Artist and writer currently living in Aberystwyth.
I fret about falling, too much probably. It makes me body tight with fear. I take ginger steps. And then, not walking, not striding and stirring up my heart leaves me guilt ridden and unexercised. I must just wait it out. Tomorrow will be rain and a thaw. For now, acceptance of what is enough.
It’s frightening, unreal, shocking, and yet, has it always happened throughout history, those with might and power taking and imposing on those without? Why am I so aghast? Their intentions are clear. And who can stop them? Appeasment and turning away seems to be the nature of politics these days. Let good win out. Shall the meek still inherit the earth or must there be a flood first?
Something he said jarred in me and I did it, I slammed the door. I’d tested the act in my head before committing it. I saw it all. And, after a few moments felt rather silly. I cannot live well when I behave badly. It rancours. It doesn’t sit. He knows and he always forgives. As do I. Mostly.
Does it feel like New Year? Not yet. Perhaps it won’t. Perhaps it will just gently, unobtrusively morph into another January. The man on the radio with the honeyed urbane voice said that the shape of it will feel strange. Yes. The numbers do and the evenness of them. But in some ways, though I miss the escapism of noise and spectacle, it is easier this sliding, this easing into it. Accept what is and be grateful. That will do. It is enough.
My fingers smart in it, my toes numb. But it is nothing. I know this, and I try to hold them in my mind as I register such knowing. It is nothing compared to the cold being felt at this moment by those displaced, homeless people in this world’s war zones. I think of those in Gaza, in Ukraine, in Sudan. I don’t know what to say or do for them. If wishes count for anything let 2026 bring an end to such horrors. Let there be a lasting peace. Let it be a kind time, a year of people being fed, housed, warmed and cherished. All people, all religions, all skin colours. Let is be so.
I notice how we are both being diminished. It isn’t just him. We are both forgetting things. I work hard at remembering, writing copious notes, or holding information in head, repeating it silently until the act of whatever it is I was trying to recall is done. I get cross when he forgets things, like the key in the door last night, and then I am sorry. Help me to be kinder, more tolerant and patient with him.
They jar today. Somedays there is a smoothness, an almost forget ease about them, but not now, not this morning. I try to welcome the pain, the discomfort. Knowing it, feeling its existence. It is better that then fighting it and getting all tight with despair. This is how it is. My body is ageing, becoming less than right. I can manage this though. It is ok.
I wish my thoughts to have more power, to effect a change, to make a difference. I think of that man, that brave man fighting to preserve his country’s sovereignty and security going to the US to find some kind of peace promise. I think of him and wish him the best that can be found so that the killing can stop.
It was always a disappointment of a day when I was small. After the excitement of Christmas Eve and the anti-climax afforded by Christmas Day there was nothing left to say by the time Boxing Day came along. What did we do? Visit people, I suppose. I remember the languor too well. This day I shall work. For the time being I am happier doing so…..
I go in to wake him up for breakfast. He is fast asleep, his mouth open and I think that is what he will look like when he dies. Let it not be yet.