Post 27 of 92

4:59pm.  Cloudy but no rain.    Tired but buzzing from an unaccustomed second cup of coffee after lunch.  Unwise for I get the shakes.  Not sleeping again after a good run of good sleep.  What a difference sleep or lack thereof makes.  Everything affected.   Never mind.  Good sleep will come again.  In the meantime, I just keep putting one foot in front of the other. 

My good friend, perhaps my best friend, Matisse, has made a habit of joining me on the yoga mat every afternoon.  He yells until I come get him (have to carry him from the living/kitchen pod to the yoga/studio pod).  Matisse has followed me in here now and is sitting on the second chair.  He is a loyal friend.  Old now.  Bony face, very dark coat, reluctant to jump up on the laundry bench where I used to put his food but still strong enough to open the magnet reinforced pocket door with his paw.  Richard can't.  I can but with difficulty.  We installed the magnets to try and keep him in so he wouldn't gorge on the other cats' food.  It didn't work.  Nevertheless he has aged, as have we all!

Matisse can be aggressive, badly aggressive to Nairobi, although he seems to have mellowed somewhat these last few  years, but he has never raised a paw in anger to either Richard or me.  Even loving Natalia can get overexcited and lash out in play aggression and we won't even speak of Nairobi who can be quite the nasty piece when annoyed, although she has mellowed too over time or maybe I just read her body language better. 

Matisse however is content to be near me, quietly purring.  He loves my lap when it's cool and often sits or lies so that his tail is draped over some part of my anatomy.  Introducing Mikaela into the mix has complicated his life but he has rallied and hisses mightily when he thinks she is crowding him.

I love him.  I hate that he is an old cat now but am so glad I've shared all these years, 14 years? with him.

post 26 of 92

4:58pm.  How I would love to be one of those lucky people who have an ear for languages.  I clearly do not.  Duolingo, bless it, has a new section where little vignettes are told through conversation.  They speak, or I assume they speak, 'normally'.  They speak and the words they speak are on the page so the student can follow.  Occasionally a phrase is spoken and not written so the student gets to practice writing what they hear.  This new section is very helpful and also quite depressing as after how many years of practicing French, I still don't understand it when it's spoken.  Studying has been invaluable in my ability to translate the written word in books, but understanding someone who is speaking French....hopeless. 

Occasionally we watch French films or catch the French news on SBS.   Occasionally I understand a word, sometimes two on a good day.  Even with subtitles I am unable to process what seems to be machine gun delivery.  Machine gun delivery delivered through a sieve,

And speaking?  If I were in France I would be arrested for cruelty in torturing a language in front of native speakers.  Quite sad.  Quite true.

So the little spoken vignettes, while illustrating how little I have mastered the language, are another way to practice and perhaps, improve.   C'est mon souhait.

Post 25 of 92

3:13pm.Well, it's been awhile.  About 6 weeks.  Almost dead in the water.  The computer was down for two weeks after a bad storm but that doesn't account for a month of silence.  Was a bit depressed.  Thought if I can't write the truth of why I feel down, why bother?  But of course it's not just about me and although I thought, seriously thought, about writing the truth of everything, I decided silence...no, I didn't decide, I just apathetically didn't write.

Which was wise for if I do feel the need to spill I can physically write it out in longhand where it remains private.  Marriage or any intimate relationship, is about trust and respect and sometimes keeping secrets.  That's more important than keeping up some random blog.

A friend offered to come and stay here for a couple of days while I go to a yoga retreat or something similar for some 'me time'.  I don't even know what that means.  My entire life is 'me time'.  Sure, there are compromises and company and chores but basically I am leading the life I've chosen.  Then I think, hmmm, what about a couple of days on my own in a hotel on the beach.  No chores, no company, no schedules just the sea and the beach, a notebook to write in, a sketchbook to not draw in and a good book to read.  That would be bliss.

Just looked at a few yoga retreat advertisements.  One of them is across the street!  Another is up Bonnydoon.  Neither of which I would go to.  Actually the idea of a yoga retreat is already too regimented.  Just looked at some beachfront accommodationin Byron, $444 per night.  Can't really justify that amount of money. 

Now I'm just wasting time looking at places to rent in Byron.  Best go do some yoga now as I've seized up after sitting so long.  Sheesh.

Post 24 of 92

4:31pm.  Tired.   Difficult to work up the energy for anything although I know sitting for awhile, as I'm doing now, will recharge the batteries a bit.

Yesterday went to Pottsville.  Took Mikaela as they have the dog beach.  There is a tidal river which widens into  a large lagoon with sand bars in the middle.  The water is clear, the water is shallow and it is a haven for minnows and small fish.  When we were returning from a walk along the beach we followed the river on a stone peppered sandy path which ran parallel and slightly above the river mouth giving us a pretty good look into the water.

A cormorant came and started swimming over the remains of what I think was a sabellarid reef (worm-built).  We watched as it darted and turned and sprinted through the water.  Have never had a view looking down on a swimming cormorant before.  Then I noticed something else, as it circled and dove  there was a brown smudge of a shadow around which it was turning.  A bait ball!  It was herding the fish into a bait ball and then arrowing in to snatch prey.  I knew whales, sharks and dolphins did this  but I didn't know cormorants did.

Some people were swimming/wading through the shallows toward the bird.  When they got too close it abandoned the bait ball and swam parallel to the shore.  The fish had been trying to find refuge in the reef remains.  Those remains were the only spot in the channel that wasn't bare sand and the cormorant, even while keeping them in tight formation, was always trying to keep them away from the reef.

Amazing stuff.  4:54pm.  (Took so long as I got sidetracked reading about sabellarid worms.  Used to type up scientific papers when working at Harbor Branch for Dr. David Kirtley and another, female, Phd whose name escapes me).

Post 23 of 92

11:33am.  No, I haven't stopped, quite.

Successfully did  yoga with Mikaela in the room.  Thought she'd be all over me, licking my face in downward dog or some such thing but as we'd taken her to the Uki Farmers Market this morning, she was all in.

It's quite remarkable how the energy levels of greyhounds fluctuate.  She can be as hyper and goofy as a puppy, rabbit running up and down the fence or spinning in tongue flapping circles on the rug while the next minute she's be stretched out on the floor asleep.  Greyhounds are couch - or in her case - chair potatoes.

Mikaela is an endearing and irresistible advertisement for greyhound adoption.  A fellow student at the life drawing class will adopt a greyhound next year after she returns from abroad and that is directly due to her meeting and falling in love with Mikaela.  Everywhere she goes she's admired, patted even hugged.  And she absorbs it all with gentle dignity. 

And she smells good.  Mikaela has a subtle perfume on her head that is quite delicious.  Yes, her beds and leashes will eventually get that doggy odour if they aren't washed - but she herself never smells like a dog.

Maybe it's because she's part cat and that's why she's so easy for me to love.  I love her in a way that I've never loved another dog.  Have always been a cat person.  I still am but now I am a dog person too or at least a greyhound person.

11:41am.

Post 22 of 92.

8:41pm.  Have no idea what to write yet trying to write something.  Have been slack about daily two minutes.  So finished my shower, a cup of Bengal tea is steeping, chores are done - have even done some French....

Today, for the first time, am not feeling kind of sick after the 500 calorie regimen.  Perhaps my body is accepting this and reacting accordingly.  The previous two times felt kind of queasy and headachy.  Tonight I feel normal.  Perhaps being a bit more adventurous about what I can eat helps.  I made a salad of fennel bulb, cabbage, carrot and fresh-picked-from-our-garden parsley and silverbeet with a bit of Seasonal salad dressing.   And it was enough.  I'm not slavering after carbohydrates.  After deciding to live the 5:2 diet I decided I would give up the daily with salad two rice crackers slathered with avocado, tomato and Seasonal.  Now I add the tomato and the avocado (which I adore after loathing it as a child - who knew?) directly to the salad so don't feel as though I'm missing out. 

Such a big deal.  Have probably spent 30% of my life thinking of food, diets, my body and how fat it is.  What a waste.  My goal is to take control of this, once and for all, so that eating 'normally' (portion size) becomes normal and requires little or no vigilance.

Everything's possible, right?  8:49pm

Post 21 of 92

9:11pm.  Am not going to even speak to why I have not been writing.

Tonight, for the second night in a row, we are being inundated with termite drones looking for a queen.  They get caught in any web (a great way to find webs in the house that have been overlooked), drown in any cup of anything, tickle their way around hairlines and exposed skin exposed to a reading light - so all lights remain off. 

Yet it's a sad thing despite their fleeting annoyance, for save for a very few lucky few, they all die.  Shed wings carpet the floor in gossamer, rust brown bodies are the food of spiders and ants.  Their search for a mate and a new home is a death sentence.

R asked me what year it was today.  What year do you think it is, I asked in return.  Nineteen ninety...two...?  Two thousand and seventeen I answered, my heart breaking. 

How do people get through this? 

And I was short tempered and impatient today.  I apologized this afternoon for being so.  His slide into dementia is not his fault.  His loss of control is not his fault.  His involuntary abdication of adulthood is not his fault. 

I want to  scream.  IT;S NOT FAIR!  But when has that made any difference?  To the raped Rohingya woman sitting in mud in Bangladesh.  To the homeless girl escaping an abusive stepfather.  To the war razed children of Syria?  To the greyhound being buried alive for not being fast enough.  To the kitten tied to a lure for that greyhound to chase and tear apart.  To the mother of the adult child who is mentally retarded?  The list goes on.  Who am I to complain?  And to whom?


9:18pm