Walking, swimming and Sufjan Stevens

"Going barefoot in nature immediately helps clear your energy. Stepping out onto the sand, putting your feet into the ocean, hugging a tree, all of these clear your energy. Nature is an incredible neutraliser of energy." Anita Moorjani

A lot of my routines have fallen by the wayside. The fatigue has been acting up quite a lot lately and I am technically on holidays, so I took a break from my normal day-to-day, including elements of my healing-from-cancer regime. I am aware that I put a lot of pressure on myself to do all the right things, and that pressure equals stress, which is what 'all the right things' are supposed to ease... I am still trying to find a rhythm that allows me to trust the process and not beat myself up when I fall short of my often unfeasible expectations. 

Exercise is an antidote to fatigue, though I have a tendency to overdo it and then pay for it the following day(s). And sometimes only proper rest will help. But while I haven't touched the dumbbells and haven't done any running for a few weeks, gentle exercise such as walking and swimming has been a salve.

Stripey symphony: My sister and nephews in the Burren - hats made by my sister

 

 

John and I went away for a few days (within Ireland) and did a lot of hiking - since the lockdown walking has become a huge part of our life. In recent weeks I have walked around islands (Cape Clear and Omey Island, Inis Oírr - we cycled around the latter), in forests, on beaches, Greenways, the karst landscape of the Burren, on the loops near our house, 5km along the rocky shoreline to a pub and returning via the coast road. We have walked together (often in silence) and each on our own, with family and friends, with dogs, and with strangers: I took part in a forestbathing session with a lovely group and two wonderful guides and hugged a lot of trees on my personal forestbathing forays.

The old runners I have been wearing in lieu of hiking boots are now falling apart, and on the recommendation of a friend I am tempted to buy a pair of recycled barefoot boots. Feeling the texture of the ground is like a foot massage (I also regularly walk barefoot in the garden or on the beach to ground myself) and the balancing act of walking on a rocky shore or any other uneven surface makes you use different muscles in your legs.

 

I still go swimming in the sea at least twice a week, and it was a joy to explore other beaches and find hidden swimming spots. We took my nephew to Inis Oírr and swam in clear turquoise water. On Cape Clear I waded into the water among rocks covered in shells and emerged with bleeding scrapes all over my legs, from what had felt like lightly brushing against the stones as I floated. I loved even that. Being in cold water makes me feel so alive. 

 

 On the ferry to Inis Oírr

 

I spent the Irish heatwave of 2018 indoors suffering the side effects of aggressive chemotherapy and radiotherapy and unable to handle the hot weather. Last year I stayed covered up (the advice was to do so for a year following radiotherapy) and didn't swim until September. This year I have been exposing the surgery scar on my back and my radiotherapy tattoos with abandon (and SPF 50). Sometimes those souvenirs catch me by surprise when I see them or when my hand touches the scar in the shower - it all still feels unreal - and I marvel at what my body has been able to do since I finished treatment.

 

The soundtrack to these last few months has been at least 50% Sufjan Stevens, an all-time favourite. One of the songs I have been playing on repeat for the past couple of years ("Casimir Pulaski Day") is about remembrance and cancer and I connect with it on so many levels. This concert from 2006 is one I keep returning to. I almost feel I am in the audience when I watch this, and something about the overall aesthetic and the atmosphere - the wings, the uniforms, the group dynamic on stage, and of course the music - gets me every time ("Casimir Pulaski Day" starts at the 6-minute mark).

Outdoors

 Meditating in the grounds of Ballynahinch Castle,  August 2018

Our hens and one of our four-legged neighbours

Aidan at the beach in Spiddal

Since I wasn't able to enjoy the outdoors much during this summer's heatwave, I have been making up for it in the subsequent colder months. The week before my surgery we spent a magical 24 hours in Connemara, staying in the wonderful Screebe House, where we were greeted with a hug and glasses of bubbly by Ursula and a surprise awaited us, courtesy of thoughtful friends. The following day we went to Roundstone and one of Ireland's best beaches, where I walked barefoot in the water (the closest I have got to swimming in the sea this year) and then to Ballynahinch Castle for more walking and a meditation amid mosquitoes by the lake.

While work in the garden is less now, there is always something to do, and we are surrounded by animals (though poor Daisy is no longer with us). We got two hens in the summer, chosen and named by my nephews: Petunia and You-Know-Huhn (the naming required some prompts from the adults. Huhn is German for hen). They may not be very affectionate, but I love closing the door of the hen house in the evening and saying goodnight to their huddled shapes, and opening it in the morning and watching them devour their breakfast (organic food - only the best), with their fluffy behinds up in the air. The two donkeys faithfully show up nearly every day, knowing there are carrots, apples and the odd oatcake waiting for them. The other neighbouring field is home to two horses at the moment. Then there is Phoebe, our neighbours' dog, and sometimes one of the other dogs from the baile turns up, as well as various cats, who know where we feed the birds. 

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My current favourite song - and one of my all-time favourites - is "Galileo" by Declan O'Rourke. My own curly-haired bearded man sang it as part of Culture Night, accompanied by this amazing quartet. It was shortly after my surgery, so I wasn't able to go, but he sent me a video, and it makes me emotional watching it. A few weeks later Declan O'Rourke played a gig on campus, and John came home with two records, one for me, one for him, which we have been playing non-stop.

Filtered water, no plastic

Years ago a friend gave me a small piece of charcoal for purifying water. She was using this centuries-old Japanese technique and got her charcoal from her Japanese friend. I was excited to try it out with a small bottle and research it, but then I never got around to actually getting started on a bigger scale and buying more.

This summer I visited her and saw that she had taken it to another level by having two 5-litre Kilner dispensers of water with charcoal on the windowsill above her sink, which provide enough water for herself and her two children each day. She had me do a blind taste test comparing purified water with water straight from the tap, and the former tasted so much better. I told John about it, and he promptly bought one of these dispensers, even though he was sceptical, but he likes a project and unlike me, he is a doer.

I then ordered binchotan charcoal from this website, and we said good riddance to our plastic Brita jug with its wasteful and expensive filters - the jug was relocated to the potting table in the shed to use for watering plants. Each night we pour any water we haven't used into a glass jug and refill the dispenser with fresh water, so it is purified by the next morning. After three months you reactivate the charcoal by boiling it in water for ten minutes, and after a further three months you recycle it (there are various uses for old charcoal, from deodorising to gardening), so the sticks last for six months. We use three sticks (each approximately 12 cm and long and 2cm thick) in 4.5 litres of water.

Apart from all the above benefits, it is aesthetically pleasing - I never liked the look of the plastic jug sitting on the counter.

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Two new-to-me songs I added to my playlist this summer:
"Going home (Mythical Kings and Iguanas)", a strangely haunting song by Dory Previn, which was another late-night-radio-while-driving discovery

"A Rose for Emily" by The Zombies - I found this via the podcast S-Town, which I binge-listened to while painting rooms

Springtime of the year

 Apple blossoms in the garden

A better world - my sister asked for a scene like this

The cherry blossoms have come and nearly gone and now the apple trees are in full bloom. This is always such a beautiful and sad time, and this year in particular.

The right music can be so cathartic, so today I spent nearly all day painting with two new-to-me songs on repeat.*

I must have been living under a rock not to have come across these before. John played me John Spillane's 'The Dance of the Cherry Trees' last night (it took him three years to play me one of his favourite songs), and we tried to find a word to describe the sentiment in that heartbreaking  'well done' line (all I could come up with was 'bittersweet', but it is so much more). It just destroys you.

The other song was one of those late-night car radio discoveries that are always heightened by the atmosphere of the night, but judging by the amount of views on Youtube the world has been aware of this song for quite some time: 'Emmylou' by First Aid Kit. (also, Emmylou Harris listening to 'Emmylou', and a cover of 'America' with Paul Simon in the audience).

* and last night was treated to this passionate violinist in concert, playing Gubaidulina (also previously unknown to me) - such a tour de force

Daily drawing | Cottage

This is not our house, though we had viewed a couple of old cottages and were tempted (I was living in a small house myself at the time). We realised quickly that we wouldn't be able to cohabit in one without killing each other, so instead we have a house that lacks charm on the outside, but has a studio and space for not just us, but family and friends, and we have had so many visitors, it was the right choice.

This is a sketch of a house we pass on one of our walks. Postcard-pretty scenes abound around here.

Speaking of walks, John asked his wider family to submit three songs each for a compilation of 'chill-out music' for the unstable times we are living in, and it has been a great way of discovering new music. I love the simplicity of this song (John's aunt's choice) about a summer walk, and it captures the whole spirit of this project, putting aside one's worries for a while. It was written for the songwriter's children, and I have listened to it countless times already and play it in my art classes.

Other recent discoveries include watching Hitchcock's Vertigo for the first time, courtesy of my brother-in-law, and being blown away by the sumptuous use of colour, the sheer abundance of mesmerising scenes and the many possible ways of interpreting it. And I have made an oft-repeated pledge to peruse our own library before buying more books and am reading The Shipping News. I am also re-reading Art & Fear, an invaluable book a friend gave me years ago, a compassionate and passionate plea for artists to make their own work without worrying about the audience and use their own material, their own time and place. Like a summer walk with your kids.

New year newness

Tim Lott's column in the Family section of the Guardian last week started with a sobering, though not surprising, observation - according to surveys of New Year resolutions, what people care about is themselves (apart from seeing more of friends and family, the top five concern me, me, me). Now there certainly is some truth in the belief that in order to a better person, we need to look after ourselves first, but it is still depressing (and I am aware I am writing this on a personal blog, which is part of the whole navel-gazing, self-improvement culture we live in). 

I haven't thought up any resolutions, but John set a good template, which consists of three SMART ones (lifestyle, creative and giving back) and one 'fluffy' one (i.e. vague and therefore probably hardest to do), and at least three of them have the potential to include the wider world. I need to think about mine.

The only 'newness' I have incorporated into this brand new year so far is cleaning the fridge, getting rid of paper (the only household chores I have felt fit enough for, as I have the flu), buying new music and starting a new sketchbook. Being sick has meant the luxury of listening to several Desert Island Discs episodes in a row and reading for hours. The programme had me in  tears several times, from George Michael's answer to why he was in a relatively good place (it was recorded in 2007) - "Nobody died on me...in years...it took years for me to believe that these blows weren't gonna keep coming" - to Emma Bridgewater talking about her mother's death, and in general just the sheer humanity pouring out of the guests (I loved Mary Robinson's episode).

It is of course an excellent source for finding or rediscovering songs (and books), and I have been listening to Rufus Wainwright's "Going to a Town" about the Bush administration (very timely again this month), one of George Michael's choices and a song he would later cover.

Going through a pile of cuttings, I ended up looking up different singers, which eventually led me to this heartbreaking video (more on the song and animation here), which includes drawings made by refugee and displaced children supported by CARITAS - all net proceeds from sales of the single go to Australia's ASRC (Asylum Seekers Resource Centre).

My sister knows me well and got me a sketchbook that is asking me to sketch every day, and I have a feeling that with this one, I will. My first sketch is of our small armchair by the stove in the kitchen, with the blanket my sister and brother-in-law gave us for Christmas last year and a cushion knitted by John's late grandmother, which is the object he chose from her house. 

Books and music and free time

 Drusilla Modjeska, Stravinsky's Lunch

Co. Clare with a blanket of snow

This is one of those weekends with only a couple of scheduled activities, an introvert's heaven and firmly within my comfort zone, which is exactly what I need at the moment, or so I tell myself. I now own a copy of one of my favourite books, Stravinsky's Lunch by Drusilla Modjeska, about the Australian artists Stella Bowen and Grace Cossington Smith. The same friend who introduced me to Modjeska's work gave me this beautiful edition. It was such a wonderful surprise, and I am falling in love with it all over again. The book is about the relationship between art and life (and love), examining the two very different paths of these two women's careers and personal lives, taking in modernism, feminism, Australian history, and Virginia Woolf's To the Lighthouse.

Life was so busy for the first three months of this year that it feels spectacularly luxurious to sit and read or just sit - I have embarked on yet another attempt at making meditation a habit. The author Natalie Goldberg wrote this piece about struggling to make it a routine, which is encouraging to read for those of us who are too hard on ourselves. My younger sister does a Yoga Nidra style meditation when she breastfeeds and thus builds it into her day. On dry days (of which there have been quite a few lately) I open the French doors in the sitting room and sit on the steps looking at the sea and the Burren and the constantly changing light (the photo above was taken last week, on a very cold day just before spring fully arrived).

And even the work on the house is relaxing most of the time. I have been listenintg to old Desert Island Discs interviews while painting, which has yielded beautiful new additions to my playlist (for instance "Sister Rosetta Goes Before Us" by Alison Krauss with Robert Plant, from an album I had been close to buying several times, but never did. Thank you, Sigrid Rausing.), as well as a heightened feeling of connectedness with others and our shared humanity, which may sound odd to a lot of my friends - I have so much catching up to do; outside work I have been isolating myself, so it is high time to actively connect.

Four senses | November 2015

Sound  |  The debut album by John's friend, "one of the best fiddle players in the circuit" (Brian Rooney). This CD had been anxiously awaited. Having missed the Galway launch, we went to the Ennis launch, where the venue was so packed, we had to come back a bit later. It is a treat to hear Claire live - her playing is pure magic, so lyrical and light. The title track, her own composition, is one of my favourites on this stunning album.

Smell  |  Clary sage essential oil. I had run out of it, and it took me a while to get another bottle (I tend to transfer a lot of items on my shopping list from week to week. It can take me a year to buy batteries), and now I cannot believe I didn't miss it more. This is the oil that 'elevates' your mood, so whenever I feel lethargic or down I use this, and it works like an 'on' switch. My current go-to blend for the oil burner is clary sage, cypress and lemongrass.

Taste  |  Dried thyme on roast potatoes and as a tea (a strong brew, left to cool down, is also great as a facial toner).

See  |  I go months without seeing a single movie, and then I watch two within two days. 'Brooklyn' at the cinema and 'Mar Adentro' as a DVD, lent to me by a friend (watching foreign language films must be one of the best ways to keep the language alive when you don't get to speak it often). The former was heartbreaking in its depiction of emigration and heightened the guilt I feel for having chosen to leave my home, the latter beautifully shot and desperately sad, though with a life-affirming and even humorous element (I wouldn't go as far as the blurb, which calls it "a truly joyous experience").

Four senses - October 2015

Sound  |  "All We Want is Love" by Ane Brun. I wish there were a word (because I am about to use a range of clichés) for that feeling when you hear a new song and it is so beautiful your heart hurts and you are reminded of the other times this has happened in the past with a song (for me, for example, with "Rising" by Lhasa de Sela), and there is that sense of coming home and recognition and enchantment. [Photo: the Burren under its duvet]

Smell  |  Smelling roses in the Botanic Gardens. The variety and the subtle differences and the imaginative names! One reason I use a rose moisturiser is for the scent.

Sight  |  Progress in the garden. Still a lot to do before the cold weather comes, but the doors of the shed  (some of the frame hanging loose) and various other things are painted and the grass is cut, and we are getting on top of the weeds and briars.

Taste  |  This non-dairy (bó is cow in Irish) ice cream. We are not off anything at the moment, though we attempted a sugar-free house (everything in moderation these days) and I do try to limit my intake of sugar and dairy in particular. We may have eaten this sandwiched between a meringue and whipped cream on one occasion.


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Treasures on the coffee table - and beyond

Two recent additions to the piles of books on my coffee table - John got me these after I showed him this short film, which he loved as much as I do (especially the bit about Lincoln's pocket watch).

There is so much to discover in these books, down to wonderful details such as the endpaper (third photo above). The endpaper of the book I am illustrating at the moment will have a repetitive pattern of elements from the illustrations, and I am looking forward to adding these little touches. Kalman's work always acts as a reminder of the utter joy and delight of drawing and painting, looking and noticing, for me (among lots of other things), and I would buy her books for the endpaper alone.

On Monday morning I set up office on the wooden deck in the garden, and it was the start of a productive week. Just like sleeping with your head on the foot end of the bed, shaking things up this way seemed to trigger a flood of new ideas and different approaches in my brain. My outdoor "desk" then turned into a picnic table when my friend arrived with her children. This place is paradise when the sun is out. This week we also discovered a new-to-us walk in Spiddal and a new hidden beach. We listened and sang along to a cover of Tom Waits's "Ol' 55" in a lovely pub, which prompted me to play Closing Time in my class yesterday, and just when "Martha" finished the band downstairs in the College Bar started playing that very song in preparation for a wedding, the afters of which we attended in the evening. And today is Sunday.

Dolce far niente

Not quite there yet, even though I did spend half an hour just lying on the grass in the garden of my family home looking at the clouds, like the man on the GEO cover. Doing nothing isn't easy for me. Hence my struggles with meditation, but I am getting better at it, though the phrase 'getting better at' surely must not be used in relation to meditation.

Relaxing with a book is different, second nature.

With a big part of my work being freelance, I always carry work with me and it is always on my mind, but luckily it doesn't feel like work most of the time, unless there is a deadline approaching fast or I feel stuck. I now have three weeks with no teaching, tour guiding, storytelling-assisting or arts admin, just the projects I am working on that are location-independent.

Being here makes me want to have a proper garden, something I could do where I live, to some extent, but so far it is limited to a few pots. I have been drinking lemon balm tea and water with lemon balm, and it may have shortened the lifespan of the cold sore I brought with me. All our meals feature something from my mom's garden, and we feed the outer leaves of lettuces to our neighbours' chickens.

I have done so much living the past three months, and my last few hours before catching the night bus to the airport were no different: I used to go to bed and set my alarm for midnight, but this time I was invited along to a concert, so despite my swollen painful lip I went, and I am so glad I did. It was We Banjo 3, and the gig was part of the Galway International Arts Festival. They were brilliant and so much fun. I bought their new album and drank brandy times three, perhaps my new favourite drink and cure-all. The ensuing journey was pleasantly tranquil and filled with memories and music from the night.

Feeding the muse

my sister's windowsill

My sister is serious about crafts. Whenever I met up with her recently, she would have a new elaborate project going on, while I would still be knitting the same never-ending wrist warmer. We want to participate in various crafts fairs, so there is a deadline of sorts approaching, and I am hoping it will motivate me. My sister knits and crochets every day of the year, whereas I seem to take a break during the summer (an exception is cotton and silky yarn - wool just feels wrong in the warmer months), but now I am slowly getting into it again. One reason for the slow pace is having to prioritise other work. Once again I have spread myself too thin with commissions and my own projects and can feel panic tingling at the edge of my awareness.  

What I tend to do in such times is shut myself away from the world, thinking I need time at home both to work solidly and also to recharge for the next burst of productivity. In a talk she gave with her writer mother-collaborator here in Galway last year, the illustrator Polly Dunbar said her friends were used to not seeing her for weeks on end when she is in the depths of working on a project. 

I recognised my own work tendencies in that. But ideally I will find time for everything that is important in any given week - people, work, leisure, exercise, rest. I realise I am actually more productive when I make time for friends and for attending things. This week was packed full with activities and events I thought I wouldn't have the energy for but that ended up energising me. These two musicians (and wonderful people) were a heart-warming part of a fireside soirée that included a panel discussion based on Jean Cocteau's contention "The arts are essential - if only one knew what for". They talked about being subversive and how everything we make is art ("cleaning one's kitchen really well") and children being the most incredible artists of all - topics I feel passionate about. A friend invited me to see the beautifully shot Renoir and I have resolved to go and see more films from now on. With the internet and a DVD player you have endless inspiration available all the time, but there is something about going out and seeing something live or on a big screen surrounded by other people that makes me feel more inspired and more alive than anything I absorb via my laptop.

I still haven't found the magic solution. While I saw friends and went out and did things, I somehow forgot to make space for the essential task of buying groceries, so I lived on peanut butter sandwiches and meals out (and of course those lovingly cooked for me). I've been feeding the well of inspiration but neglected feeding myself properly. There was also very little meditation and yoga; they were replaced by almost daily glasses of wine, which is a rather inadequate substitute.

Good things

"No live organism can continue for long to exist sanely under conditions of absolute reality; even larks and katydids are supposed, by some, to dream." 

(opening sentence of The Haunting of Hill House by Shirley Jackson)

|  Listening to: Eckhart Tolle on youtube. I like that he and Tara Brach, whose talks I also listen to a lot, can be very funny; it lightens the delivery of the content. The Power of Now remains one of my favourite books in its genre.

    In terms of music, I have been playing Anna von Hausswolff's "Mountains Crave" on repeat (I bought the album Ceremony). The church organ can be a bit of an acquired taste - I love what she does with it. Here is an interview with her.

|  Reading: I am haunted (sorry, I couldn't resist!) by Shirley Jackson's way with words (I had never heard of her before; my sister lent me the book). I can't wait to see the 1963 film based on the The Haunting of Hill House and read her other books.

|  Drinking: green tea with lemongrass, my new beverage obsession (also via my sister), the last of 2011's sloe gin in homeopathic doses, and, tonight, red wine instead of non-alcoholic beer. I rarely drink these days - even one glass can make me feel hungover the following day -, but I trust my instinct and will give in to my craving for earthy red (antioxidants and all that).

|  Looking forward to: autumn activities (not restricted to autumn), which will encompass hikes, sauna-and-swim sessions, picking sloes, making ghee, films, family visits, repotting plants, cozifying, gathering seaweed at neap tide (for compost) and a lot of reading.


* The photo and quote are a random juxtaposition - I enjoyed the rainy windy day in Ballyvaughan

Black and white

It's not mine, unfortunately, but it is living with me for a while. I don't feel it as a burning hole, that I desperately need something that is missing, but a cat and a piano would make my home complete, and I have been close to getting both before chickening out when it came to making a decision due to financial and logistic reasons, respectively. This is one step in the direction of piano-ownership, and I might try fostering kittens before committing fully. 

The Piano is one of my favourite films, and the soundtrack has taken up residency in my brain and heart. 

Yesterday I submitted the last few images of a series of black-and-white illustrations and I am now looking forward to revisiting some unfinished projects that need to go out into the world soon.  

Sound and scent

 I used to read a book a day, but lately I have been a slow reader. The pile of books by my bedside has been the same for a month now, and the weekend papers last me all week (the latter is always the case, in fact - I like to stretch them out, pretending that every day is Sunday). I know I will get back to my usual reading pace, but I am still finding it difficult to concentrate, and my eyes get tired, so I am giving them a rest and indulging in the audio and olfactory instead - ok, and Downton Abbey.

At the moment I am using jojoba oil with a drop of geranium or mandarin essential oil as a moisturiser. This actually suits me better than the Dr Hauschka facial oil I was using before. I have been burning clary sage oil and using it as a massage oil and in the bath - this oil has a euphoric effect, and I reckon it might be a good choice for people suffering from SAD at this time of the year. I use it whenever I feel lethargic or depressed, and it is great for PMS and period pains.

 

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"... I felt a little bit disenchanted and empty of inspiration, and I thought the best thing to do would be to stay at home in England and live by the sea, so I bought a kitten and did lots of home cooking and walked to the ocean every day and ... was trying to rebuild myself" - Natasha Khan, in Bat for Lashes - Letting Go of Ghosts - Creating The Haunted Man (beautiful video).

This reminded me of Lesley Garner's words and, of course, the healing quality of the feline-human relationship (speaking of which, in the week I discovered I am sharing my house with a mouse, getting a cat has moved to the top of my list of priorities, though I realise I need to shift my focus from what I don't have to what I already have, and trust that the cat will come when we are both ready).

Apart from Bat for Lashes, David Byrne and St. Vincent's "Who" has been playing on repeat - just the one song; I haven't bought the album yet. When I first heard this it was via the video clip, so now the audio and visual are inextricably linked for me. I wonder to what extent watching the video for a song prior to a pure listening colours our experience of it.

Pleasure

| Pleasure. Earl Grey tea and hours spent reading, listening to the new Bat for Lashes album (in her notes, Natasha Khan says "This is an album of healing, of being glad to be alive and letting go of the ghosts..." - words that resonate; I keep attracting the right things for me at the right time), a glistening garden in the morning, and enjoying the view from my couch - a woodcut print I was given that I finally got framed (the framer suggested hanging it like this, as he wasn't sure which way it should go, and I am very happy with the result).


The weather was far too nice at the weekend to be stuck indoors working, so I took most of it off. This means a busy week ahead, but there are times when it makes sense to procrastinate - in this case, I gladly threw out my plans for a couple of days suffused with light, Vitamin D and people in high spirits.

Speaking of work (pleasurable work), on Saturday a friend and I went to a Baboró talk about writing (and illustrating) for children with the prolific authors Joyce and Polly Dunbar and Steve Hartley. I didn't take notes, but here are some random things I remember:

Joyce Dunbar reckons the golden age of children's books ended a few years ago and emphasised how difficult it can be to get published and how long it can take, which was a bit disheartening and makes me want to rewind a few decades. However, she also said never to throw work away, as it might well be picked up ten years after the idea was conceived; sometimes it is simply not the right time. She compared the structure of a picture book to that of a poem, with meaning to be found in the shape itself.

 Her daughter Polly was asked to change the colour of her heroine's dress for a TV adaptation, because apparently "green doesn't sell". They talked about the ruthless editing and paring down that is required in a genre where the word count is quite low and about the solitary nature of their work. Oh, and we learnt - from Steve - that children love anything to do with underpants.

Four senses

| When I bought this album back in June I didn't know that the title would take on such significance within a few weeks. Incidentally, I thought I was buying an album by Madeleine Peyroux - there are similarities, and to me their names have the same "taste". This (as well as her debut album) has been the soundtrack to most of my summer and will be played in my art classes.

 | The fading scent and the aesthetic of dying flowers (and my friend just brought me a new bunch! Sweet peas are among my favourite flower smells)

 | My new helmet haircut (aka fringe), created by my younger sister, refreshed by my older sister. Yes, my hair is a vehicle for our sibling bond.

| Spending weekend mornings outside my house pretending to be surrounded by jasmine bushes by drinking it in the form of tea. There is still heat in the sun.

Music, words, lentils

Listening to "These Days" by Ane Brun. I have discovered so many great new-to-me singers through listening to RTÉ lyric fm in the car. Since I always have to write everything down and it drives me crazy when I have very-important-to-me-thoughts that I worry I might forget, I often spend the rest of the car journey memorising the singer's name, the song title or album by repeating them in my head over and over again. With this song the line "you spelled your name in charcoal all over my body" drew me in.

Reading The Happiness Project. I have been a fan of Gretchen Rubin's blog for a long time and finally bought the book. On the very first page she says "I often learn more from one person's highly idiosyncratic experiences than I do from sources that detail universal principles or cite up-to-date studies", and I couldn't agree more. That's why I enjoy reading personal blogs, for instance. I love finding out about people's quirky habits, things unique to them, and these tend to be what comes into my mind first when I think of someone. (And contrary to the often-repeated objection to those of us sharing bits of our lives, I actually want to know what you had for breakfast.)
The book is interspersed with quotes by writers and philosophers on happiness, and there is an appendix with suggestions for further reading - she researched her topic very well.

I am taking my time with On Not Being Able To Paint - learning a lot about psychoanalysis.

Eating: rocket salad and puy lentils as side dishes to 70 % of our meals. They are a great complement to sweet potato or aubergine main courses.

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Picture: I spent a satisfying hour repotting plants earlier this week - they are beginning to perk up.

Long weekend

|  A new Saturday tradition is brunch and reading the Guardian in a tapas place called Black Cat. I have a fondness for establishments with "Cat" in the name (there was a bar called El Gato in Oviedo that is still among my favourite places). This one doesn't have many cat pictures and is quite bare, but somehow the lonely small picture hung quite high on the wall makes me very happy.

|  More food - making Hugh's Gratin Dauphinois (not pictured: too much sea salt chocolate)

|  I only discovered Elizabeth Jane Howard recently (I read The Light Years, and the good news is it is part of a trilogy). This book was one of four I recently bought at a charity book sale coffee morning; I love when I find older editions.

|  Swan-watching in Oranmore (and being told I must stop fearfully holding on to my bag all the time - I wasn't even aware of this habit)

The soundtrack: I cried my eyes out listening to songs that do that to me (a mention of Kaspar Hauser in Middlesex had led me down that nostalgia path, via Reinhard Mey, to relistening to all these songwriters, German, Spanish - Joaquín Sabina! - American, and new-to-me Czech music I discovered through the film Year of the Devil). During the week lots of Lisa Hannigan in my classes and then again in a café where I met up with a friend. Ella Fitzgerald in the Black Cat, and my older sister and her husband's first dance song on repeat at home.

I went for a nice run on the prom on Sunday morning, in glorious weather, passing lots of smiley early-risers. In the evening we went to our friends' engagement party, and I spent this afternoon drawing while listening to podcasts - I have become quite disciplined about my Mondays at home.

Slow

This week I did things differently. I am weakened by tonsillitis (so much for not getting sick anymore - the stress of the last few weeks has taken its toll) and still going to work, so I am forced to slow down at home.

Instead of my early-morning starts at the pool, I had longer, slow mornings at home and drove to work later and availed of the park-and-ride facility at the college, so I didn't have to worry about parking. I left my bed unmade two days in a row (unheard of previously), let the sink fill with dirty dishes, and instead of tackling projects I am working on I watched DVDs (I rarely buy DVDs - I prefer renting on iTunes - but I bought Mildred Pierce and think it is something I might watch several times) and had baths with Dead Sea salt by candlelight while listening to music. The new Tori Amos album, a 21st-century song cycle inspired by classical music that deals with a dying relationship, is set in Ireland and draws on mythology and the power of the sea. I hadn't listened to her in a while, as I found some of her more recent albums a bit disappointing compared to her earlier work, but now I am immersed in her music; it has been the perfect soundtrack to the last few days. I also love the Kate Bush album, especially the eponymous track. Both CDs have beautiful book-style packaging.

This week has reminded me that a lot of the pressure I perceive in my life is in my head. Even though it is very busy at work right now, there were so many other things I felt I should be doing, but being sick has made me realise that nothing is that important or urgent. I know I will get back into my usual routine, but I intend to carry the knowledge that I could live with fewer self-imposed aims and deadlines with me into the busy-ness that lies ahead.


| Speaking of slowness, today Matt made the curry laksa from Yotam Ottolenghi's comfort food recipe cards that came with the Guardian a couple of weeks ago - it was one of the best meals of my life, so fresh-tasting (lots of coriander and lemongrass). The ingredient list looks a bit daunting, and you have to continuously stir the spice paste you make at the beginning for 20 minutes, but it is so worth it - and stirring something this fragrant is hardly a chore, more of a scented meditation.