Sunday: Reflecting on a day.

It's 10 pm on a Sunday night and I am finally sitting down to write.

I have given myself a fun little project for this blog entry.  I have decided that whatever I write tonight - I will finish and post it within 30 minutes - before bed.  It will my shortest and fastest blog entry. I will trim my usual verbiage.  I will discuss nothing deep or researched or planned. 

So here goes:  A thirty minute blog.  Unedited.  Spontaneous. My subconscious will say a few words - and I will type them. (Oh-Oh. I hope my subconscious edits itself at least a bit).  

So, what shall I discuss?

I know.  I will reflect on my day. Sunday. Today.  Just this once.  I won't make a habit of this - discussing the minutiae of my life - with all it's banality. And most of my life is pretty banal - as is life for most of us. (This is in spite of the amazingly exciting lives many individuals profess to have on their social-media sites - as I discussed  in my blog: Social media - a potential Pandora's box).

It has been said that writing fiction is really writing about life - with all the 'boring' bits taken out.  However, I think that I will review my 'un-special' day because it was nice. So, this time, I'll write the 'boring bits' in. As John Lennon once wrote: 'Life is what happens while you're busy making other plans'. 

I think that's true.  I think that our lives are simply the summation of all the tiny, banal experiences that we have.  Like pieces of a large jig-saw puzzle. So, today was a single happy piece of the big-picture which is my life.

Some pieces of my life-puzzle have been sad and dark.  Although, I know that I have grown the most, in wisdom, from those pieces of my life picture.  I know that we all endure sad experiences.  But that is not a piece of my life which I wish to reflect on in this 30 minute blog.  Those are the pieces I usually try to forget. 

Today, banal and pointless as it may have been, was happy and fairly 'typical' of where my life is right now:  Late forties.  My dear husband, David, with me - as he has been throughout our 'life-adventure' - as he calls our marriage.  Our four children, aged between six and 18, still living at home - and happy and healthy (touch wood).  And no work. Well, not today at least. Today was a relaxing Sunday - sandwiched between two 12 hour work-days.

There will be other days in my life which may be more interesting and exciting than today.  I will be older.  The people in my life, now, may not all be with me then. I may have even met some new people. Time waits for no-one.  But, for today … some of the people I love most were with me. And we had a lot of fun.

So, here in this blog entry, I will paint a little picture of my day for posterity.  For me to recall some day - if I ever choose to reflect on parts of my life.  My paint-brush will be my words.  My art will be my writing.  Like a painter I will inject passion into the images I create, and I will put myself and my heart into the colours of the words I choose.
 
My Sunday:

Firstly, I woke late.  And that was lovely right there.  No alarm clock to shock me out of an interesting dream and demand that I get out of my warm bed into the cold reality of a working day - during winter!  No, it was a late sleep-in (well, 8.30am) and it wasn't cold when I finally got out of bed.

It was 20C!  The warmest day in so very long. 

I had almost forgotten what life felt like without the cold dominating my existence.

Australia has just emerged from the coldest July month in eighteen years.  It even snowed in Hobart - down in the city - not just on top of Mount Wellington.  And, it snowed in Queensland!  I didn't even know that was possible!

And, like most people I talk to these days, I am entirely sick and tired of winter this year:  the biting-cold air;  the wind and rain; the mud; the gloves and scarves and heavy coats and dark colours. And when I say 'dark colours' - I mean the weather and the scenery - as well as the clothes. Dark colours - other than red - that is.  Red is the only splash of colour we see much in winter clothes in Adelaide.  However, I now associate red with winter - so I'm tired of red as well. 

Enough cold!  Bring on the warm weather!

So finally - today - it was warm.  A balmy 20C.  A prelude to the spring, which is due to arrive in only 22 days.  But who's counting? Today the weather was lovely. No coats required!  No scarves, or gloves, or dark winter clothes.  Today it was all warm balmy happiness.

I jumped from my bed - warm and cosy - even without my doona, and three woolen blankets, and a thick dressing gown, and bed-socks, and bar-heater. I skipped over to my wardrobe (sort of - it's only a couple of steps away from my bed.  But in my mind I skipped and frolicked and cartwheeled over there). I swung open the wardrobe-doors - and I extracted a pretty aqua, cotton blouse.  To wear.  Because it was warm and lovely.  Wonderful!  Today, with all the 20C weather and everything, I was able to wear a happy and colourful and cottony item of clothing!   And a shell necklace - which reminded me of a summer day at the beach.

And no watch. It was my day off work!

Then, in this cheerful spring attire, I wandered out into the garden to soak up a few rays of the glorious morning sunshine.  Bliss.  I could feel my soul begin to defrost. I could feel my joie de vivre defrost as well. And my toes … defrost.  And, in this happy, warm state I  sat on a garden bench and immersed myself in the great, warm out-doors - into which I have not ventured - unless entirely absolutely necessary - for such a long time.

I noticed the birds. So many of them.  Whistling and flapping and darting above me in a gum-tree. I savoured the warm breeze which drifted, at intervals, across the garden, and my face, and through my clothes - carrying with it the heavy scent of  spring flowers.  I realized, for the first time, just how many cheerful blooms had already painted my muddy dormant yard in vibrant colours:  yellow, pink, orange, white, purple. Daffodils, daisies and irises had surreptitiously crept into the garden - while I had been shivering indoors.  A lovely and cheerful vision to behold. 

After some time (I had no watch and I was 'blissed out' in the timeless right-brain anyway) I wandered back into the house and suggested to David that we might round up the kids - and go for a swim in the local swimming-pool.  I refer to an in-door swimming-pool of course. 

Actually, the pool to which I refer, is a beautiful and huge Aquatic centre - only 100 meters from our house.  We can see the massive building from our driveway at the end of our street.  It's new (only about five years old) and it happens to be one of the best and largest Aquatic centres in the country: The Olympic swimming trials for Australia are hosted there - along with a number of other National swimming titles. And - most importantly - they sell great coffee, and steaming hot chips covered in chicken-salt - for only five dollars a bucket.  The chips are in the bucket.  Unfortunately, for now anyway, the coffee is not.  A large cup of the brew - the largest they have - currently suffices as my morning caffeine hit.

David agreed to the swimming idea - and we were soon at the pool - with our tribe of kids.

Swimming with the kids at the pool is something that David and I do almost every week.  And, in between these family-trips, David and I swim around three or four times each week.  Even in the winter.  Although, when it's cold we simply drive there instead of walk.

This morning David and I swam our laps for about half an hour - before we joined our kids in the warmer family-friendly pools at the other end of the centre. The ambient temperature in the centre is always warm and humid. Tropical. And, related to this, I always feel like I'm in far-north Queensland when I'm there.  No matter which season it is.  

The kid's play areas also remind me of the 'Wet-and-wild World theme park' on the Gold coast - with its huge buckets of water which fill and then  tip over  the children waiting beneath - ready to scream with delight.  There are also imitation palm trees for the kids - which adds further to the tropical atmosphere. 

Swimming for me is like I imagine meditation would feel like - if  I had the patience for it.  I glide through the water and it is so freeing. I become lost in the moment. I stop thinking so much, but, in doing so,  I find that I can think more clearly.  I'm more focused.

Swimming is a lovely mix of floating and gliding through water, which is smooth as silk.  I love the swish sound my arms make as they slice through the water. Like the oars on a row-boat: rhythmically splashing and dragging through the water.  I also love the smell of the pool-chlorine - which lingers on my skin for the rest of the day.  It all reminds me of summer holidays as a child - swimming and playing in my friend's pool until it was dark on most hot summer nights. 

The whole process of swimming is wonderful for me: Refreshing. Invigorating. Timeless.

Later, around midday, after returning home from the pool, I drove my 12 year old daughter, Liana, to her friend's place.  My daughter's friend's mother is also a friend of mine.  She had kindly organised a lovely afternoon for our girls:  Science fair in the city followed by ice-skating on the Glenelg beach foreshore (a winter phenomenon in Adelaide).  We chatted briefly, when I dropped my daughter off at her place, but arranged for a longer 'coffee, cake, and conversation catch-up' next week. We never run out of great conversation. This is all another 'typical' activity for me - although lovely and a joy in my life. 

Typical of most women - I have a number of women friends - and we all enjoy a strong social network - with frequent 'coffee-catch-ups'. Chatting over coffee is a big thing for us - as it is for most women.  I don't think that men really understand the concept of women chatting together for hours at a time.  Apparently chatting is important for women and it increases oxytocin, as well  lifting mood, and having a number of other positive health-effects.   Plus it's a heap of fun!  'Women and chatting with friends': A topic for another blog, I think.  

Finally, before my thirty minutes expires, I'll recall a couple of other fragments of my enjoyable Sunday.

Firstly, while my friend was busy planning outings - for our girls - I planned a lie-down and a nap - for myself.  A little siesta.  A luxury not to be enjoyed only on rare 'holidays in resorts' far from home. Why not a lovely siesta whenever possible - in the comfort of one's home. On a Sunday!  

So, this afternoon, for an hour or so (who's watching the time? Not me - it's Sunday!) I lay on my bed watching the leaves on a gum-tree, outside my window,  flutter in the breeze.  I marveled at the way the olive gum-leaves contrasted so  beautifully against the azure sky beyond. 

As I relaxed I could hear my six year old son playing with the six year old boy next door.  Rat-a-tat-tat.  Rat-a-tat-tat.  I realised that they were playing with professional drums.  It took me a while to notice the hollow drum sound - as opposed to the sound made when one hits a solid object with sticks.  Next the cymbals were jangling and then the drums again.  I wondered if they were allowed to play with the drums.  However, it was all invisible to me.  Physically invisible - as it was all next door and over a fence.  And figuratively invisible - as in the 'SEP invisibility shield' (in the novel: A Hitch Hikers Guide to the Galaxy.  SEP: 'Somebody else's problem').  The boys were not on my turf - so it was a situation of being 'SEP invisible'!  Once they came back to my place - then that would be different.
 
I noticed that the boys were soon laughing and playing in the cubby-house up in a tree. The father of the child next door has been working on the cubby-house for months - on his Sundays.  The boys, like me, are clearly enjoying their Sunday, with all the timelessness of living in the moment which children know so well. 

I have savoured my day:  My family around me. My friends.  The spring-weather.  The swim.  The flowers and the birds and the coffee and the bucket of chips.  The beauty of Australia.  

None of  this has escaped my notice. I do notice these things pretty much everyday.  But only in short fragments of time. And only superficially. In those fleeting moments when I stop rushing.

My thirty minutes is up.  I doubt that I needed to record today. My memories have documented it all anyway. I know that this will be a snapshot of happiness which I will pull from my file of happy memories some time in the future. Life is not the big things; it is a collection of these little banal things. My grandmother used to say - happiness is learning to enjoy the little things in life.

I never actually got to speak to my grandmother.  She died when I was very young.  But she wrote so many things in her journal.  This was a journal she wrote for my mother - her daughter.  And my mother gave the journal to me to read once - long ago.

My grandmother recorded so many lovely days - just like mine - today. And she spoke of things like I do:  How much she appreciated her life, and the small things around her.  And from her words I got to see her world, her garden, her life … and her.

Thank goodness for words. They paint a picture just as lovely as any painting by a master.  Yet, in addition, words can be a window to the soul.  That is how I learned so much about a grandmother I never met. 

I feel connected to my grandmother through her words: She left a reflection of her soul behind - on the pages of her journal.


My thirty minutes is up.


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