Posts

Against the Current

Image
  Stroke, splash, stroke, splash. It is October. My neck aches. I am back in a place of stress even though I vowed I would remain chilled and enjoy the whole building process. Builders push one to the limit. I do realise that building works always take longer than one expects, but the project is now more than a month behind and will not be finished by this weekend as my builder had promised me, merely two weeks ago. It’s the promises and the raised hopes dashed that does it.   This year has been far from easy. I lurched from AA meetings to lawsuits and from selling my house to buying a new place in need of a total makeover. I packed my whole life back into boxes, which remain packed as I wait in this limbo for my new home to be ready. As limbos go—it is not uncomfortable here and I have been very happy living on Calle Compás de la Victoria. It’s just time to move on.   Speaking of limbo: Do you know that I used to be able to limbo under a pole that was barely higher than my
Post a Comment
Read more

A Sugar Hangover.

Image
  What is Freedom? Raw thoughts pour into my brain – Am I truly free? Sweat pours through my skin. Why am I crying?   The hottest summer in recorded history and I am camping in a converted (not much) shop. I have single glazing and a glass door; the sun beats in at certain times of the day, although I keep the door and window shut when it is hottest. Thankfully there is an old and very dusty Venetian blind on the large window which I can scroll closed to keep out most of the sunlight. It also keeps out prying eyes but, unfortunately, a lot of the daylight too.   I have made this place a home and it is really, quite comfortable. True, I have no shower, but I do have a toilet and wash hand basin. It is enough. The ‘kitchen’ is a table and a cheap IKEA kitchen island, both of which I already owned. My ‘kitchen sink’ is a pink basin that is perched atop a large coffee table balanced on two trestles – I found all these items beside the bins and dragg
Post a Comment
Read more

No Apologies and no Regrets.

Image
Silent Witness. People have asked me many times, “Why on earth did you sell your lovely little house?” I’m not quite sure where to start. Let me see if I can muster a brief synopsis:   The year began auspiciously, I quit drinking and then I lost a lawsuit—the sword of Damocles that had been hanging over my head for the past three years—and I was ordered to pay 95,000 euros. That is not the sort of change most people have in their back pocket, so, thinking laterally, I sold my house.   I had planned to live out my golden years in that house, but oddly, selling my comfortable, cosy home, and jumping into the unknown, was rather liberating.   At the moment, I am trying to negotiate with the couple who sued me. I have appealed the ruling, without much hope of winning. Apparently, it could take about two years to go through the court system, so I thought I could save everybody some time and stress, by offering to pay them now. Now we are sort of stalemated a
Post a Comment
Read more

One Row at a Time

Image
  Brandy, Candy. Today it is Monday the 2nd of January 2023. It is a dull day. The lack of sun and the grey sky make me feel melancholic and my toes are cold. I still have no socks.   I was looking forward to Christmas this year—I was going to curl up on the sofa and watch some Christmas movies, do a bit of cooking, savour a few glasses of wine, Zoom with my family and friends, and enjoy an extra brandy and port. A nice relaxing Christmas, no stress—no pressure.   Life had another plan for me:   On the Tuesday before Christmas, by appointment, I went to the health centre early to drop off a urine sample and for a blood test. Then I did my Christmas shop. I was planning to make a Mushroom Wellington, so I needed, amongst other items, mushrooms. I took the opportunity to buy myself a Christmas bottle of brandy and an extra bottle of port, just in case. Everything was set.   On the Wednesday I had to return to the doctor to check up on my leg.   The
Post a Comment
Read more

Christmas Wouldn’t be Christmas Without a Bit of Drama

Image
  I am turning into a pincushion.  My life is unravelling—I knit, and I unravel—I unravel and then I knit.   When I was in my twenties and thirties, knitting was an integral part of my being. I always had at least one project on the go and when I moved from Germany to Ireland, with a three-month-old baby strapped to my side, one of the things I felt was indispensable, was my box of knitting needles. I still have that box and the needles.   Throughout my life I became good at knitting things up and then taking them apart again. If I made a mistake, I was never afraid of ripping back a jumper, even if I had to rip it back to the very start. And then I would start again. It was a good life lesson, like building sandcastles on the beach and then letting the sea or the children destroy them. You just have to get up and do it all over again.   When the children were younger and I was married, we used to watch a lot of movies and series’ on the TV—the usual; Co
Post a Comment
Read more