Friday friday...

Thank goodness it's Friday.  I have soldiered on all week with a steady series of flare-ups of cystitis; eating wholesomely, drinking water and cranberry juice and herbal teas, taking those funny-flavoured alkalizing  powders, taking cranberry caps and a probiotic and goldenseal drops (ugh, that's one nasty taste).  I now have a doctor's appointment for next Thursday (earliest they could fit me in) so if I'm still in trouble by then I'm going to swallow my principles and beg for some antibiotics.

Kew is looking wonderful.  I just wish I felt better able to go out and appreciate it.  The weather has turned wet (AGAIN!!) so all the fall colours are rich and saturated in the wet.  There are dainty lilac autumn crocuses everywhere, and tumbling clumps of the big double colchicum "Waterlily" to the side of the path where I walk through from the back of the office towards the Princess of Wales Conservatory.  There are still real waterlilies in the Waterlily House (and it's still hot in there, too!).  The Rock Garden has little secretive clumps of cyclamen, and crinkly pink nerines, blooming here and there among the boulders.  It's beautiful, it really is.  A feast of colour and texture and rich sweet musky smells.  And huge, huge puddles.

Lush life

Sometimes I think I work in Paradise - or an offcut of it, anyway.  At the moment, the Gardens are a sheer sensory feast; everywhere I turn, everything I touch...  I am on overload already, Muse-driven and buzzing as I am, and the intensity of a simple walk to the café and back is almost too much.

Textures, patterns, colours, smells; tactile and visual, the pleasing and the startling.  All that is richest is here.

The elegance of a Metasequoia, its form all repeat patterns moving from the macro to the micro level -and then the shock of its silken touch.  One imagines all conifer needles must be equally as sharp and prickling, yet these are like velvet.  The lovely random strewings of new mown grass across the lawns; and the cut-grass scent rising in the damp air.   Black veins on the blazing magenta of Geranium sanguineum, and gold-dust pollen on the rust-red flowers of day lilies.  Perfumes of  lavender and cedar, of roses and pine resin, of escallonia in the sun and wet leaves in the shade.  The spiral-crinkled top of my Chelsea bun, veiled in powder sugar.  The unfolding waves of different tastes and different sugarinesses, and different textures crisp and soft, in my mouth, as I unroll it and eat. 

The big wisteria on the back of the building next to the office is having a second flush of blossom, and as you pass it the scent comes down and envelops you; sweet and smoky at once, like acacia honey and Laphroaig mixed.  Everywhere you go, it is delicious and sensual being at Kew at this time of year.  Bring your heart, your eyes, and all of your senses, flung wide open in expectation of pleasures; and of course, bring your camera...

Thought for the day...

A little nugget of wisdom, from a slightly unexpected source:

"...no amount of success or exposure, or opportunity is going to really matter or be ultimately fulfilling unless you can be totally present in what you're doing right now."

- Zachary Quinto (The hot hot hot new Mr Spock).

I've just found he has a website. He seems like a good bloke, as well as being hot hot hot.

Thought for the day (no. 2), occurring to me on considering Zachary Quinto (Hmm -"For I shall consider my cat Zachary Quinto/ For he is the servant of the living god, duly and daily serving him/ For he is hot hot hot..." - apologies to Christopher Smart and anyone else concerned or offended by that but I couldn't resist it. Note to self; actually, "Zachary Quinto" would be a great name for a cat...).

Sorry, I'll begin again. Thought for the day (no. 2): Whatever can it be like, to be so attractive that it is the first, and sometimes even the only, thing people notice about you? I am not sure I could stand it (so it's a good thing I don't need to try). But however does Mr Quinto manage to go down to the corner shop (or U.S. equivalent) to buy a loaf or a pint of milk without getting hassled every step of the way? Imagine having to wear dark glasses and walk with a stoop whenever you went out. One would need to be a capable actor to carry it off. (Fortunately for Mr Quinto, he is).

Anyway, it amused me to see someone out of the blue saying just exactly that; be in the moment, not pinning all your thoughts on what might be, or on what may have been, or what is no more, or maybe never was. Be present in what you're doing right now. He even has the guts to lay it right on the line, and say "Nothing else is going to matter if you don't do this", which a lot of pink, fluffy, lovey types who preach "be present in the moment" don't have the nerve to do. But it's true; live only in your head, not in the world, and ultimately you aren't really alive. Be embodied, be alive here and now, and deeply committed and involved and related-to what you are doing; because this life is all we have, and whatever follows after, we will not have this life again. (Apologies to Rose McCauley as well, since I've just realised I'm quoting "The Towers of Trebizond" there).

I've begun re-reading "She who changes" by Carol Christ, a marvellous book about feminism and process philosophy, so I'm feeling deep. And I had a good afternoon yesterday, moving a writing project on a good bit. I was typing and typing all afternoon until I was so tired I typed the immortal phrase "I am not string enough to do this" and knew I had to go and get some tea and chill out for a bit. It is so easy to get so intensely into what you are doing right now, if it is flowing and going well; but not being string enough is a less-than-desirable state of affairs for one's protagonist to find herself in, and sometimes you have to stop and let the flesh rest even if the spirit is willing to go on till silly-o'clock...