I haven't posted anything on Blogger for weeks now, for a multitude - nay, a plethora - of reasons. Heavens! When did I last use the the word plethora? Aeons ago. Probably in an essay. Yeah, THAT long...
Number One is that The Husband, The Dog and I have been in a swirling state of flux, with Big Things to see get done, like decorating and cleaning and tidying a four-bedroom house so it can be sold, and deciding how to invest The Husband's redundancy payment. Then secondly there are the lots of little things that are the routine stuff without which people starve, smell, have no utilities delivered to their house(s), can't get to the front door for weeds and waist-high grass, and can't function. You know. Shopping, cooking washing-up, putting away, setting tables, clearing tables, bathing, washing and drying clothes, packing and unpacking clothes, reading bills, checking bank accounts, paying bills, bracing oneself for yet more bills, weeding, tidying, mowing, watering, scrutinising, etc etc. Have i missed anything? Oh yes, eating and sleeping and walking The Dog.
Then - big number three - there is the squeezing in of FUN and ENJOYMENT. It helps if one can make as many of the activities listed above fun while one goes along, but it's a bit of a bloody stretch for many of them to bring a chap or chappess unalloyed bliss. You will note that ironing is NOT on the above list. This is because it cannot be made to be fun, so I do it about twice a year, just before a holiday (so stuff is flat and more will fit in a suitcase) and one other random date when I can't see the bed in the smallest bedroom for the clean washing draped over it or residing in baskets thereupon.
FUN that isn't a chore made to seem interesting and amusing can include talking, laughing, watching telly, pooting, blogging, facebooking, on-line bridge, riding lessons (my brand-new activity, started a fortnight ago since moving full-time to Wales) photography, playing with the dog, going to the seaside, going to the pub, visiting nice people, window-shopping, sitting in the sun, drinking wine, having a long hot bath, gazing at the scenery, watching the antics of the local wildlife, talking on the phone to nice people, and reading in bed.
I decided in my late forties if I hadn't yet worked out what i most enjoyed and arranged my life so Ii could spend as much time as possible doing or experiencing those things then it was a Poor Do, as we say Oop North.
I have even engaged the services of an estate agent who makes me laugh and who laughs at my jokes. She will be paid 1% of the eventual price we get to sell the house, so we are utterly leaving her to it, getting out of her way and out of her hair as much as possible. She rings us once a week. It's enough. The market is slow. Little else can be done.
The Husband and I are quite good as a team, covering all the bases, and we also have a similar ethos in that we like to tackle those things we can change, alter, improve and achieve, and side-line those things we are powerless to prevent and unable to alter. We can moither and fret too much otherwise, so we have trained ourselves out of fruitless worry, wherever possible. It's an age thing. Being in one's mid-fifties is a huge help there. It's why serenity comes with age, or can if you let it.
Is it possible to be too contented? Is it likely that Life with a capital L will leap up and bite us in the bum if we carry on being this happy? I catch myself fearing so, but as I can do nothing to stop it if it has a mind to, then I mustn't worry that it will, must I? Or I will waste good times dreading bad, and that would be very sad indeed.
Your very good health, one and all! Raises glass, looks for sunspecs (aah! of course, they are on my head) and prepares to press PUBLISH then log off to go and sit in the sun.
Somebody's gotta do it...
