Getting a Grip

 

I think that if I hadn’t begun my Healer training journey back in February, then I wouldn’t be getting back to having a grip on life as quickly as I have done after the events of the previous two weeks. I lost track of time a bit, and I think that was a good thing because it means I have been living life at my pace of time and not the pace dictated by clocks and calendars. Time can flex, you know, speed up and slow down if we let it, to suit our needs and purposes at any given moment. Before my healer training I wouldn’t have known that it could do that - but I do now and because of that experience I can draw on it in the future. Lesson learned - don’t let society expectations dictate how you manage the breadth and length of your days. They are your days, no-one else’s. As someone who’s always been a bit of a clock watcher, this is a big realisation for me.

I’ve been grateful for little pockets of joy and good news, too, that have dotted themselves into the oddness of this time. Chris, my son, has been promoted to a managerial position at his workplace. He was their first choice for promotion - they recognise what a hard working, reliable, steady and conscientious man he is. His partner starts a new job this week.  This is a big step for her, reflecting how much she has grown in herself this past year. Heather, my daughter, has been given more responsibility at her school, showing how much they value her as a practitioner and deputy-head-in-waiting. Her partner has also got a new job - the start of a new career for him, in fact, and one that he deserves so much. Both my granddaughters have been given awards since their return to school after lockdown - awards that recognise their kind and caring natures. To see my family achieve, grow and progress so positively in their lives gives me such quiet joy and a warm heart. They are all my life’s blessings. 

Bambino is still looking for Flora. He’s never been a very vocal cat, unlike Flora whose constant chirruping, chattery mewing and pppppprrrring have left holes of sensory energy around the house, especially in my work room where she often kept me company. Now he is calling for her several times a day. She was his playmate and Chief Boxer of the Nose and I don’t think Andy and I quite come up to standard for the Wrestling on the Rug sessions. Ah well...I’m sure he’ll come to accept her physical absence eventually.

I do wonder if he can still feel her energy and spirit. Animals are much more sensitive to these things than us humans. Perhaps he senses her, and then is puzzled when he can’t find her? 

I was vacuuming on Friday and found a piece of Flora’s fluffy fur under the bed. I sat with it for a while, a few more tears, and then I went into Victorian Lady Mourning Mode, dug out a locket from my jewellery box and managed to wrangle the fur inside. I’m wearing it round my neck at the moment. Is that weird? Wearing a tuffet of your dead cat’s fur in a locket around your neck? To be honest, it bothers me not what others might think or say. It is bringing me steadiness and comfort to feel her energy near me. I suspect I shan’t always wear it, but for now it has to be. 

The granddaughters have rescued a guinea pig. They have called him Potato. Because...well, why wouldn’t you? 

This morning I have prepared Sunday lunch, done some laundry, made leek and potato soup, an apple crumble and two loaves of spelt bread which, although a bit tricky to handle, turned out very nicely indeed. I have done some book-learning, chatted with one of my fellow Student Healers, and enjoyed the slow music pace of Radio 2 in response to the passing of Prince Philip. I think they should keep their broadcasting thus - dispense with all the inane chatter and shrieking that goes on sometimes in favour of more lovely music. It’s been very calming. 

Andy has been in the garden planting seeds in the new raised beds. He has cockerel-proofed the beds. A wise move. Chickens have no respect for freshly planted seeds. He is also looking for a suitable passage from the works of Terry Pratchett to read at his mum’s funeral on Thursday.

Getting that grip back on life.