If this were your last day alive..

It’s all quiet here today. T is at home because the schools are on holiday, which means no school buses and no pay as well, which sucks.  So we paid a trip down to Kane Carding in Greytown to buy some more wool. I have been parked up, making necklace pendants and learning how to tie double slip knots on cord so I can make adjustable necklaces.

Learning the knots was rather trying, to say the least. It took me so much time, and so many views of a ‘how to’ video on You Tube that I was beginning to think I had early onset Alzheimers. But I finally got it, and I have been tying it periodically all evening in the hope that I won’t forget.

I am catching the train tomorrow afternoon, to visit with my Mum until Friday. It is my birthday on Thursday and I had a longing to spend it with her.  On Wednesday I will be lunching with my friend Kate in Wellington – very exciting, visiting the big smoke! I haven’t seen Kate for ages, so it will be a real treat.

Other stuff I will be doing while in Wellington

  • Going to the newly reopened City Gallery
  • Acquire a copy of the latest World Sweet World magazine, which I have deliberately been putting off buying.
  • Pay a visit to my favourite smelly shop – Lush, which never fails to make me feel homesick for the UK
  • Have a coffee at Fidel’s up Cuba St
  • Visit all my favourite shops up Cuba St – as you might be able to tell, I love Cuba St!
  • Best of the best – spend some time, and maybe buy a book in Unity Books, my favourite book shop in NZ.

I have been doing a bit of a fun, fabulous and amazing thing today.  I have been imagining that I have just found out that I have only a day to live.  It is hard to keep it up but just for a while it is amazing looking around. It feels like you can really see and appreciate tiny little details for the first (and last) time. And then coincidently I came across this poem at another of my favourite blogs  A Tidings of Magpies

Remodeling the Bathroom
by Ellen Bass

If this were the last
day of my life, I wouldn’t complain
about the shower curtain rod
in the wrong place, even though
it’s drilled into the tiles.
Nor would I fret
over water marks on the apricot
satin finish paint, half sick
that I should have used semigloss. No.
I’d stand in the doorway
watching sun glint
off the chrome faucet, breathing in
the silicone smell. I’d wonder
at the plumber, as he adjusted the hot
and cold water knobs. I’d stare
at the creases behind his ears and the gray
flecks in his stubble. I’d have to hold
myself back from touching him. Or maybe
I wouldn’t. Maybe I’d stroke
his cheek and study
his eyes the amber of cellos, his rumpled
brow, the tiny garnet
threads of capillaries, his lips
resting together, quiet as old friends—
I’d gaze at him
as though his were the first
face I’d ever seen.
“Remodeling the Bathroom” by Ellen Bass, from Mules of Love. © BOA Editions, 2002.

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