Just a few days away from the rest of the world. I wouldn’t need to stay there forever. But just for a few days, I would love to have this little indulgence that I hope everyone would forgive me for. A great escape to someone special, somewhere remote, a little taste of paradise.
I love people, I need people, I thrive with people. But there is always someone who wants my attention, my help with something, for me to arrive earlier or stay later, or change my plans. I don’t really mind that. I am a very obliging person.
But just for a few days, I would like to be allowed a few days with just one man, Goldfinch, just he and I, cut off from the demands of the world. Far away from turbulence and strife and divisions. The peace and tranquillity and seclusion of some idyllic little nugget somewhere, anywhere – just so long as he was with me.
I would like to take in a deep breath and fill my lungs with freedom and everlasting joy. I would like to lay down in the soft white sand, with a cool breeze refreshing me and feel utterly safe, unable to remember any of my worries and completely confidant that life is going to be better and brighter and more beautiful.
After a day out in the smog and smoke of London I come home covered with a dusting of filth. I can tell its entangled in my hair, peppered on my clothes and clogging up my pores. All the dirt I have brushed against or absorbed into my skin making me look shabby and dull.
Once I am in my little nest, my haven from the big chokey smoke outside, I turn on the shower or sometimes the bath taps…and soon I submerge myself into cleansing water washing away all the grime.
And now that I am glowing and squeaky clean, wrapped up in flannel pyjamas…it is time to say goodnight, and hope wherever you are you have peace.
I need to get myself to sleep, but I am so excited about the thought of being with Goldfinch soon. So I have just warmed some cashew milk and honey and I am hoping it will make me sleepy. Good night and thank you for your wonderful comments.
I have mentioned a few times that my sisters and I were competitive swimmers when we were younger. We swam at least three times a week, straight after school (Monday, Wednesday and Friday). Every trip to the local swimming pool lasted for several hours. We would swim up and down, up and down, up and down, length after length, mile after mile. The local swimming pool was a 25 metre long pool.
We also swam regularly in Wigan which had an Olympic sized swimming pool. (Sadly that pool was demolished some years ago.)
There was a problem that was the downfall of a competitive swimming career for the three of us. None of us were competitive. We just loved swimming. My parents would never have fostered a competitive spirit in us. But we were all strong and fast swimmers – especially Milly. Well, Milly was faster than all the other swimmers in her age-group. I probably had the most stamina. I never tired out. I have swam for five hours continually and not wanted to stop, except that the staff blew the whistle to say they were closing soon.
We had a strict swimming coach who used to yell at us with instructions to improve our stroke. I remember her shouting at us to go faster and push harder and kick more firmly. We did what she told us, but none of us had any particular taste for winning. For a long time, we kept on winning races. I upset one of the neighbour’s children when I raced against her and ended up beating the rest of the children by about half the length of the pool. All those hours and hours of practice meant we were very swift through the water. She was so upset she told all the other kids in our street that I cheated – I don’t see how I could have cheated without anyone noticing…but it just contributed to my growing dislike to racing.
One by one we all told Mum and Dad we did not want to race anymore. We still loved swimming, but competitions were taking the pleasure out of something very special to us. All three of us little ones were total water babies. My favourite memories are our time playing in the water before and after we were under the charge of our scary swimming coach.
We imagined ourselves to be swimming in the sea. We could all hold our breath for a long time and we swam with our eyes wide open in the chlorinated water. We sometimes pretended we were fish and just wriggled our bodies through the water the way fish move through briny oceans.
We used to swim along the bottom of the pool normally at the deeper end of the pool pretending to be mermaids. We often played a game with either a coin, a hair bobble or one of locker keys. One of us would drop it on on the floor of the pool and the other two would comb the entire pool in search for the object as if we were diving for treasure.
We sometimes used to pretend there was a shark that we had to escape from, or we used to try to jump up out of the water pretending we were dolphins. We danced in the water like synchronised swimmers and we performed all sorts of somersaults and twirls in the water. To us the water was our playground, and we felt totally relaxed within it. We imagined all sorts of watery games that entertained us for hours. I don’t know what the life-guards thought of us three girls.
Even today, I often wish the swimming pool was empty so I could play like I did as a child, diving and dancing to my heart’s content. But instead I have to swim like an adult…up and down, up and down.
There are so many of us who feel the pain you must have been through. How many of us would love to heal your wounds and bring back to you the treasure that was taken from you. Your courage and endurance are an inspiration and not a few of us are left with tears after reading about your challenges.
All we can do is read…and like…and comment – our little token of support and appreciation. It is the very least we could do. But if we were neighbours, or friends, and not just bloggers, I am sure we would be eager to do more. And there would be many evenings around the camp-fire with sizzling soya sausages waiting to be devoured. I am sure many of us would bring cake. And whether it is whisky, Becks Blue or herbal tea, there will be plenty to wash down the bangers and cake. I would bring the karaoke machine. I would hope there would be some football.
It wouldn’t solve anything. It would just be fun, and a little light-heartedness. We want you to have more light-heartedness. More and more light-heartedness, until those wings heal and you find yourself flying again. With the woman who was the world to you inspiring you and all of us cheering you. That’s what we all want for you.
This post was inspired by a couple of comments between me and another blogger (who might be cringing with embarrassment when he realizes this is about him!) …