bees and Dutch custard

This healing takes time, sometimes I think I can feel the shifting and rearranging of cells, other times I just take a pain killer, I am not tough. I can hear my mother, pull yourself together and stop making such a big deal about a bit of pain. (Let's not go down that memory lane for now.)

The circulation is dodgy, sometimes the ground moves under my feet, my ears begin to hiss and I give in and stay put in the deck chair under the wisteria. 

So I distract myself (or panic for a short little while).

The little cat stays by my side, probably because I supply her with empty vla containers. Dutch comfort food for the chewing-impaired. That and porridge with one of R's smoothies. Come to think of it, my nutrition has never been better.

 

On Sunday afternoon the garden was suddenly buzzing with hundreds and hundreds of bees and by the end of the day a colony had settled high up in the Douglas fir. It sits there now, a large brown teeming drop, shiny and calm, just the occasional humming. Eventually the distraught bee keeper arrived, in shorts, sticking his pale bare legs out to reassure us that there was no danger. He has only been doing this for a year and apparently this is the second time a rebel colony has left his garden down the road. He frowned as he looked up into the tall tree and mumbled something about a ladder but we haven't seen him since.

And I have been watching all seven parts of Top of the Lake and now I am trying to convince everybody and the whole world to watch this. In one go.