reflections on 2022 - the joy of the ordinary
I normally write my year overall creative writing process reflections in that space between Christmas and New Years each year. I'm a little earlier than usual because it's been a year bookended with two funerals and I have been feeling more reflective as a result. Keen to clean the slate and start afresh in the year ahead.
- At the start of the year, my younger brother passed away after a battle with stage 4 lung cancer. I won't relive the feelings of that start to the year but related reflections are covered in a posting from then (see http://no1foofan.blogspot.com/2022/01/dwindling.html).
- Earlier in December, I attended the funeral (via Zoom), and a wake shortly after of remaining locals, of a younger friend who was part of a circle of friends that featured in my first few years in Melbourne, but with whom I lost touch with over the last half a dozen years. That younger friend, 'Sharpy', was part of a 'Drummond St Posse' - a group of IT software designers and artists/musicians I spent time with when I moved to Melbourne. They were a wild party bunch and Sharpy was (ironically) a super-shy host. A certain alter-ego hidden in me was coaxed out by this group - "Mistress Lucy" formed the basis of a character I was writing at the time in a novel. That novel explored the what if I'd made different choices in my life question, and what that life might have been like. I wore a isotopic bright copper red wig and carried a matching cat-o-nine tails (whip) as part of an ever so occasional 'dress-up' for these parties (mimicking Barbarella, though with a colour more appropriate to my skin tone) in an effort to get into the head of this novel character. I 'coloured-up' again ahead of the memorial to pay homage to those times past as the group reminisced about Sharpy via the sharing of old photos. All I could think about as I listened to the service was how that introverted boy, no longer of this earth, departed way too soon.
- prowling the park for cute dogs to pat and saying 'can I?' to bemused owners. [...Although I don't prowl; I meander, sometimes channelling my wondrous inner-tween.]
- learning to fix things myself via the magical learning portal of YouTube. [...Unless it involves use of sharp tools where my clumsiness makes for extra challenges.]
- being touched, and no, not necessarily like that. Holding a friend's hand, someone stroking my inner forearm, a cuddle from a cat; these all count. [...I would add a firm hug from a tall friend is almost always wonderful - it's like being cocooned in a comforting blanket cave. (Unless the tall friend was raised Protestant - they are the worst huggers on the planet; the feeling then is more like a cold wet lettuce.)]
- catching a spider and releasing it back into the wild. Remembering I am thousands of times larger than it, and that Arachnophobia was a work of fiction. [...Huntsmen spiders are not as scary as they look, and it is important to spare them from inevitable torture that would come if discovered inside the house by household pets.]
- Browsing online galleries of tiny homes, houseboats and tree houses. Seeing how other people live joyfully with so little space. [...I also like perusing floor plans to see if winter sun features in aspect.]
- Going on an obsessive deep dive once I discover a new artist, writer or thinker. [...Big time! I can't believe I still get crushes at my age!]
- Using words that sound like what they're describing. Roundabout. Mist. Helter-skelter. Sparkle. [...Onomatopoeia is my favourite use of sound in lyrics.]
- Hanging out with people I love and meeting new ones. Enough though my introverted streak always tries to talk me out of going to the gathering, I never regret having gone. [...Absolutely!]
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