linda Rushby 7 April 2020
A year without a celebration.
But another year of life
may be the greatest gift.
Any Other Day
Trying to write a poem – the first line came up as: ‘Any other day…’ but nothing after that.
Maybe writing a poem about trying to write a poem? That sounds about as mad as the idea I had of trying to write a novel about trying to write a novel… another non-starter.
Any other day… and it wouldn’t matter so much. Why not? Come on, it’s just a day – a Tuesday, in fact – tai chi day, in normal times. Except it wouldn’t have been ‘normal times’ anyway, because I wouldn’t have been here, but on a narrow boat called ‘Teasel’, pootling about the inland waterways around the Hampshire/Surrey border with my son, his wife and their dogs.
I keep telling everyone -especially myself – that I’m fine with this lockdown thingy. Missing a holiday and spending a birthday alone are nothing in the grand scheme of things, nothing compared with what others have to deal with.
So here I am, putting all that to one side and getting on with it. Trying to write a poem – or failing that, just 500 words of any old nonsense, nothing too whiney, nothing too self-pitying. Do some gardening – I’ve been putting that off, till I realised that weeding could be quite appealing, it’s destructive after all. But I might miss the postman, there might be a delivery, so I can’t go in the garden until after then.
Waiting. Waiting for an indeterminate period, for an indeterminate outcome. Waiting for Godot. Beckett on failure: ‘Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better’. Story of my life.
Late this morning – in fact, it’s just turning into afternoon as I type. Awake half the night, early enough to fall asleep again and sleep in till 8.30, then do my morning stuff and it gets later and later, and my sister rang to say happy birthday, and I tried to call my brother (his birthday too) but couldn’t get through.
So, having made my mind up to do some weeding, I thought about the possible delivery and decided to wait in the front room, and in the mean time to do the writing that I didn’t do before breakfast. Waiting.
It’s not so much the activities that I do to break up my weeks that I miss so much as the café-sitting. It’s a habit I picked up in my flat-dwelling years – in Bedford, Ramsey, Prague and here in Southsea – and the months when I was travelling, when I would inhabit the public spaces – cafes, parks, seafronts and riversides – rather than sitting in hotel rooms. Now I have a garden, and the weather (at the moment) is good enough to be out there. But hunkering down in your own space – however appealing – can become a trap.
Just been interrupted by a phone call from my brother. It was nice to hear his voice, but has broken my chain of thought. We don’t always get on very well, but good to know he’s there.
Day 6 – Breakfast in my Garden
Nothing too heavy today. Got the heavy stuff out of the way in my earlier post.
Breakfast in My Garden
Half an avocado, and home made porridge.
Linda Rushby 6 April 2020
Toast and honey, and a second cup.
Sun on my face, and cat at my feet.
Birds in the tree, and bees on the flowers.
All these moments bring me joy
in the midst of the madness.