Monday, 5 December 2016

Running on empty, and Sands running out

So its Monday, and what did I do over the weekend?  Something, I hope...  Jean and I went to the Field Service Group on Saturday morning, and we did some first calls, and I took Jean to some of her route calls and return visits on the way back.    We went to Jackie's for supper - moussaka - and we laughed all evening.  So a good day.

Sunday...  I got to the meeting - the Hall is full again -  lovely talk, the truth gets clearer and clearer - Christianity being called "the way of the truth".

But then, apart from getting lunch and supper for me and the Captain, it seems I did nothing.  I fell asleep when I got back - and slept all night as well.   It feels like running on empty.  

On Friday I did make the fruitcake for the family.  Not a Christmas cake by the way - not even a Christmas cake recipe.  It is a great boil and bake fruitcake recipe from a Cranks cookery book Captain B bought me years ago. It is always popular - a very reliable recipe.   But making it, doing my study for Sunday, and the routine housework exhausted me.

If I were writing poems now what would I be writing about old age...?  

I think I will have to borrow the words of another poet, Stephen Knight:

Stephen Knight

Sand is at the door.
Its progress through the keyhole slow:
I raise both hands to hold it back before

Sand inches, grain by grain, along the hallway floor:
Among the slippers, dunes begin to grow:
Sand is at the door

Of every cupboard, every drawer
Brims, postcards on the mantelpiece no longer show:
I raise both hands to hold it back before

My deepest rooms become extensions of the shore:
Now, where the goldfish used to come and go
Sand is: at the door,

In books, on pillows, more, and more
Sand pours towards me: with one, whispered 'no'
I raise both hands to hold it back before

My waist, my chest, my neck, my jaw
And mouth succumb to sand, its undertow...
Sand is at the door...
I raise both hands to hold it back before

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