Oct 2, 2021 • 9M

Father’s Day Weekend Was A Little Tough

Here’s a re-cap

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Sandra Kelly
Hi from Sandra! An audio narration in support of my newsletter about life and other stuff... but not cooking. I bloody hate cooking!
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Hi there Doug!

Saturday, I felt like I could take on the world.

I woke up early, smiled at your picture beside my bed and was energised right throughout the day.  More was done in that morning than I had achieved all week.

While I worked, I was plotting future writing pathways in my mind – adding paid subscriptions to my newsletter publication and offering all manner of different useful things. 

I was imagining the garage all tidy with a designated space for craft supplies and a painting workspace. (Will a tidy garage ever happen in my lifetime? Possibly not.  Certainly didn’t happen during yours Doug, despite much encouragement and cajoling on your behalf).

You used to love the little painted houses I once made and would point out my latest creations to whoever walked through the front door.  Always so proud of my efforts.

We’d spend so much time together in the shed cutting the timber and playing with angles for the roof tops.  I miss your knowledge of woodwork.  I’m not sure I could manage the tools on my own without your crooked ‘Forman Finger’ pointing out instructions and offering advice.

You always had so much more patience than me when nutting these things out. But I can hear you saying “Just have a go Sweetness! It’s only timber. Cut it wrong and it will always come in useful for something else anyway. We’ll chuck it on the scrap pile, no harm done, so just have a crack at it.”

Maybe I will Doug.  Maybe I will.

I also had visions of decorating the outdoor area with fairy lights, weather proof mats, abundant cushions, a forest of potted plants and a hanging boho chair from the pergola, in anticipation of a Christmas with family – one can only hope in these Covid times.

Not sure you’d be quite on board with the boho macrame hanging chair, but you’d reluctantly wave your ‘Forman Finger’ around and gather the tools for me to do the job, if you were here.  You would also be rubbing your forehead in that tell tale way that meant you were thinking “Oh God, this is so much more of a bigger job than she realises. I’m tired already”.

I’d catch you wishing you were secretly somewhere else, place my arm around your shoulders and say cheerily “Oh C’mon Dougie, she’ll be right mate. You, me, five minutes, done”. You’d laugh and rub your forehead harder because we both knew my five-minute projects were never ever just five minute projects.

My mind was clear on that Saturday - I felt you with me.  I went to bed that night thinking maybe I could live this ‘different’ life I’d been thrust into in ‘okay’ ways after-all.

Sunday was Father’s Day. 

I woke up angry that you weren’t here. Heavy. Sad. Bewildered.  I set about second guessing every thought I’d had the day before. 

This seems to be my life now Doug. One day up, one day down.

One day feeling like I can take on the world – the next day I’m questioning life itself.  You know, wondering just what the hell life is meant to be all about anyway.

It’s another dreadful weather day.  Yep, I’m becoming a cranky old woman who moans about the weather – well, to be fair to myself, I only moan about how bloody windy it is – that doesn’t’ really make me fit the profile of an over 50 something weather whinger does it?

Don’t answer that Doug.

It will be an amazing Spring for our farmer friends (if the bloody wind doesn’t dry everything out – sorry, not sorry – another weather whinge).  The deluge that caused all manner of chaos a few months back has been followed up by more drenching rain.  Liquid gold. The countryside couldn’t be more picturesque if it tried.

The blossom trees are exquisite right now.  The morning sun highlights dumps of fresh snow on distant mountains and the grass is the lushest shades of green.

I smile at the cute little fat lambs skipping across the paddocks and chuckle as I hear you say “Yep, look at all those cute fat little dollar signs!”

Oh, and my goodness, the damp conditions have made for the most delightful symphony of frog calls during the nights.  There’s been dozens of them on the front and back veranda of an evening – must be after the insects attracted to the path lights.  Teeny tiny little critters they are.

Number 1 niece/daughter said “What’s with all the frog pics on Insta?”

“Aren’t they the cutest”, I laughed.

“You do you”, she said with a smile and the roll of her beautiful eyes.

Only… I don’t really know how to do ‘me’ without you by my side Doug. I’m just making it all up as I go along… one day at a time… with as much meaning and purpose as I can muster. 

Some days it’s a little.  Some days it’s a lot.

Some days I just open my eyes and breathe.  And that’s enough.

Guess what? 

I didn’t kill the Seaside Daisies!  Yay me! I cut them back at the beginning of Winter, which was just dumb so I thought I was destined to lose patches of the mass plantings. It’s taken a while but they are absolutely thriving and thick with flowers.  I’m thrilled and relieved.

But let’s face it.  That’s why I planted them because they are virtually indestructible (like they’re the cockroaches of the plant world) and they make me look like a real good gardener (*winks).  I love them.

Well, the dishwasher is done for the night, the frogs are having a performance interval and the resident owl must be out hunting because it’s as quiet as a horror movie just before the screeching violins kick in at the scary bit and you crap yourself with fright.

I never thought I’d miss your snoring.

Time for sleep.  Who knows what the morning may bring? I could be reinventing the wheel or standing in the wardrobe unable to decide what clothes to wear.

There’s only one constant.

You’re still everywhere and nowhere.

All my love,

Sandra  xo