This started as a watercolor study of sweet potato leaves and rapidly became a semi-abstract study. I’m sure I don’t know how that happens sometimes.
Mongrel, 5
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Mongrel, 4
The only time in my life that I’ve ever risked looking directly at the sun was in 2019 when bush-fire smoke made that possible. Here the sun setting behind Chincogan or more popularly known as ‘Chinnie’. A little relationship to the story so far.
Mongrel, 3
Mongrel, 2
Spoon Theory
In the ME/CFS arena it’s said that we have eight spoons of energy per day. And we do careful calculations so we don’t go over the eight because, woe betide me, going over means a week or more of resting and recovery.
Pacing is never going over your eight spoons per day.
Habits and routines are godsent, for they save me from having to make decisions. And decisions come at 12 and a quarter per spoon, if it’s true that we functionally have energy for only a hundred of the pesky blighters per day.
Habits and routines mean I am on automatic, doing stuff without consciously realizing it. Which can often work well. Though not today.
Today (Wednesday 10th) I sorted Lego in the morning. Used up eighty percent of decision making energy just deciding little things like which drawer, which container? More or less unconsciously.
This all, I am assuming now (Thursday 11th) so that I wouldn’t have any energy to do my usual wishy-washy, will I—won’t I, and just go … see Centrelink, and in the usual way fail to solve the problem due to not thinking it through before starting out.
Which is exactly what happened. I had about a quarter of the paperwork needed, and the operator organized me another appointment tomorrow (Friday 12) for an in-depth thing when they will put me through the wringer.
Own fault, though my good excuse is that I was, it turned out, half sick. Today, Thursday 11, whole sick.
Bosley’s Builders, 16
Just posted Part 16 on the Brick Stories page. I realized this morning I’m seriously behind and not even sure whether I’ve even posted it already, though could not find it.
The crew having their Saturday barbecue … read the chapter in Brick Stories
In the Biesboschen …
In the Biesboschen
Four hundred begettings ago,
Hunting, fishing and gathering
We people followed the narrow under-tree paths
of deer and swine.
Otter-Wijf might then have been my name.
Hung with bones, herbs and a wisert’s skin
I walked and walked and walked the cool under-tree paths
Of our home range.
— — — —
With this painting and poem I’ve tried to manifest a dream in which I had the clearest sensation that I walked through sand–making those little squeaks–in an ancient Dutch setting. Otter-wijf was my name and I wore a leather shoulder bag with dried herbs in it, and a leather wrap about my shoulders.
It was the uncanniest thing when I woke, no longer wearing the wrap or the bag when only seconds before they felt as real, as the bed-sheets a few seconds later.
Rita de Heer 