Wondering

I guess we all go through stages, wondering what life is all about, what journey we are on and why. Right now I'm wondering why I'm doing this at all and know I need to hold judgement until I'm away, in hostels, meeting others, using local transport and truly being a traveller but I'm unsure I actually like travelling very much. The not knowingness, the newness.

Landscapes i love but as yet, I am not acclimatised to a travelling mode. Sami poet, Nils Aslek Valkeapää wrote, 'my heart is my home, it moves with me' and I thought that true for me but as yet, my heart is not my home over here for I am living in another's castle and at her whim so my heart is feeling fragile rather than being my home.

Wondering 12.07.16

Absorption I love but it matters not whether it's being utterly absorbed by the making process in textiles, the digging, planting and new growth of vegetables or the recording of my inner thoughts, it's absorption that I crave in my everyday life. Perhaps that's why mankind in general has developed this notion of going to 'work' to give us something in which to absorb ourselves, to take away the moments when we make decisions for ourselves about how we might use our time.

Becoming mundane in a country, waking, working, shopping, sleeping is that the difference between being on holiday and living in a place? What is the definition of to live somewhere? The dictionary suggests it is the act of dwelling in one place for work or other purposes, I seem to remember the local council telling me, when enquiring about single person tax reduction, that anyone staying at my property, for more than a month, would be deemed as living there, whether or not it were their postal address. 

These last couple of days of mundanity certainly suggest to me that I am living here, not just passing through. Yet, if living, I want creature comforts like a cosy chair, my toothbrush in the bathroom, a comfortable environment I am not afraid of breaking or spoiling, I want familiarity and companionship and those things I do not have. 

The plants have not been watered since day one, geraniums have curled brown leaves, succulents have shrunk from their pots and the dragon plant has drooped so much it is surely weeping. I don't really care, I have no bond, no connection with them, they are not mine. That they sit in fragile old china vessels and are squeezed between fragile antiques makes caring for them beyond my capacity.

The piece of cotton grass that I picked, I will tend carefully and love, it is a treasure I carry. Its fragility is part of its beauty, it is one of my possessions and will change as it grows old. It reminds me of Edward, who turned two since I left home. At some point, during the past year, Edward and I picked a flower and took it home. After he left, I popped it on the toy shelf and every time he has come to play, he has brought the flower to me and we have shared joy in the memory. Last time I saw him, just before coming away, he brought me the flower as usual but as he left, I tucked it in Carla's bag, that he might find it and remember me. Such a lovely moment when she sent a message saying Edward had found the flower and taken it to her, saying Meema and she wanted to know its significance. Children have such wonderful knowledge and memories long before they are able to fully articulate themselves.

I have often thought about taking a long term hostel placement in a remote Scottish location with occasional visitors through the winter but I think now the price may not be worth paying. The boundaries, the control, belong to others and I seem to need to control aspects of the environment I am in, to have something of myself invested in it, in order to be there. I would rather perhaps pay my way than be beholden. 

It is nearly nine am and the two, not six guests for breakfast have not yet appeared. I gave up on the four Icelanders at around eleven pm last evening, having whiled away my evening going through photos, jigsaws on line and enjoying adjusting the level in the carton of red wine. I had no heart for writing and no words to say.

Faeroes

Wind

Cyclonic 4 or 5, increasing 6 at times, becoming variable 3 for a time.

Sea state

Moderate or rough.

Weather

Rain or showers, fog patches.

Visibility

Moderate or good, occasionally very poor.