At times like this I sometimes feel like my only real connection to the universe is the moon...the dear, dear moon. My relationship with the moon goes way, way back. I feel an affinity and I am in awe of her beauty.
Times are stressful Chez Cusp. The novelty of the building work has waned and the constant enquiries and cheery banter from neighbours and other villagers has become an irritation:
'Isn't it marvellous ?'
'You're SO lucky'
'Isn't it big !'
'It'll all be worth it in the end'
This last comment is supposed to be a salve for the 'trauma' but it's not because I know too that it will be worth it in the end but at this point in time -- probably about half way through the actual construction, --- I am sick of having people constantly around me, noise, dust, a kitchen window bricked up so no light penetrates the room, the temporary loss of two other rooms and a lavatory so that everything is squashed into the remaining space, the constant serach for things mislaid, the moving of cars in and out of the drive whilst still in my dressing gown for yet another delivery of bricks, blocks, wood, and above all the sense that my time and space are not my own but shackled to someone, some thing else's agenda. I already live with a parasitic agenda keeper. I don't need another to piggy back the original parasite.
And all the time the world spins and the moon looks on...her beautiful, pale golden cream smile glowing down at me, reminding me that all will be well, that this is just a phase, a passing phase and she, and I, has endured and survived much, much worse.
Dear, dear moon. You make me cry with your compassion and grace
Times are stressful Chez Cusp. The novelty of the building work has waned and the constant enquiries and cheery banter from neighbours and other villagers has become an irritation:
'Isn't it marvellous ?'
'You're SO lucky'
'Isn't it big !'
'It'll all be worth it in the end'
This last comment is supposed to be a salve for the 'trauma' but it's not because I know too that it will be worth it in the end but at this point in time -- probably about half way through the actual construction, --- I am sick of having people constantly around me, noise, dust, a kitchen window bricked up so no light penetrates the room, the temporary loss of two other rooms and a lavatory so that everything is squashed into the remaining space, the constant serach for things mislaid, the moving of cars in and out of the drive whilst still in my dressing gown for yet another delivery of bricks, blocks, wood, and above all the sense that my time and space are not my own but shackled to someone, some thing else's agenda. I already live with a parasitic agenda keeper. I don't need another to piggy back the original parasite.
And all the time the world spins and the moon looks on...her beautiful, pale golden cream smile glowing down at me, reminding me that all will be well, that this is just a phase, a passing phase and she, and I, has endured and survived much, much worse.
Dear, dear moon. You make me cry with your compassion and grace
