Tempus doesn't fugit...it comes and goes like the tide.

Tempus doesn’t fugit…

It’s not easy to try and live each day as it comes, be always in the mindful moment, when inside you feel you exist in a state of suspension. Waiting out waiting time. Wondering how you will feel when D Day finally comes. It’s an awful feeling, this perception forcing itself on you that you are living a split life in two dimensions. One dimension of ordinariness, work, shopping, ironing, the daily tasks that make up so much of time.  A second dimension of frozen terror, wondering what the future has in store and how everything will turn out. Never, ever sure that any action is the right one, exactly the right thing to do. Hoping for the best, reciting mantras, prayers and mindful exhortations morning till night, lying in bed still reciting them while the worm of worry uncoils itself in your gut again and you know you face another sleepless night. In those circumstances it’s easy to add wine to supper, to find yourself with the chardonnay and crisps rather than the cocoa and toast. Surfing the web, the social media, seeing if there is anyone up and on Facebook at two in the morning. The only friend up at that time is a new father, preparing the 2 am feed, and he’s in no condition to chat!

Mentally climbing up one wall, crossing the ceiling and coming back down another wall is not conducive to restful sleep. Camomile tea, orange blossom tea, cocoa and wine are not cutting it. Some one suggested relaxing in a hot bath, surrounded by candles, so…

Bringing the sea back home….

One of my birthday presents was a large fancy jar of seaweed powder which allegedly had magical soothing, relaxing and rejuvenating properties. According to the label, you could make a paste of it with almond or grape oil and that would work wonders for your face. Or you could tip it into the bath and after a minimum soak time of 15-20 minutes you would arise like Venus from the waves, only more relaxed. Probably more wrinkled as well.

Not having grape, almond or any other kind of fruit oil, I opted for the latter.  Poured it liberally into the hot water – and started coughing from the cloud of greeny grey dust that arose. Never mind, in I climbed and lay back. The water was not green, as I had anticipated.  It was bog brown.  Not having my watch on in the bath, I wouldn’t know when 15 minutes would have elapsed so I had to count the time in my head. On, two, three, four seconds…When my mind wandered and I lost my count, I gave up.

Wrapped in a fluffy bath towel, I pulled the plug and watched the water gurgle down the drain. The bath itself looked like the Liffey at low tide, except without the rusty bicycles and supermarket trollies. Rivulets of clear water streaked the boggy brown residue on the bottom. The sides of the bath carried a high tide mark. The bathroom smelled like Galway Bay with the tide out. Oh my. Still, it must have done me no end of good.

Later, at a session of my Writing Circle, I took off my jacket and sat bare armed in the warm room. One of my writing colleagues asked if I’d been away on holiday. “You’ve a great colour” she said.

“No, I haven’t been away since last summer, plus I always wear Factor 50 as I just burn”, I said. Mystified, I glanced down at my arms; they were a fetching shade of light mahogany.  The penny dropped; it wasn’t just the bath that had been dyed brown.  All I could hope for was that at least I didn’t smell like Galway Bay when the tide is out.