It's a lovely thing to do, even if we are away for four of the twelve days of Christmas. Advent seems to have sped by at an astonishing pace this year.
I heard a discussion on Radio Four yesterday morning about the therapeutic role of creative writing and poetry. It helped me reflect on what was happening to me when I had the stroke, as well as helping me regain hand-eye coordination. Every now and then I amuse myself by writing verses in haiku on anything that catches my attention. Last night I started writing a connected series of verses on my experience of having a stroke, and forged these into a poem this morning.
Nothing seems the same.
A storm surprises the brain
Familiar becomes
strange, unrecognisable.
Stumbling gait and speech
becoming incoherent.
Reasoning falls short
of reaching a conclusion.
Above and beyond
The inner eye keeps vigil.
Despite the chaos
of motion and sensation.
'Time to stop' it warns.
Pay full attention and come
to terms with yourself.
You are older than you think.
A veggie pasta for lunch with 'bamia' as the Greeks call Ladies Fingers, bought from a local veg shop that specialises in vegetables more commonly found in Asian recipes. A pleasant surprise, reminding me of our youthful backpacking journeys of discovery in Crete sixty years ago.
I went into town after lunch in search of Christmas presents and clips to hold together a pair of duvets. I found the shops hard going, noisy with background music, busy with shoppers and the light from so many shelves, flashing lights and video promotional screens. Tiredness made it hard to process so much stimulus, but I got what I needed to buy, before returning home at dusk on the 61 bus.
We have a train at 10.45 tomorrow, so bag packing tonight followed by early bed in the hope of getting enough rest to cope with what will be a very busy journey to Kenilworth via Birmingham and Coventry. I'm looking forward to being there, but not looking forward to the disruption of the trip.
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