Dead of Winter

 The movie I saw on Saturday was "Dead of Winter." It was beautifully done: a gripping story, dramatic scenery, some romance and a score which enhanced the action. Emma Thompson was understated and brilliant. I enjoyed it and at the same time my feelings were summed up by another cinema go-er who remarked to nobody in particular "Well that was bleak, wasn't it?"

My trip to see my mountain family was lovely and I was almost home when somebody at traffic lights rolled down the window to tell me I had a flat tyre. It was very flat. Pancake flat. To call the NRMA and wait an hour or try to limp home on it? No, I wasn't going to drive it further, that would be dumb. On the off chance I called Keaghan who happened to be out and about. He arrived within 15 minutes, changed the wheel and got me back on the road without drama. When I pulled the spare out, the wheel well had a puddle of water in it. Obviously something is leaking. I'm not sure I have the heart to try to deal with that right now. I might just towel it out and hope for dry weather.
Today I will go and get the tyre fixed. I'll get my annual roadworthy inspection at the same time, making two boring chores into one.

The craft workshop I went to was an interesting little interlude. We were making Christmas Wreaths with upcycled materials. One rather loud participant looked at my completed wreath and said "When you were doing that I thought it was going to be awful but it's actually nice" hahahaha I can translate fake talk for "I hate that" why did she need to make any comment on a strangers craft? especially after grabbing all the matching colours for herself.

I had a nice time and will keep an eye on what other workshops come up. I leave you with my quirky little wreath. Looking at it gives me an odd joy.

It's the weekend

I'm in a bit of a funk and can't seem to shake it. I keep trying to figure out why but I don't know.

I don't think it's grief. I loved my dad but we weren't close enough that I miss him on a daily basis.

Maybe it's because I feel the weight of organising Dad's estate and also of emptying mum and dad's house (the family home) ready for sale.

Maybe it's the grief of farewelling the property I grew up in, a second home for my own children.

Maybe it's because I struggle to feel competent at my job or because there are no windows in the office or because I can't make any meaningful relationship with any colleagues because everyone is too isolated by busyness. Or because the woman I job share with can cut me down at the precise moment I'm starting to feel like I'm doing ok.

I don't know, none of it is easy but neither is any of it overwhelmingly awful.

I breathe badly, unevenly holding my breath and gasping. Is it a poor habit that makes me feel stressed or do I breathe badly because I feel stressed?

This weekend I have booked in to do a Christmas craft workshop, hopefully that will be a chance for a cuppa and a chat. I'll go to a movie on Saturday evening and on Sunday I'll make the drive to see Liam and his wife and my grandson. 

The darkness of the cinema should calm me down and the socialising should refresh my spirit. That's the plan, any way.

The first cherries of the season arrived in my fruit box today. I had been looking forward to them and they are amazing.

As I opened the box I had a sudden pang: they tell you grief will smash you when you least expect. To be honest, it doesn't smash me, it just floats in like a sad cloud but the point is, the cloud floated in today when I least expected although I probably should have.

Dad was crazy about fruit. Fresh fruit, fruit in pies, fruit cake, dried fruit. For a second I wished I could take him some premium cherries. Then I remembered that I bought boxes of cherries for the family last year but I couldn't remember if I bought any for Mum and Dad. I think I did. I really hope I did.

Dad used to drape the little pairs of cherries over his ears like earrings for the entertainment of us kids and then the grands. We rolled our eyes every time. In my eye rolling days I didn't realise it would bebcome a treasured memory, I think it's the cringe-worthiness that makes it so treasured. It was uniquely Dad. 

In much better news, my dear friend Bob has made a return to blogging after an absence of many years. (with a few random intervening posts) Maybe you'd like to check out his work:

https://justbobness.blogspot.com/

I have a rotten cold and I'm so grateful my work week is done.

QOTD:  "Life is not a bowl full of cherries, there's good and bad stuff." - Fuzzy Zoeller