HOW DO
This morning the air carries the scent of young daffodils. I sense the raw potential of their bulbs and taut green leaves, and am reminded of a summer job many years ago. Riding on a farm machine with a conveyor belt that brought us the freshly ploughed bulbs for sorting was a job I had never heard of before doing it. Physical work out in the fresh air all day, and a brown envelope of wages at the end of the week to tuck into a pocket with pride.
Alt text says this week’s photo is a group of heart shaped objects. I say it is the contents of my heart jar, and that some of these hearts are just right for fitting in a pocket and some definitely aren’t. I also say there is a rose quartz heart missing from this collection, but even though it is not here it has been remembered in a poem.
One of my favourite greetings of the week was, “How Do”. I love the fact it is a rare greeting! It was delivered in a warm, friendly tone in response to my cheery, “Hello” as I walked past a man sorting out bird feeders in his garden. I even remembered that it is probably a complete response in itself and I need not reply. I smiled and carried it with me as a gentle reverberating echo all the way down the road.
Because I had been feeling a little out of synch with greetings on a walk recently I have also made it my mission to say a little more every now and again when I pass walkers. Mostly to comment on the joy of the sunshine or the pleasure of walking. It puts an extra spring into my step when this is met with a reply that is also longer than a simple greeting. I like the feeling of little connections brightening the day.
In amongst this I had a couple of ‘grey walks’ this week; grey sky, cold air, no one around to exchange pleasantries with. And then this poem popped up in my memories on my phone:
Loneliness
Loneliness is grey.
It tastes like the lamb that I wish had never been killed.
It sounds like crying.
It smells like chips dropped on the floor.
It looks like a storm cloud closing in.
It feels like a rat that is going to bite.
Choosing a feeling, giving it a colour and thinking about what it tastes, sounds, smells, looks and feels like was one of my favourite ‘let’s get writing’ activities when I worked with children. This group poem was written by six year olds, and I love the way their images say something extra about their experience of the feeling. I liked it too when their adults joined in and everyone shared their different emotions. It strikes me that it could also be a ‘let’s think about that feeling’ activity. I know from having written one each time I have introduced it in a writing workshop, that the same exercise results in a different end product each time. Each poem told me something about what was important to set down or celebrate in the moment.
What emotion would you choose to write about today? Choose a feeling, say what colour it is, write a line for each sense. I would love to see your poem.
One of my short conversations took place in the mammogram ‘van’ in the supermarket car park this week. I am always glad that it is so easy for me to have this check carried out – close to home, easy parking. This time I had forgotten the exact procedure, but knew that it was a relatively simple process that didn’t take long. There were changing rooms outside the x-ray room, but the process was to go straight in and take top layers off in the treatment room. I removed my jumper with my thermal vest inside and put it with my bra on the chair as instructed. I told the radiographer that I had forgotten what to do and she reassured me that she would tell me as we went along. This made me remember how clear the instructions had been last time. All was indeed simple and I was impressed with the clarity of instructions especially since I can find it hard to follow instructions about what to do with my body. (I am often the person going the wrong way in dance routines.) Whilst we were exchanging pleasantries at the end I found myself replying whilst trying to get my head to come out the sleeve of my jumper/vest combo. At home I can take my thermal vest off inside my jumper and put it on again without any issues, but in the mammogram van I had to admit defeat, take it all off and try again! One of my values is to find humour in day-to-day things so it did rather tickle me, but I think I might just wear one layer next time.
Today I will share a poem that sets down the fact that it wasn’t just the rose quartz heart that gave me the confidence boost I needed at a writing event. (A version of this poem was first published in Dear Reader.)
A Rose Quartz Heart
for my pocket
instead of just tissues
to shred nervously
between fingers and thumb.
The smoothness of it
warmed within my touch.
A solid kernel in my palm.
It gave me the confidence
to hold my head high
in an unknown city,
helped me remember
to breathe steadily.
It was a connection to you
across the miles:
I hold you safe in my heart
and you can hold this heart to remind you,
you said.
Day one, my folded tissues remained whole.
I could blow my nose
without inhaling paper dust.
On the second day I found myself
just enjoying knowing it was there
without even touching it.
I let it work by itself.
That night I discovered it was gone.
While folding my clothes
in the hotel room
I reached in my pocket to find it,
but it eluded me.
It wasn’t on the floor
or in the hallway.
It wasn’t where I sat for dinner
and had not been handed in.
The next day I scanned all the edges
and gutters on the route I had taken.
Someone else must have it now.
They must have been amazed
to see it when they looked down.
That beautiful, pink, rose quartz heart.
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