so this was xmas

We opted for xmas day as the perfect day for a hill walk and it did start out nice and mostly sunny, albeit cold. By the time we had parked the car and put on our boots, however, a big bank of fog moved in and decided to stay for the rest of the day. So, instead of grand vistas, we were surrounded by mysterious blankness.

This kind of cloudy presence created a deep silence around us and at times, all we could do was stumble through it, never sure what was around the corner. Yet, we discovered ancient sulphuric springs dating back to the Roman times.

 

And suddenly, a bit of clear sky to cherish the deep beech forest.

 

With thick mosses and lichens.

 Volcanic remains from an eruption dating back 200,000 years.

Eventually, we settled down for our xmas dinner in an old hunting shed.

And arrived back at the car with much mud to clean from my boots bring home.

The next morning, we woke to brilliant blue skies and not a trace of cloud in sight. Ah well, I suppose we can have a walk in sunny weather any time, whereas climbing and sliding through foggy mud is exceptional. 

Since every commercial aspect, such as shops and restaurants, comes to a standstill for three days here over xmas, I am only slowly getting my orientation back, reminding myself what day of the week it is and so on. Suddenly, I am noticing that pile of papers and files on my desk I think I may have to sort through before the (tax) year ends and I get the tiniest inkling of stress but only briefly. But then, a shrug, who cares.

 Here I am. What happens now, happens to me.

Anna Seghers

one day past midwinter

 

This is an old picture. Today, the view was still the same, a few more clouds but the wind just as cold. 

Yesterday, we watched the light beam make its way into the chamber of Newgrange and luckily, it was a sunny morning. We watched it on the tiny screen of R's cellphone and it was ridiculous and wonderful at the same time.

This is an older video but it looked just like it. Those ancient Celts knew their stuff.

 

 

When walking in the cold, I usually end up counting my steps, pulling my knees up and rolling my feet with every step to stay warm. This eventually sends me into a kind of drowsy absentmindedness, just functioning, for a while and then a string of thoughts starts up, sending my mind all over the place. Today, there were snippets from a podcast on the end of civilisation (Margaret Wheatly in conversation with Sarah Wilson), the new school the grandchild with go to after the xmas holidays, my brother's birthday coming up, how to use all of the leftover wool for one big project so I start from scratch, how reading thrillers is like "eating chocolate in bed" (a quote by Siri Hustvedt) and that I have actually read 99 books this year - most of them thrillers I don't even remember.

As usual, R had announced that his new year's resolution is to not have any resolutions, while I silently started to make a list. Or two. Out loud, we compared our lists of the number of doctor's visits we need to schedule, strictly check-ups and vaccine updates. It's going to be an exciting year. Watch this space.

 

No matter what times we live in, no matter who holds power or who is being oppressed, we all have to hang onto ourselves, to what we know to be right and good, to not sacrifice those values even for our own skin, much less our own power, success, or status.

The moral codes we live by do not have to be immaculate. They do not have to check every box of what we think is expected of us, or what we expect of ourselves. All they must be—and this is harder than it sounds—is sturdy enough to withstand the wreckage of history.

Antonia Malchik

Almost midwinter.

the apricot tree asleep

The sun set at 04:28 pm today. The wind is fierce but we enjoyed an almost blue sky when we went out for the afternoon walk. Earlier, R insisted on going up on the roof to nail down the zink top of the chimney that was blown down. This was accompanied by me complaining hysterically about him taking risks while these kind of events and repairs are covered by the expensive insurance we keep on paying and never claiming. But there are things a man must do. Or so it seems. Anyway, he noticed my distress and voluntarily joined me on my walk.

The garden is more or less dormant. This is the vegetable area with a stretch of sprouting broccoli and Brussel sprouts in the top right, some chewy green leafy stuff from a Chinese plant in the top left, a last bit of hardy spinach and couple of parsnips in the front left and green manure (phacelia) in the right front. The rest is a neglected mess. We share the parsnips with the magpies and the squirrels, strictly on a first come first serve basis.

In the greenhouse, I am nurturing two surprise avocado plants from stones that started to sprout while sitting deep inside the compost and two pots with next spring's new lilies or maybe iris. I forget.

I have again been odered to document my food intake (energy, protein, B12) for a couple of days and this has been today's fare. You are welcome to skip this bit. And I won't do this every day.

• Breakfast was a bowl of oatmeal porridge with low fat milk and a delicious clementine fresh from Spain. Two cups of black tea, each with a drop of low fat milk.
• Mid-morning snack was a slice of spelt toast, with a bit of that vegan butter stuff that's meant to be rich in omega 3, topped with a slice of fol epi (French cheese from the Loire valley) and  another cup of black tea with a drop of milk.
• Lunch was a soup I made from a large fennel bulb, a chunk of cauliflower and two small potatoes, all of which I first roasted in the oven with a generous dash of olive oil, salt, pepper and baharat (Middle Eastern) spice mix before I whizzed the lot with an added handful of Thai basil and some left over feta cheese in the blender. Ate it with another slice of spelt toast with that omega-3 spread on top of it. Followed by a large cup of coffee with hot foamy milk.
  
• Mid-afternoon snack was the daily dose of protein powder (pure whey) mixed in a cup of Greek yoghurt and a handful of fresh raspberries - they come from Morocco these days.
• Dinner was cottage cheese mixed with cherry tomatoes and Thai basil. More black tea with a little bit of milk and three slices of Zwieback. 

I enjoyed all of it, most of these are from my favourite foods list anyway. As long as I can remember I have been a big fan of Zwieback, which is sometimes translated as rusk but that's not quite it. At some stage, I even baked it myself but it's a bit labour intensive (Zwieback translates as baked twice) and much easier to just buy it. The variety of Zwiebacks is vast, I am currently partial to the "whole spelt with butter" version. It must be dipped into tea or coffee. My mother and women of her generation made a baby dish of Zwieback soaked in some hot water or milk - depending on the age of the baby - and then mashed with a banana. It is also excellent in a decent sherry trifle.

Here is a picture I have borrowed from Wikipedia.

On our walk we talked about the state of the planet, we always do. We covered fake news, our own set of blinders when it comes to how (not) to avoid fossil fuels, plastics and other comfortable stuff that we are too lazy to change. We talked about the civilization collapse and the roof skylight that needs repairing. Also, Black Doves on Netflix.

 

What motivates us to act is a sense of possibility within uncertainty – that the outcome is not yet fully determined and our actions may matter in shaping it.

Rebecca Solnit

when we were gods

These are the days of darkness and cold. It's barely above freezing outside. While I was cleaning the downstairs windows (I enjoy cleaning windows BTW), I notice that something or someone has been gnawing away a bit of the frame from the patio door. The door is made from very hard hardwood and has been unblemished until six weeks ago when I last washed the glass and the frame (I take window cleaning very seriously). We decided that it's not the end of the world and that for now we shall observe hoping that the door will not collapse. Maybe the termites are coming to take over the house. Last night I dreamt of being back in Africa fighting with never ending columns of red ants.

My mind is otherwise blank and blissfully useless. I got yet another letter from the pension people in Ireland promising even more arrears to be paid shortly. As a matter of fact, shortly could mean anything and R thinks it's a scam anyway. 

Here are some mostly anonymous bits from the wise internets. That's all I have the energy for.

History has shown time and again that defeating injustice is much easier than achieving justice.

 

You can relax. If you decide against climate protection, it does not mean that you are selling your soul. You are only selling those of your children and grandchildren, and if things go well for you, you won't even have to watch.

 

Lauren Hough

For all the mothers out there, I wish you would read this post, it's longish, so take your time. I admit that I got quite emotional reading it. And I am a hard nut as the saying goes.

https://katywheatley.substack.com/p/a-very-long-post-about-maternal-burnout

diagnostic dead end

 

In fairness, it was kind, the way he told me over the phone. In my mind's eye I could almost see him shrug. We have reached the end of diagnostic options. And I replied that I understood, obviously. I almost laughed. After four experts and I lost count how many procedures, it has been agreed that the displacement of various bowel segments due to chronic inflammation scars and whatever else could - in theory - be surgically repaired but what's the opposite of in theory here, maybe in fact. In fact, surgery is not an option because of the compromised immune system due to the past 10+ years of immune suppression therapy, which most likely saved my life or at least the life expectancy of my liver, kidneys, heart and lungs. Also eyes and ears. And ayway, surgery in otherwise healthy people without an autoimmune disease has a success rate at only around 50 percent.

In short, this is the shape of things from now on. Me, hoping in the morning that the small bland yet pleasant breakfast portion will not cause a wave of painful bloating that could last until evening, while creating an Ottolenghi style lunch with said bland ingredients.

I have long ago accepted how limited my personal autonomy actually has become with a body that's a site of complication and now that eating has become a trial-by-error assault course, I can only shrug.

As Virginia Woolf said, in illness, the mind gives way to a thousand fantasies we don’t find time for in health.

Other than that, it's winter and cold and wet. I push myself outside, well wrapped, listening to a gruesome thriller, feeling slightly embarrassed for doing so when this is the view.

I could share my thoughts on stuff, like how the more feminist achievements there are, the more patriarchal violence increases. And how the crisis situations we are living in - climate crisis, wars, increasing poverty - motivates men to abuse and humiliate those who are below them in the hierarchy and how this behavior is increasingly accepted. How global right-wing extremism celebrates a traditional, alpha image and how religious fanaticism, whether evangelical or Islamist, celebrates the oppression of women. But then what? Right now, I just want to get from one day to the next, have a decent walk, digest my food without too much pain and find out who did it (in the thriller).