Friday, October 31, 2014

Today is one of those days

on which my thoughts jump from one thing to another to end up on a theory that maybe needs to be given long and serious serious thought.   

As I am cleaning my Bamboo floor which I supervised the installation of and know that a small space needs to be left  available behind the floor boarding all around allowing the wood to react to temperature and humidity.  It contracts and expands.  If no space left near walls, it will allow the floor planks to open up where they join.                                                                                                                                                                                                     I reach an area where a gap has developed between the planks and my thoughts jump to the spot on my right hand thumb where at the top on each side of the short fingernail the dry skin has popped open.   This reminds me that I need to wear gloves as soon as I start using the heater in the car to prevent this from happening.  My thumb reacts to warm air being blown at it as my hand is busy steering.

Then, as I wonder if there is a word to name this area of my thumb and play with the idea of asking one of my daughters, I think that I should not.  They have no time nor patience for such silly questions of their mother.

From there my thoughts wonder to the question of  what is this thing of 'mothers and daughters'?   Why, after the mother is no longer with us, and I know that it applies to many of us, does one feel guilty of not having  shown more patience, more devotion, more gratefulness, more compassion, more love.  I am saying more because we all have given, some more some less.  Did our mothers display love, self-sufficiency, tolerance and strength in order to give us peace of mind?

If so, it does not seem to work.  Not with me anyway.

Actually, I was going to say that I will stop posting and commenting for a while because it takes more time for me to do so than I can afford to use up for that purpose.

Will I be able to overcome this much enjoyable addiction?


Rouchswalwe said...

Wishing you a Happy Halloween, dearest Ellena! (I use borage cream for the dry areas around my nails ... perhaps called the nailbed? Just guessing.)
I'll certainly miss your posts and comments. But I understand that there is so much to be done this time of year. Sending hugs!

Natalie d'Arbeloff said...

Your jumping thoughts are always worth reading and contemplating, dear Ellena. My thoughts jump around too and find connections where none apparently exist. Maybe that's the definition of creativity?
I wish you a happy holiday from blogging but don't stay away too long.

Lucy said...

I do hope you won't be able to overcome it. Hands, they are trouble, aren't they, especially in winter. I have my mother's hands, somewhat. Take care and don't be a (total) stranger...

Roderick Robinson said...

I don't think an addiction that runs to about 1.5 posts a month can be truly called an addiction. Not even an indulgence. Possibly a whimsy.

What would you do with the time saved from not posting? I mean you've cleaned the bamboo floor. That's surely a once-a-year job, so you're OK until November 2015.

Somewhere in a magazine, decades ago, I noticed a headline: A short trot with a cultured mind. I didn't read the article it was attached to and I've regretted that ever since. Until now. For you have just written - not for the first time - a post that is admirably suited to go with that headline.

Allowing your thoughts to jump from one thing to another is an end in itself. It provides useful exercise for your grey cells (mine are pink, by the way) and it proves those cells are doing what they should. Which is connecting up. Pour yourself a G&T, sit down, sip your drink and take pleasure in that.

Discard any inclination towards "long and serious thought". That sounds like hard work. Reflect that - on the strength of this post - you're doing well enough without wearing your grey cells to the bone. That probably qualifies as a mixed metaphor but who am I to be instructing a polyglot like you?