The threads of a day

At breakfast my mind wandered away from the cereal packets: the day seemed to me like a loom with a variegated pattern growing into a chaotic and bright cloth. A background of deep green grass with white bobbles of ducks preening. Bright threads of children’s voices in azure and pink making a continuous stream of chatter, zigzagging and flowing through the duller muted greys and blues of a soft autumn morning of mist. Soft, warm brown, in fluffy patches denoting purring cat on lap.

We talked of flotation tanks, fantasising about a tucked away place to escape the noise of the dogs that drives my husband demented at night with their restlessness. A flotation tank would be a smooth silk in a uniform charcoal, soothing to the senses, but dull and monotonous after a while.

Driving into town, to fetch newspapers and ingredients for tomorrow's lunch, the fabric was rough cotton with a graphic print of bold blocks of red and yellow on a tarmac-grey background.

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A sense of something profound but elusive teased at me all day – it had something to do with this passage from the Chronicles of Prydain by Lloyd Alexander:

Taran (a boy on the threshold of manhood, eager to prove himself, says of another would-be young warrior, who is proud and ill-tempered):
‘I think he’ll feel better once we find the cauldron. There will be glory enough for all to share”
Adaon (older and more experienced) smiled gravely. ‘Is there not glory enough in living the days given to us? You should know there is adventure in simply being among those we love and the things we love, and beauty too.

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These posts grabbed me today too: Mary Alice on raising your children to be people you’ll like and this post by Jennifer Howze on skewed perceptions of happiness.

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Today felt like a gentle lesson on living in the now – a lesson that sometimes I think I have mastered, then I generally slip backwards and niggle at myself and the universe, impatient to make progress, tread new ground, achieve things, when sometimes I’m just supposed to be taking stock, looking at the individual threads and appreciating them, no more no less.

So instead of grasping after the elusive profundity, I played chess with our son, both of us beginners, he a quicker learner than me. And this post instead of being coherent and deeply insightful is imperfect and scattered, but with a hint of the colours of my day.