The Year In Review - January

This is a photo of my favourite view from our backyard. At the bottom of our garden there is a small pool of lawn surrounded by trees. I like to go down there with a blanket and a book and watch the leaves.

Looking into the depths of the branches reminds me of the idea that you can see the infinite (sorry, Richard) by getting smaller and smaller as well as bigger and bigger in scale. When Eleanor was a new born I would look at the skin on her face when she was sleeping. I found that it was only if I took my glasses off and leaned in until I was almost pressing my nose against her cheek that I could actually see her skin. It existed in a whole other layer of fine detail that you cannot see in a glance.

I think it is a common enough to sometimes feel that you are letting most of life pass you by. When it bothers me enough I make myself notice by drawing things. I like to take a notebook and sketch when I go on holiday. This is probably the only way I will meditate on something. Getting lost inside music can erase your ego (unless you're Andre Rieu), but concentrating on drawing a building or a landscape makes you hyperaware. How has a building, or a tree, or a mud flat bleeding out into the silvery, tidal rivers and reeds, how have they been put together?

Like sketching, writing this blog has made me notice the year a bit more. I have decided to return it to its former shape because I like it better. Even though this is a generic template it still suits me more than the other thing I was mucking around with. I also miss the gravestones (like I miss Nostradameus on RBB). While I was looking over the year of posts on this blog I realised that for the first time in my life I have actually managed to keep a diary for an entire year. I have quite a collection of abandoned diaries around the house so this is a real landmark.

I'm going to go back and tidy up some of my old posts and then put them on the list to the right. So far I've only done one. It was January, there was a sense of optimism in the year, Richard had a spring in his step and a rising sense of dread in his stomach. Even though school was drawing inexorably closer he knew he could get some relief by hitting the bottle and reading: My Mother's Records.