Just have to record this:  Received a text last night from Fiona, the literary agent.  I'd sent her the first three chapters of the book a month or more ago.  And heard nothing.  Then I get the text, a text in which she asks for the rest of the book and says I have a lovely style of writing.  

When my friends in the Writers Group praise my writing I think they are being kind.  Despite assurances to the contrary (and it is not good of me to think them dishonest).  Fiona and I have met once.  She is not a friend although she may be one day - so when she says my stule of writing is lovely well...

Lovely!

 Most of the time I'm pretty good.  I lead a busy life, even if most of it is solo.  I practice guitar, yoga, write (well, edit at the moment), look after the animals and the house, feed the agisted horses, visit Richard daily, walk an hour every day.  Don't leave myself much time to be sad.

But not leaving myself much time to be sad doesn't mean it's gone away.  I've been tired, really tired and lack of energy is not usual for me.  And I cry more easily.   Maybe the loss of Nairobi has temporarily tipped the balance. 

Writing this because I needed to say - despite the fullness of life - how much I miss Richard even though I act as though I don't.  I don't miss the dementia Richard and the mess and the confusion and the difficulty communicating, the fear of falling, the smell, the TIME it took - but I miss HIM.  Today, while holding him in my arms, my head resting on his shoulder, he kissed the top of my head.  Like he used to.  That glimmer of the past breaking through the hallucinations and the gibberish and the fog - a kiss.  I wept silently, secretly.  And missed my love and miss him still.

 2020 has not been a good year.  Richard lives in an aged care facility.  I had to put Natalia down and today I had Nairobi euth'ed.  Took both cats in for a dental.  Matisse because his normally foul cat breath had become toxic.  Figured there was a rotter or two in his mouth.  Turned out there wasn't, only plaque and gingivitis.  For Nairobi it was a last ditch effort.  She's been steadily losing weight.  The Mirtazapine was a fraught exercise of diminishing returns.  I hoped she had a mouth full of rotten teeth to explain the anorexia.  She was checked last year and her teeth were fine.  They were today too.  But they had to borrow a crush cage from the pound to handle her.  Couldn't even approach her carrier unless wearing welding gloves.  Sam suspected kidney disease, took bloods and urine while she was out of it for future tests.  But the last dose of mirtazapine, administered .02 of a 1ml syringe in side of mouth, was a battle royal.  We were both traumatized.  How would I dose her with meds on a daily basis.  

Nairobi was 17 years old.  Our tailless tripod.  The little kitten that roared.  Coming in after 20 km riding on a car engine.  She was flayed.  So much so Karen wanted to ring the owners and have her put down but we couldn't contact them.  So Karen pulled skin here, stitched there, swabbed her with antibiotic creme, injected her with a/b's and pain relief.  The owners couldn't pay.  Richard and I adopted her, treated her painful wounds (skin pulled so tight her anus was skewed right), and fell in love.  She was alternately adoring and cranky.  If she had tired of one's attentions and you didn't watch the body language, a swift stab with unsheathed claws soon taught you.  Or she would follow you about meowing piteously, purring like a train, eyes full of love, until you picked her up and gave her a cuddle.

I'll miss her. 

 Have just sent the first three chapters and a synopsis to Meg's literary agent.  My heart is pounding.  Closed my eyes and hit SEND.   Couldn't re read and edit any more.  Just an excuse to postpone it.  So now it's out there and I can let it go.  

She says.....

Of course I'll worry and wonder and get my self worth mixed up with creative work.  Like when my application to show at the PO was knocked back.  Still have people telling me they can't believe it, I should resubmit.  And if I was determined, all that making one's thoughts into a reality stuff I am so happy to pontificate about, I'd overcome my bruised ego and try again.

She says....

Of course I won't.  The bruises affected my joy in making stuff - and that's more important than having others see what I've created.  Besides the Images of Uki show is on soon.  I'll put stuff in there - maybe clear up some wall space!

Why does it feel like I've just stripped to dance naked on Main Street?

 

 

 Ruth Bader Ginsburg is dead.  Republicans and Democrats are quaking in their boots.  Democrats because they fear Trump and Mitch McConnell will nominate some ultra conservative to the the supreme court.  Republicans because they will be caught out in their lying hypocrisy if they do.  Four years ago when Obama wanted to nominate a moderate they cried foul, that it wouldn't do until the people had spoken and elected a president.   That the Republicans would remember  and care about honour and truth at this stage would be as surprising as Trump going through a whole day without tweeting.  

But one lives in hope.

One thing her death has done is to galvanize people to action.  I read contributions to the democratic campaign were through the roof.   There is so much bad news coming from the US, one forgets the 'new' silent majority who continue to push back against the erosion of .... plain decency. 

Have been 'running' (more like an energetic shuffle) for a few days now.  Because the osteopath has been working on one hip, and then the other 'good' hip, asked him what he thought about running.  Haven't run for years although I would occasionally have a go while still on Dry Gully Road.  No matter how slowly I started, how much time I gave it, there'd come a point where the pain in my hips kept me awake at night so would have to give it away again.

This time I've invested far too much money in a  of decent pair of running shoes, am taking it very slow (again) and am hoping for the best.  At 64, it's a bit harder to get going then it was before.  Quit smoking 8 years ago, thought my lungs were pretty good, but running illustrates the limitations of elasticity.  And there is a limit.  Running will help the stretch - if I can keep it up.  I did so love running!

Work progresses on the drawing of Natalia.  Another thing going slowly.  Still haven't 'got' her.  Don't know what it is...she had an impishness, a sense of fun, like a peppery seasoning, in all that love.   But will keep plugging away.  This is my third attempt at drawing her.  

Went to Mavis' Kitchen, had lunch with the Writers Group, met the literary (Meg's) agent and came away thinking well, just get on with it.  When it's finished, at least the second draft, then see if it's worth sending out.  Putting the cart before the horse to try now.  Am 64,000 words in and have no idea how long it will be in the end.  Wouldn't it be better to take the pressure off and have a finished book rather than find someone is interested and then try and complete the manuscript with that knowledge hovering about?  It'd be like trying to draw with someone looking over my shoulder.  I think most writers need the absolute privacy and freedom of solitude to create.

One excellent thing.  A week or so ago I contacted the RSPCA about a neglected Arab in a paddock.  Should've contacted them years ago actually but....didn't.  Bad lazy me.  Anyway, saw the horse again a few weeks ago, vowed I'd tell the RSPCA and then forgot about it.  Finally remembered and did the right thing.  Got a call from an inspector checking details.  Well, I thought if he called about the owner than he agreed the horse needed care.  So was very pleased to see the horse with hay and a bucket of hard feed the other day.  Yay!  It takes so little to be the voice for those that don't have one. 

 Think I'm going to have to take a hiatus from the news again.  The fires on the West Coast of the states, all those poor animals dying, habitat destroyed, massive bird deaths in New Mexico, our government wanting to spend $54 million on gas power, which means more fracking.  Wars and famine.  Greedy governments.  Power mad governments.  Corrupt governments working hand in glove with conglomerates and lobbyists and multinationals to keep the rich rich and the poor poor.  Climate change. Drought and disaster and this collision course with extinction.  

We have been given a perfect place to live.  It's paradise.  It is full of wonder and beauty and excitement and mystery.  All we need do is preserve it, substitute care for greed.  There's enough here for everyone, including the flora and fauna.  Heard a guy from the Lakes District in the UK.  He'd been following modern farming practices and watching his farm, inherited from his dad, go down the tubes.  He was in debt, the land was dying.   And the joy had gone.  He turned the farm around, increased the biomass, reverted to old farming practices with a few modern twists.  His farm is productive - not only for him but for the local wildlife.  He's out of debt.  He and his family are happy to farm again.  The joy has returned.  HIs farming friends and neighbours are taking note - but it's a huge step and the returns from increasing the biomass aren't immediate.  So they are rightfully cautious of making the leap.  

But we all need to make that leap.  We may not get a second chance.

A friend called me an activist yesterday.  Wish that were true.  She watched while I killed a snake run over on the road, mortally wounded but still alive.  I found a rock and smashed it's skull.  I'd rung Josh Frydenburg (Federal Treasurer) to voice my opinion of the proposed mis-spending of $54 million.  I rang the RSPCA about a starving horse.  I sign innumerable petitions, post things on FB, write occasionally to ministers, senators and the like.  But is it enough?  Not by a long shot. 

I look out this window at the wall of green, at my personal paradise.  Perhaps because I am surrounded by nature, it figures more prominently in my awareness than if I lived in suburbia or the city.  Also I have leisure.  Working people with kids in school, it would be a full time job just to get through the day intact without worrying about the ice melting in Greenland or the amount of plastic in our oceans.   

But we all need to worry about the ice melt and the plastic.

I am glad I'm old.

 No more unsolicited messages on my phone - but the echoes of that strange occurrence continue to reverberate.  

How much guilt does the average person carry?  Guilt we aren't good enough, that we have failed in our duty of love to others, that we haven't reached our potential, that we squander our precious lives with time wasting activities, that we continue to tread water waiting for our real lives to begin at some mysterious but never reached point in the future.  That we just aren't good enough to justify the space we take, the air we breathe the resources we use.  

"I am a beautiful person."  How much meaning in those simple words.  I am.  I exist.  I have a right to be here.  I am blessed to be here.   a.  a, one of many yet unique.  Not 'the' but a, not above, not below, not compared to but definitive nevertheless.  beautiful.  A word to swell the heart, to lift the gaze from the dregs and disasters, a word to inspire, to refresh and rejuvenate, to encompass all  that is good and true.  A beautiful day is a beautiful day, not a beautiful day but.... Beautiful stands alone, gracious and smiling.  person.  Not defined by gender or race or religion, but a uniquely complicated miracle.  A person.  The culmination of generations meeting in me.  The result of a history, the precursor of a future, this being at this point in time.  Me Now.

I am a beautiful person.  The phrase pops into my head and I say it to myself.  It is getting easier not to cringe, to doubt.  

I am a beautiful person. 

And so are we all.