New Year, New Day, New experiences (not all welcome)
I couldn’t help to notice a few posts circulating that used the New Year as an analogy for a new book. I think it went something like this, ‘Today is the first page of 365 and the first of 12 chapters’. It did make think that is what I have been doing since 1st April 2017. Mine seems to coincide with the financial year!
I was crossing the road this morning and a woman was crossing from the other side as we met in the middle I said, “Morning” and she replied, “Morning”. In that moment it seemed like we had gone back in time as rarely these days do strangers greet each other in passing. Of course, it was New Year’s day and we are all more sensitive to new possibilities in the air. “Morning” I believe was our way of acknowledging that we may have been the first people we met on New Year’s day.
The morning was quiet as people sleep in having stayed up to the early hours celebrating the arrival of 2018. I found myself opening the windows as if to let in the New Year air! I also wore a new jumper to symbolise the new.
I like what I now call my Greta Garbo walks. I took a photo of the duck pond as I passed it. Greta was more likely to be photographed than to take one. This duck pond symbolises a lot for me. For near on 21 years I have come here to reflect and often to be distracted by the antics of the aqua fowl.
I walked the three or so miles to St Albans. I find I make calls these days while I drive or walk. I was speaking to someone on the phone though suddenly I needed the loo. I have noticed that my frequency of loo going is increasing with age. There was no toilet ( restroom) nearby so I had to look for a concealed spot. Before I could unzip myself the flow began. “This can’t be happening? It has been 43 years since I wet myself.” I did unzip and targeted the bush.
I could see some evidence of misadventure was displayed on my trouser leg. “How embarrassing. What am I to do now?” In that moment I recalled the day I lost my shoe in a cross-country competition and my mother made me walk home in my sister’s fluffy slippers. Suddenly I was self-conscious.
I then thought I hadn’t walked into town to immediately turn on my heel and walk back. I concluded by the time I got to town my trouser leg would be dry.
If anyone would have asked, “What happened?” I would have replied, “Don’t ask.” I thought I may even lie by blaming the takeaway tea I was carrying. I felt shame.
A number of you have encouraged me to continue to write with the honesty that you recognise in my stories and because of that, I write about the shame.
This gets the heart of why I write. I write because it is easier to write than speak, certainly about the deepest things. So if you do see me don’t ask me about this though by all means write.
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