Update at 1.45 pm day 1
My potatoes are boiling behind me, bubbling gently and rhythmically while I sit at the kitchen table peeling fruit. Worcester apples from the market, red and green skins, still with the stalks they were attached to the tree with, some have a little leaf attached, if only I could draw and paint, sigh. I push my nails under the skin of the oranges from half way across the world, the zest hitting my senses and bringing back memories of kitchen cupboards on Saturday night after shopping. Melon, yellow and rounded like a huge egg. I remember the first time I ever tasted melon. My brother made me a necklace from the dried seeds. It was magical, he gave the necklace to me , he was a boy, but his pride in that necklace nor mine in his skill ever diminished. All it took were the seeds from that first melon, a piece of cotton and a needle. I look at the skin of the melon and wonder if it will dry out for pot pourri. I will need to get my book on microwave drying out and see what I can dry out for my own use and for Xmas presents in my hampers. The orange skin and lemon skin, so fresh it hurts to discard even for my thriving compost. The seeds of the melon cannot be wasted. I see them decorating boxes for children with a little glue over the top to stick them on and make them shiny. They can make melon flowers on box tops. They will be dried. To have the peace to write this and the time to reflect is precious. It makes the creative urge strong, I want to sew, I want to make things, I want to teach others this joy I feel from just being able to sit and hear those potatoes boil and smell the fruit that will grace my palette later on today. Now the potatoes are ready and I will eat.
