Past, present, future – writing and making for here and now.

Knitting and stitching projects, story-writing and rediscovering poetry are working towards being in the here and now and creating a new tomorrow.

I think it can take quite some time to make a shift, through the generations, out of tradition and into modernity. I am reading a mix of novels at the moment, including Lacuna by Kingsolver, Bosnian Chronicle, by Andric, The Ministry of.. by Roy. All of them evolve around cultures and the shifting of humanity across time. I have also learnt to accept that it’s fine to be between times, one foot here and another over there.

Progress is often slow, with a lot of stalling. It can be frustrating when a vision seems to take forever to transpire. But knitting and writing demand pacing, giving time and trusting the imagination. Trusting that if something wants to happen it will, when it’s ready. The vision of my work in progress is constantly there and I allow it to lead me to tell the story of others.

It’s Easter this weekend, and that draws me to painting eggs, baking with filo. The tradition would have been to pick food colouring from shelves, make a gibanica loaded with cheeses. Now it’s more about the natural (modern) way. Eggs are dyed with turmeric and coffee, as I used to with yarn years ago. Gibanica has a heavy dose of spinach and eggs, with sparing use of sheets.

 

Shifting is possible, keeping some traditions is too, if they are a part of you, ingrained. But a new way of being is also essential, for all of us. We travel constantly. Be sure to document your journey, and of others too. There’s a common theme for all of us.

I enjoyed a year of reading Italy, fiction and history, language and cuisine. I haven’t done yet. The dream is to go back again, soon, if possible.

 

 

 

 

A Strange Friendship

It was strange between you and I.

You forgot too easily what I have done and remembered too easily what I have forgotten.

We were different,

We were friends, of sorts, neighbours.

You wanted me to listen to your woes,

How your life was to be pitied, how your body was decaying, how your family was hard to love.

My child visited you, you took her out. In exchange she helped you wash up and wash clothes.

You baked –  just one slice was allowed

Tea was private. We’re having our tea, come back later.

We’re having family stay. Come back later.

I looked after you when you were so old. Your family was not there.

I washed your body. Switched off your heaters. Made your sandwiches.

And still after over forty years of being neighbours I was foreigner

I was immigrant

But you still allowed me to care for you when your family were not there.

Not a thank you. Not a gift.

Who was the foreigner?    teacake