CONTENTEDNESS: July at night; musing when the midges are gone.

RUM DIARIES PRESENTS

Writers Block Radio Hour

Supersoundscotland.net

August 2020

CONTENTEDNESS: July at night; musing when the midges are gone.

I cannot claim that harsh monopoly of knowledge; I know so many people who would. I cannot imagine the life of some of the people I see glimpses of on the television.

But I do know what it is like to spend week after week desperate to die. I know what it is like to dream and hope for death for month that becomes year that continues for so long that you no longer know why it is that it would be such a release.

I know what it is like to look at Wendy’s wee twins and think

“But my son. Where are you? What do you do? What do you wish for? Who do you dream of?”

And feel blank with the sadness of it; lost in the wondering of what damage I might have done to him without the knowing of it. I feel even more lost in that blankness where I realise that this separation that once I could not bear for one moment longer now just nags, like the slightest twinge of the morning after a night of drinking just a little too much.

And I know what it is like, to have someone spit at me, to throw out the words of ‘Schizo’ and ‘Psycho’, alongside her punches and kicks and to know that she still believed she loved me, despite viewing me as alien; almost another species, certainly not someone who would pass muster in the company of others.

I know so many things; I could give you a long aching list, and chief amongst it would be loneliness, where you ache for just one person to light up at catching sight of you walking in the street.

I would hold my list out; all tremulous. I would be waiting for the smile and the hug; that motherly hug that says;

“Hush now! It will all be alright!”

And yet I know that at that first suggestion of pity or even of validation I would bat the comfort away; bristle and smile a dark dismissal; desperate to return to my own dark version of myself.

For these reasons, I tend to say I that from those bitter years I have now learnt about the value and liberation of wellbeing and contentedness but I haven’t. It crept up on me all unawares and found me looking the other way, tugged at my shirt sleeves and asked me to smile.

Once I was alone and I had no money and my bed was a mattress on the floor and I shrank from each letter and phone call but worst of all, in my late mid life, I hadn’t the slightest clue about adulthood; about living with myself.

Learning to shop for clothes and to pay the bills was confusing, much more confusing was that painful attempt to create friendships, to learn to walk in my new village with two women, their dogs and children; learning to laugh, learning they wanted my company and the meals I cooked, the babysitting I did. Finding out that the children liked bed time stories and the dogs liked walked and people brightened when they saw me walk into the café they were sitting in.

And now many miles away, I remember yesterday evening; sitting in the garden in the evening sun, drinking my whisky, while the clothes flapped on the line, magpies hopped in the branches of the tree above me and woodpigeons called in the woods across the road and I remembered the lesson Wendy, my love, has helped me begin to finally start to learn.

It is nothing much but for those such as me who see success in the sunrise of a far off desert, or need to thrill at the sight of whales in a gale in order to relate the story later, or drop into the conversation the conferences they have spoken at and the people they have met; is that slow recognition that making breakfast for the family in the morning, daring to be silly in front of the children, cooking tea and washing the dishes after a long day at work; believing that you are loveable when you can’t believe it or, this evening, cuddling Wendy after a long day of just doing.

The simplest of things; saying “I love you too” to wee Charlotte; saying goodnight to James who is busy on his X box. Taking Dash the dog out for his late night wee. Looking forward to the breeze of the cool wind on my skin through the window as I sleep. The tiny pleasures of coffee in the morning, the smell of the sea, the latest story on the World Service when I wake very late or very early depending on your perspective. Buying Wendy Muller light toffee yogurt because she likes it and learning that if I wish to try to change the world, that I need to start with myself and that the game changer could be trying to tell a joke I know will go flat when in company, because the people around me will smile at my awkwardness and smile at my hesitant smile that says I want to show them all how much I love being in their lives and how I find joy at being a part of the life I had thought I needed to discard.

My grand mission is now to delight in Netflix, to relish eating a takeaway in company, to walk side by side, to pause to take photographs of flowers to delight people on Instagram who I do not know. To cut the grass occasionally, load the dishwasher, cook tea, relish sitting besides the pond we made out of a guinea pig cage; drinking whisky, while Wendy drinks tea, Charlotte swings in her hammock and James waves occasionally from his room. I need little more than that, that is where I find my contentedness.

(Photo: Coffee pots and Muller Light in the Kitchen. 11 2020)