I went to see my friend Caz the other
night. We sat by her wood burner in her
snug cosy cabin and I watched her drink the bottle of Cava I’d bought while I
sipped a peppermint and licorice tea. I
admire Caz so so much. She works her socks off, lives on a pittance, has
brought up her children single-handedly and yet I don’t think I have ever heard
her moan. Not once. She lives life to the absolute max, sucks every last bit of
juice out of it, rises to every challenge and says ‘Gimme more, more, more.’
She gets cross with me. Tells me
off. Puts me straight. ‘How can you bear it,’ she said. ‘How can you
not be out there, grabbing life by the throat and LIVING it? How can you stand to live this…half life?’
I know what she means. There
really are no excuses. Except. One is constrained by…money? Not really. Caz has no spare dosh yet that
doesn’t stop her. No. So, if not money,
what? Duty? Love? Fear? Habit?
I dunno. But sometimes I become overwhelmed by the speed at which time passes.
I feel scared that I won’t get to see all the places and people I’d love
to see…that I won’t get to do all the things I yearn to do. Mainly I forget my age and then, suddenly,
abruptly I remember. And I recall my mother, at 80,saying sadly, ‘But I don’t
feel 80. I feel like a sixteen-year old. This body isn’t me.’
I made the mistake of looking at the
camera app on my Chromebook last night, as I sat by the fire. I truly didn’t recognize the woman who gazed
back at me. Who the hell is this raddled crone, I wondered? And, if you’re not careful, you start to
slide. Little things become omens of ill-will.
Your mind picks them up, worries them like a dog with a bone, and makes
them monsters.
My ring broke. The little silver snake
ring I wear as a talisman. The only one I wear all the time. Suddenly the metal just…gave in. Split. So
now my hands are bare.
And then, late last night, I sat in my
study, at my desk, staring at my screen. My scream. And I
could see the fire, three rooms away. The rooms in between were dark and there
was just this little flame remaining of the fire that had earlier roared so brave, so warm. It flickered. It juddered.
‘Don’t go out,’ I begged it. ‘Please don’t you go out. Not yet. I couldn’t bear it.’
Suddenly it seemed incredibly
important that it not fall into ash. Not while I was still here, still awake,
still in need of light and warmth and hope.
But it did. Of course it did. The house fell dark. Fell silent. And the cold crept in. So I crawled to bed.
I could build a new one, of course.
Even if the embers are no longer glowing, I could start afresh. A phoenix from
the ashes. Except…there are no more logs
in the woodshed. The coal bucket is
empty. And the snow is falling.
I SO need a plan.
