Something happened yesterday…
Yesterday was the first day of my summer.
Butterflies emerged in crowds.
Purple Emperor, Red Admiral, Comma…
I’ve been waiting for them for days, wondering whether weather had wrecked their cycle and drowned them.
And suddenly they were on the great purple spikes of buddleia flowers.
Flitting, flirting, clapping, waving, showing off their magnificent new bodies.
And for me that’s the start of English summer.
There were other visitors too…
A Hummingbird Hawk Moth and Painted Lady from France.
Ringlets, meadow Browns and gatekeepers on the flowering oregano that’s spread like spilled paint across the flower garden.
I gazed at all these lovely annual gifts around me, the best presents each year.
Gardening here is a continual struggle. Nature wants to return in its own way, but I want my own version. Capability Rook, allowing some, forbidding others.
So I catch moles in the morning, admire butterflies at noon, and cut grass in the afternoon.
I keep nature tamed. And it reminds me of 19th study novels and paintings, with their same, though more symbolic, struggles between nature and nurture, wilderness and garden.
Then it’s time to cook supper.
I put the bits and pieces on the table, veg from the garden, fish for the dog (getting over an operation), and some steak.
Where do I start? What’s first? What’s the sequence? How will I avoid over poking the veg or the steak?
This is how prep starts nowadays. Get it all assembled, diced, sliced and in bowls, then cook.
Jane’s late back so I go outside and read with a drink and the dog.
When she arrives she goes in and puts lots of things on the table.
You know where this is going?
I come in to cook.
Which are parts of supper, and which are not?
I really don’t know where to start.
It’s just a mess. A pile. And I can’t sort it out.
My mood changes. Confusion. Frustration. Impatience. Irritation. Anger.
I start cooking, knowing that it’s likely the meal will be awful, unable to see the pathway through all this mess.
I get increasingly annoyed but try not to show it.
Little things that Jane says annoy me…things which normally are just harmless comments or questions.
I take a frying pan out of the oven, using oven gloves, of course.
Know where this is going?
Put the pan in the side.
Turn back to do something else.
Pick up the pan to put it on the hotplate…
Jesus f******** C*****
Burned my hand.
Hand in bowl of water.
And that was that.
Jane took over cooking and said nice things.
And I’m left wondering what happened yesterday?
I’ve had a few occasions recently where I wondered about the pattern taking shape.
Mis-hearing things, stumbling, confusion, forgetting things…
It’s getting worse.
I’m losing more brain cells, and functions are slowing down.
I’m more inclined to let things go, let someone else do them, or just ignore them.
And suddenly I’m worried.
It’s gone ok until now. But something happened yesterday.
Something might have slipped away a little.