The Ego

Where does the Ego go to languish and brood after one has given it early retirement?

And what causes it to pop back into tentative activity at the least provocation? e.g. why do I feel that I can crochet 10 yards of filet lace for an altar cloth in the space of six summer weeks? Why does my husband, at 82, and only mobile in a scooter, feel that he must take the leaking hoses off the tractor he treasures and replace them - requiring him to take the whole of the top part of the tractor apart?

For that matter, why, in heaven's name, am I indulging my
self by writing a blog??

Am I in truth just saying to my Ego "Go and rest somewhere dearie - I'll call you when I need you"!

I have discovered in the last year that the only way to retire oneself from being the be all and end all (at least in one's own mind) is to live a life that is no longer ego-driven. That way lies happiness? Boredom? Nirvana ? (foreign concept to a cradle Anglican)

I will go and ponder this concept a bit as I tidy the kitchen.

Daybyday it is getting warmer and warmer. The weatherman seduces with promises of cooler days and sleepable nights, but I think he is taking lessons from Spring, who flirts so outrageously with us in March and April, - promising the delights of green grass and blossoms while she trails through the hills dispensing cold showers and raw winds.

When we were young and living on an orchard/sheep farm sometimes when we were picking apricots and peaches the thermometer would climb well over 110 degrees Fahrenheit. One year we went from June until October without any rain (this is semi desert country). We tried to keep the house cool with a sprinkler running on the flat roof, trickling down over the edges in a wonderful imitation of rain. Life went on! We watched the sky for heat engendered storms that could demolish the fruit in minutes if hail accompanied the thunder and lightening. There was nobody to terrorize us about climate change, - fifty years ago we accepted the fact that some years were hot, and some years were miserable and rainy, and that's just the way it has been for milleniums.

Now as we get more elderly we retire to the central air and find a good book, or an hour at the loom, and peer out at the weeds in the garden as they soak up the sun and reach for the sky. In the meantime the flowers and the newly planted trees wilt despondently. I think there is a rule regarding this, but it escapes me (as so many things do these days.......sigh)

I am reading Alexander Smith McCall's Espresso Tales, and wish it was as long as The Rebels of Ireland, which also sits on the bedside table. But it is much too big a book for bedtime reading, - it is the kind you have to devote the whole day to, and perhaps on into the night if your eyes hold out!

And I am weaving tea towels, and planning a silk scarf warp and enjoying these perfect days of leisure with he whom I love best!

New Beginnings

This day is coming to an end, and tomorrow starts a new week and a new experiment in expressing my day to day thoughts and experiences.

The weather is hot, and we wage a constant battle to keep the newly planted garden watered. I yearn for the old one and the mature trees that gave us shade and a feeling of permanence, but the new garden is pleasing and full of delight as we see it take shape. Only time will tell if we are still here when it has reached the stage where we can rest and relax. Perhaps you are supposed to do that right from the beginning if each day is to fulfil its promise!