Yesterdays Roses

Yesterday was my 40th wedding anniversary.No that is not completely true.It would have been, but then I was divorced on September the 7th,so I suppose I will have to start again from that date.Yes,I think I will do that because I like celebrating things. What do you think?

Of course there will be no red roses anymore,I never really liked them anyway,so grand,so overpowering.So shall I buy a rose for myself, one  -seeing as I will be paying – of those lovely round pink ones with the tinged green edges. Fragonard would be an appropriate name for them I think.

Yes,I am sad,memories don’t die so easily,but I have many things that make me happy and they are what count now.

Heavy Metal

Nice to be able to enjoy a couple of days of complete freedom.

Hubby went down to the Italian part of Switzerland,and I was going to stay at home,feed the cat ,and do exactly what I liked.

Bliss I thought.

A call of help from a friend changed everything yesterday.

Being a person who finds it difficult to say no, I jumped into the car and drove the few miles over to her place.

I suppose what we had talked about was still in my mind as I got back and I drove automatically and without really looking, into the garage.

Usually my car is able to drive itself home. We have a wonderful relationship, and the flitzy Italian has saved me from quite a few unforeseen situations.

But not yesterday.

Do you know what the worst sound in the world is to a car driver ?

The sound of metal fighting metal.

And that was the sound I heard yesterday as the Italian cut the corner and caught itself up on the framework of the garage door, and stayed there.

Driving forward brought the spine chilling noise to my ears,and reversing wasn’t any better.

No Hubby, neighbours on holiday,what was a woman supposed to do at a moment like this ? I suppose I could have called the fire brigade,they have often been called for less.

But I didn’t. I put my foot slowly on the accelerator and to the sound of music eased the car forward.

Two black doors,now have large white etchings on them,and a bit of the wheel guard seems to be missing.

Hubby doesn’t know yet.

No time for writing or painting I’m too busy doing housework

Somehow the days don’t seem to be long enough for everything I have to fit in. Luckily the evenings are drawing out and it isn’t dark until gone six pm now,at least that gives me the feeling that I have time, and I can paint longer by daylight.

The trouble is I take my household duties too seriously and feel that because I am married it is my responsibility to shop and cook for my husband,to say nothing of washing and ironing (he wears shirts with collars,not T shirts) Don’t get me wrong I love cooking and eating,but the half of me that would rather be be writing and painting is hammering from the inside wanting to be let out and this is very strong.

In that world where I would like to be food and eating is immaterial as are clothes or cleaning a house that is already overly clean.

I would have my own little cottage by the sea,or even a garret would be acceptable if it was in an inspiring place, and I could write and paint until the proverbial cows come home.

Sometimes I would like to be just like an Artist friend of mine who earns enough through painting to eat (fast food) and buy a ticket to somewhere in the world where the light is good and the weather doesn’t make youvulnabarable to Arthtitis He doesn’t let himself get tied down by people or things,and definitely not by a bad conscience.

But I do.

So I’m busy painting empty jam pots between times, and as usual painting glass is as difficult for me,as snow, mountains and weeping willow trees. It all needs practice,practice,practice.

Even writing a post is proving very difficult! “Have I checked so and so out?” ” How long does the chicken need to be in the oven”? ” I think the potatoes are done”

There is a hammering inside of me again,and I’m wondering whether I should run away.