Journal 8th December

Thursday 8th December

Things get ropey. That's just how it is. When they do, it's best to talk them out and not write them out as if they will somehow get resolved on paper, in your head, instead of in life. And once they are resolved, maybe writing about them is spurious. Or disloyal.

It's in the talking out that relationships deepen. In the beginning anyway, I don't know, I've never risked it before, in any relationship, learned early not to, so I don't know if it always works. I intend to find out.
How can you know how far the river will run if you block it off in fear of getting splashed? Sometimes, you just need to hang on to the rope and let your dinghy ride the white water.
Feels good in calm waters again.

So last night, the talk was had and the water is under the bridge, we're all high and dry. What else, we have more tea. Sage comes to join us.
For some reason Racism is the topic now. He says,
"It's like this. If all the people in the world were a tree. Well, we could separate them out by chopping the tree into chunks.
I say, "But the tree would die.
"Exactly!

All well that ends well, thanks Sage.

He has a shoofly tooth and is up and down risking the wrath of after ten o'clock. There is a wee voice.
"I know I'm not supposed to come down, but it's out.
He shows the bloody tooth and the space, of course.
"Do you have a box mum?
"What for?
"Well, I want to keep it, so I need to hide it from the fairies.
"That's okay they won't take it.
"No way mum, they use them for making other stuff and I'm not taking any chances.

So we all turn in, hoping the fairies can read the note he left explaining his request.
It's the first week I can drive and peace or no peace, I'm itching to get out.
On Saturday I drove the few miles to Alford, no problem. Then I got mad and wanted to go home. I drove halfway there when it hit me. Feeling like I was drunk driving, woozy and needing to stop before a tree stopped me. There is nothing more depressing than reaching your limitations. In a moving vehicle, it's not pleasant. I'm mad as hell and not sure what to do, apart from drive slower than a tractor when the sign for the Millers comes into view. Three miles, I can make that. I do, and go in for the larger shot of caffeine and sugary cake they have. I should have eaten before I left. It was a stupid thing to do. But you don't know until you try.
Fortunately I have spent years as a sugar junky so within fifteen minutes am revived enough to go back to the ranch.
I'm desolate when I get there though. I hate to be trapped, worse than anything. I walk the garden with Kate, but it's cold comfort.
But today, I'm feeling stronger though and decide to get to Ballater, another closer drive, but further than Alford. It's freezing and huge thick frost crystals are everywhere.
I pass a place called Queen's View- from when Victoria came here for her McHolidays. I have to stop to photograph it, it's like Narnia. There is low freezing cloud covering the glacial plane and it sparkles in the light. Freedom is just around the corner. My sister is coming up this weekend and I'm going home. I'll drive myself, so we only need to make one trip. I can't hang about though, have to practice. It's the most beautiful drive of my life. Freedom in every sparkle and the beauty that I can go out and enjoy on my own, driving on my own again fills me to the brim. I am gratitude personified. I am in the zone. I'm back. Me myself I.
God it feels good.

But it gets even better. Ballater is gorgeous and I buy my magazine and do a wee tour of the shops. There is the best second hand bookstore ever, a fabulous café, the Chocolate Gallery, with Lulu Guinness bags and all sorts of crap you don't need front shop and hand made cakes and chocolates and the best coffee and hot chocolate on Deeside in the back. I sit down with cherry brandies, my favourite, and a large coffee. A gal's got to keep her strength up afterall. The conversation is fantastic. The shop is run by a woman and her sister, a published writer, is helping her, taking some time off writing. The other customer is talking about racism, funnily enough and her time in Africa and then somewhere else exotic.
"You're far travelled, says the writer in a so London accent.
"I'm a diplomat's daughter.
It just got better and better. Lots of money up here, English people having holiday homes where Queenie has hers. Think there should be a law against that tell the Nationalistic truth, but it does make for good eary-wigging in cafes.

I visit the wee shop across the way. Turquoise glass lotus flower candle holders, pressed glass vases in baby pink, long velvet coats, wee blown glass peacocks, beaded bags, sparkly birds and fuchsia pink Christmas trees. They have mini stolen and champagne for all their customers today. It's a thimbleful, but it hits me like a ton of bricks and I break a glass peacock's tail off by accident. Four quid. I put it on the shelf behind the sign that says 'All breakages must be paid for' and buy a luxurious tea cosy instead. It's my first real day out and I'm not going back to jail for anything.

I have bad glass peacock karma so I'm home before I see the slight stain on the tea cosy, but at least the karmic debt is paid right away. And it'll be a lot worse stained before it's done.

Fabulous day, and as I drive back over the Queen's View, I have to stop to take photos of the dusky blues the frost cloud has turned. Perfect day. Freedom and chocolate. Doesn't get better than this.