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July 04 Rooms of experience1. Room to room. Each a journey that now takes me twice as long as normal to achieve. The sun hitting the floor of my bedroom today with all the sweetness of July. Someone watching Wimbledon repeats elsewhere, the thwack of the ball. Back and forth, back and forth. 2. These journeys give me time to think. I can smell apples on the air. The joy of sinking into a chair filled with cushions. Small moments of joy in my day. 3. Someone said last night *Lets have hot dogs and mustard for tea.* Yes, lets. It will remind me of seaside days with you. Hands filled with shells. Salt on my lips, my lips on yours. Sun on my skin. Honey sunsets, golden days. The waves saying, *Hush, hush.* Only time will tell, only time. July 03 Weaving my dreamsI was going to write about nurse Ratchett. Now I'm not. The memory of that *health care professional* screaming into my ear that she wanted to take my obs every hour on the hour all of Tuesday night will live with me forever. Someone should tell her that sound travels at night. A lot. My analgesics are knocking me for six. I alternate between feeling as high as a kite and writhing in agony. I don't remember my other foot being as painful as this. Well, enough about my tootsies. If you want to know how I am, pm me. So some tiny thoughts for today, to keep me going and from falling asleep. My bedrooms a mess and that drives me nuts, being a tidy person by nature. Mess to the left and to the right. The gentle echo of pattering rain on the glass. Windows pulled closed. The still air seeped in memory. A puddle of rain on the windowsill. I'm dreaming of church spires and wheatfields full of crimson, swaying poppies. In the corner , my dreams sit weaving themselves into my words. Those red threads that shimmer in my heart. Memories of perfect days spent with you. No matter the distance, the shadows keep chase. July 02 This little piggy went to marketWell, I'm home. Two crutches, one three inch pin right up the bone in my second toe. Ouch, thrice ouch. Titter ye not. I wanted to title this blog * This little piggy went to market, * or : * My observations of an overnight stay in hospital* It would only take the first line. Observation one. Who designs hospital surgical gowns? The Marquis De Sade? They are so flimsy they reminded me of my grannies oldest, thinnest, tablecloth. With two pieces of thread to hold them together. The nurses wheeled me off down to theatre and proceeded to ask me to shimmy over onto the operating table. Try doing that and holding the gown from hell on. I bet David Copperfield or Houdini couldn't have done a better job. ( Well, I was nekkid underneath! ) Two hours later and still groggy from the anaesthesia, I tried to get it off to get into my jammies, and only succeeded in baring my bottom to the entire medical team. Most of them are receiving counselling as I write this. I thought *Things can only get better* and then Nurse Ratchett arrived. ( Not her real name, obviously.) She was my nurse for the wee hours, and had a voice which could be heard from the moon. But that's another whole blog. I'm back peeps, I'm back. July 01 Here I go againI can't sleep. Surprise, surprise. Words then, on the pink page. The most delicate experience I had last time I had my surgery was the cup of tea afterwards. We had travelled to England on one of the hottest nights of the summer, our flight was delayed by three hours. We had eaten airport food * shudder* and when we got in we had a bus ride of over an hour. I was exhausted. Sticky, grimy and thirsty. We reached the hotel that the hospital was putting us up in, and then it was midnight. I felt like Cinderella when she lost her glass slipper. I looked at the words on my admission letter in bold print. NOTHING TO EAT OR DRINK AFTER MIDNIGHT. *Blink* I struggled all night in sorching temperatures not to think about ice cold water, lemonade in a glass filled with ice and lemons. This time, I am allowed a *light* breakfast. Which I have just had. Coffee and toast. Then those dreaded words NOTHING TO EAT OR DRINK AFTER EIGHT AM. Thank goodness I only have two feet. ( Thanks y'all for all the lovely messages of support and good wishes for today, I'm gonna sneak my laptop into the hossi and hope there is network connection :) Can't have you lot sloping off to another pink page somewhere now , can we? :) June 30 DreamcatcherA moment taken out of an hour of this day. Words to be written here ( tomorrow a blog less day, not sure what frightens me more that thought or the op *gulp*) A day without words? Like asking me not to breathe. I'm not ready yet today to let the world in. I have so much to do. Yet, I would rather be out on some deserted, windswept beach, watching pink kites flutter in the wind, and my favourite book of poems in my hand. I met you again in my dreams last night, you strolled into them as if you had never left. You belong there, you see. * We will go dancing* You said. * I promise * you said and then my dream moved, as dreams do, to the night we danced, my body held so tightly against yours I could feel your heartbeat. Reality and dreams woven like a dreamcatcher blowing gently in the wind. And the reason why I cry every time I hear Katie Melua sing. June 29 When the stars blinkI have a thing for ticket stubs. In my journal you will find stubs from art galleries I've visited, journeys on the undergrounds of the world, New York, London, Prague. Operas I've listened to. Plays I've seen. Airline tickets that brought me to you. Memories, as you know, don't always work in straight lines. They weave along the river in your mind, late at night when the stars are blinking at you. I've pared this day down to the essentials today. Pink skirt, pink tee and endless trips to the coffee pot. The house has been still, quiet as a lily pond. I like it that way. Looking out the window as I type now, there is a girl walking down our road reading * A brief history of time* I smile. I go and get more ticket stubs for my journal. My brief history of time. It's strange to think of Autumn, when summer is barely with us. Ah , but Autumn, brought me to you. Once more, the Vide Cor MeumIt is well after midnight and I am mellow with wine. I will write again, later today. For this new morning, however, the sheer beauty of this~ stole my breath away. Tonight, at midnight. June 28 Sitting in midnightI loved sitting in midnight with you. Our laughter caught in the folds and creases of our pillows. Your secrets flipping from your fingers as they traced the outline of my mouth. Oh those midnight hours. When we talked and dreamed as if there was no tomorrow. You are everything I think. Always. One line of a song today took me outside of time, to the place where we first met. I washed my hair with Camomile shampoo this morning. Because you love the scent of it when it catches my hair in the breeze. You give me the words every day. You know my heart, you see. You see the wordsmith hidden there. Did from day one, and I love you for that alone. You know my favourite scent. Song. City. Poet. You KNOW me. Most of all, I love the way it creeps up on me and whispers it's beauty into my neck. When I least expect it. Rather like fragrance, after the summer rain. Of midnight. June 27 Shoebox memoriesWell, that's that for a while. I finished my shift at work today and I am now officially on sick leave. I can hardly believe it is almost a year when you lot were all wishing me well for my first op. Here we go again then ! I laughed out loud when I read on my info pack that no mobiles were allowed in to the hospital where I am going. As if. My mobile is joined to my hip at all times. ( I am a serial texter and not ashamed to admit it :) I am a rapturous fan of any gizzmo that links me to those I love. I also love the media, art , music and all things that represent the manifestations of the human spirit. So, I've been shoe boxing a lot of the past this week, ( inlaid with pink tissue and beautiful memories. ) I want to be able to take them out at will and savour them. The past can resurface anytime it wants for me. Old underground ticket stubs, journal entries, random gifts all spilling out with bittersweet tenderness. And the faint heady scent of your love. Currently reading :~  June 26 Love before timeDeep in the petals of the rose, you lie hidden. It's easy to get lost in those furls. In the labyrinth of love. Today is a day to step back, take stock, and watch the summer world turn. In between the rain showers. Good words have entered me again. Hasty scribbles in my favourite coffee house. I've run out of journals, so today, a new one. A fresh page for the pages of words you fill my head with every day. You, the reason behind my secret smile, the shortest distance between you and me. The aroma of coffee flooding my senses and making me reach for my fountain pen. Oh, jars full of words. Journals, and love before time. You, always, deep in the petals of the rose.
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