Sunday 21 December 2008

Z gives peace a chance

I realised, when I arrived home, how tense and overwrought I felt. I poured a glass of wine, scrambled some eggs, which I ate with virtuously unbuttered toast, and am looking forward to a nice glass of buttermilk. The diet continues but is tempered with sensible nutritious enjoyment of food. Fourteen months ago, I'd have hit the chocolate biscuits. Not that I've a thing against chocolate, but nowadays it would be a single square of extremely good dark chocolate which would satisfy without increasing the craving. I don't have chocolate or biscuits in the house at present anyway, so it doesn't arise.

Particularly since several other bloggers have referred to it too, I've been particularly looking forward to today's Winter Solstice. I've always found December difficult and I know many others do too. It's an incredibly busy month when we're at our physically lowest ebb, with dark days and the bugs and viruses of winter kicking in. It only slowly improves - after all, January is as dark as December - but it's looking forward to the light so it feels better. And if we're lucky enough to have snow, the reflection of light doubles its effect. I don't become depressed in the winter, but I do have very little energy.

I love the idea of Candle Night and I'll be following it this evening. It's come at exactly the right time for me, when an evening of candle-lit tranquillity will, I hope, prepare me for a busy week. Thank you, Blue Witch, for drawing it to my attention.

I'll spend the afternoon making holly wreaths, and I hope that there won't be too many of them to do after that. The Sage has been writing Christmas cards. I agree that they matter in one sense, but not in another. It's like money - it's not important, or shouldn't be, unless you don't have any at all. I hope that those people who don't get a card from us, or receive it late, will have had so many that we won't be missed.

There's been a degree of negativity around me (not in the family, and not among my blogging friends) that I've been finding it hard to rise above*, of late. As I see myself as a peacemaker and calmer-down of agitation, I try to absorb the stress of others, in an endeavour to help them cope**. Trouble shared is a trouble halved and all that. Whilst I'm not near the stage of being unable to do that, I'm finding it harder than usual to absorb and dissipate negative feelings, especially if I can't actually do anything to help in a practical sense.

So, today, I'll take an emotional break. I'll tranquilly make the holly wreaths in front of an unnecessary fire (for it's a mild day) and hug my Sage and my dog (not together, Chester loved group hugs but Tilly is less outgoing) and then enjoy a candle-lit evening.

*Ooh, dodgy grammar alert!
**This does not necessarily apply in my immediate family, where I reserve the right to be a drama queen and the centre of needy attention.

4 comments:

ephelba said...

Yes, but HAVE YOU FOUND THE VENISON?

I feel like I'm reading a thriller, and next you'll be asking Sage "Did you hear something?" and then he'll say "No, but have you seen Tilly?" and it'll turn out the manky venison got her...

I'll keep my fingers crossed for you:)

Z said...

I have not found the venison. Tilly is on the sofa near me so the venison has not found her. I'm sure she didn't eat it, as it was in a bag which she would not have eaten. Besides, she only steals food if she can reasonably pretend it has been left for her.

I've made soup for dinner instead.

Dave said...

Could there be some flesh-eating monster lurking in the wainscoting?

It would make a few nice winter's blog-post as you describe how joints of meat, small rodents and visitors vanish one by one.

Z said...

Blimey Dave, it's quite true that usually at this time of the year Tilly spends a lot of time staring at the wainscoting, sensing mouse activity and she hasn't at all this winter.

I'm feeling more unnerved than ever. It could be that you paid your visit in the nick of time.

If there's a strange silence from this blog in a week or two, you'll know what has happened to us all.