Well, any sufficiently large number of light emitting diodes is indistinguishable from magic. Probably.
December Reflections 26: magic
Author: kathleenjowitt
December Reflections 25: love is…
Only one person ever knew what they were getting into, had the choice whether or not to be human, knowing what that inevitably implies, and still did it, for all the rest of us.
December Reflections 24: one year ago today
… Three months pregnant (I would have said it was more, but the maths works out, and it’s true that we were only just starting to tell people) and with a lap full of cats. I spent a lot of last Christmas Eve making vegan pierogi. This year we’re getting it out of a packet (not vegan).
December Reflections 23: seasonal
I don’t know where this year’s gone. (I mean, I know exactly why it’s gone, but that isn’t quite the same thing.) Which is unusual for me, because I usually make a point of being aware of where I am in time.
These last few days, though, it’s all seemed to settle down, though not on account on anything I’ve done myself. The Morville Year, which I’d bought and immediately lost in the extra safe place in which I’d hidden the present I bought at the same time, turned up (as did the present – too late for the birthday for which it was originally intended, but just in time for Christmas). I loved The Morville Hours and the way it moves gently through the cycle of the year, and have been looking forward to reading this, a collection of related articles.
Slow Time is an old friend, a book that’s encouraged me to explore the calendar and the traditions in which I grew up. And one thing that I have already noticed about organised children’s activities is that they are very keen on seasonal themes, so it ought to get easier from here on in.
One last thing. I was amused to note, firstly that I’d run out of my previous soap bar just in time to start the Christmas Spice one – and secondly, that the one I’ve just finished (and had been using all through Advent) was called Wake Up Call. If you know, you know.
December Reflections 22: illumination
This photo is from yesterday but the nacreous clouds were too lovely to pass up, even if I didn’t get a spectacular photo of them. The rest of the sky was pretty good, too.
December Reflections 21: I will always remember…
Honestly, who knows? Part of the joy of this life is forgetting and then being reminded. A lot of details from this year are already vanishing into haze, and many were inflected with hormones such that, while I remember that there was joy or pain or sheer hell, I don’t remember how.
But this was a more simply memorable moment, opening an archive box that arrived in the post to find it full of individually wrapped presents from my team. For the most part work seems like a different universe, but I do have great colleagues, and it was lovely to catch up with those that I saw at the office the other day.
December Reflections 20: tradition
Stripping it right down this year. But it’s still tradition.
December Reflections 19: socks
In progress. The book says boots, but really, if you’re not walking yet, there isn’t much difference. These have not got off to a good start: I got out of synch with the ribbing, then discovered I hadn’t cast on enough in the first place, so frogged the lot and started again. Consequently it hasn’t got very far. (The turquoise thing underneath is a cycling sweater which will, realistically, never get finished, so I should probably frog that too.)
I have already managed to finish a pair of bootees this year, slowly, slowly, little by little, row upon row. They came out smaller than I’d intended (I am usually too lazy to do a tension square, and particularly when it would work out about as big as the finished product) but a row of crochet round the edge sorted that out. You have to be prepared to improvise.
December Reflections 18: I said goodbye to…
… my identity as a writer, for the moment at least.
My other best decision of 2023 was turning down my first ever book contract. I meant to write about that – first about getting it, then about turning it down – but I never managed it. Not longhand (can’t get to a flat surface), not touch typing (very rarely have both hands free), not dictating (distracts and confuses the baby). Any solution I find works for a week or so and then fails. All I’m managing is these tiny little blogs, typed with one hand on my phone
More to the point, I just don’t want to. The urge to write (fiction, long form non-fiction, poetry) has been patchy over the last couple of years, and non-existent over the last few months. I could force it, but why? Only recently have I found myself thinking myself back into a character’s head (what would Julian make of war memorials, anyway?), and I’m not in any position to do anything about it. There’s time. It’ll come back when it wants to come back.
In the meantime I’m refusing to beat myself up for not being Superwoman. A friend told me about seeing a documentary about Judith Kerr in which the great author said, very matter-of-factly, ‘Of course I couldn’t do any writing while the children were small.’ So there we go. If stepping back is good enough for her then it’s most definitely good enough for me.
I’m hoping it’s au revoir rather than goodbye. But, the way things stand at the moment, I’m honestly much less bothered than I’d have predicted two years ago.
December Reflections 17: a slice of real life
I do try to be honest about my life on here, while also doing my best to respect the privacy of my nearest and dearest, and also assuming that nobody wants to see, for example, the nappy bucket. (Though the reusable nappies, which get about half of the use, are rather jolly, it’s true. Nevertheless.)
Anyway, under these layers of cat proofing is a rather lovely Victorian inlaid wood table, and that’s real life around here. Gorgeous stuff, if only you could see it.
Kathleen Jowitt 