Sunday Brunch
Feeling Wriggly
The day started at 06:07. Mogs was mumbling. Even though it didn’t develop into a full blown cry I got up and went downstairs. She had a bit of a dodgy belly last night, so in case she needed to poop I didn’t want to push it. I’ve been giving Mogs a taste of the world lately, beyond the Monge kibble and Wolf of the Wilderness tin food. A slice of banana, a spoon full of yoghurt, half an egg. She loves it all but the egg does something to her digestion neither of us is particularly impressed with.
SUNDAY REST
God knows why, but before finishing my first coffee of the day I was cleaning the toilet. I made myself sit down and write this, before heading upstairs to clean the bathroom. I do not want to go into a full blown cleaning frenzy and wear myself out before it’s even eight o clock and spend the rest of the day in a haze. The non stop rain (it hasn’t lit up for over 48 hours) is making me foggy enough as it is. It should be dry later on and I want to save some of my energy for two decent dog walks.
Sunday is the day of rest… I have always wanted to honour it. A full day without chores, without tasks, without any sense of urgency. Just quiet contemplation, socialize. Catch up on some phone calls, meet a friend. Instead most of my adult life it’s been a busy day. During college I would be at work on Sundays. I was a sales assistant at the men’s accessories department of Liberty’s. Sundays meant double pay. Add the commissions to that and those Sundays covered rent.
Working life meant long days during the week and late nights on Friday’s and/or Saturdays. Sunday was laundry day, food shop day, cleaning day. Getting ready for the grind day. This changed when I started dating Jamie. He was this big bushy bearded guy with a huge grin and a rather large group of friends. They were all English speaking expats, from the UK, Australia, New Zealand. The guys all had in common that they loved live music and were obsessed with rugby. The girlfriends had nothing in common, except that their boyfriends were all friends…
I am not a fan of group hangouts but they did have one tradition I learned to cherish: Sunday night movie and pizza night. We would all gather at one of the guys houses, the one with the biggest sofa’s and the softest carpet. A dozen people strewn around the living room would stave off the “start of the week” anxiety as long as possible. And I have to say it did slightly ease the Monday blues…
WORKING LIFE
There have been a few pivotal points in my work week over the years. The first big change came when I decided to switch from short and shitty contracts at companies that held me hostage all week to working freelance. The flexibility gave me space to discover a more natural rhythm in the day. I found out when I am most practically active (like cleaning toilets at half past seven in the morning), when my mind is at its peak. It made work more efficient, easier, more pleasant.
Cancer stopped me in my tracks in 2011. After that I did not work for three years. I did write a memoir, participated in a cancer themed art exhibition and did this odd photography project of getting up for 77 consecutive days (I was born in 77 and have attached a symbolic meaning to those numbers) to take a picture of the sunrise. But when death didn’t come and my dad started cracking jokes about retirement plans being relevant after all, I craved financial independence.
Eventually I picked up commercial copywriting again. Yes, I worked for money, not for substance. The work itself had become a bit tedious and not very fulfilling. A few years back I added study to slowly transition into a very different line of work: become a counsellor.
The new cancer diagnosis threw a spanner in the works. I kept on track as best as I could, studying, creating a website, writing on Substack, in between hospital visits, panic attacks and processing some more major losses.
This random ramble leads me here:
I have added audio to the first SULMUM post. I will be adding more.
A friend told me yesterday: I see cancer almost as a tool the way you handle it.
I am fascinated by her observation. Would I have been a perpetual procrastinator had I not been diagnosed again?
I am writing as much as my mind allows (and my hands can keep up with - I have a big archive of voice memos too because I get frustrated by thinking faster than I can type), I am reading and studying and learning. I am very present with my pets (same friend insists on me sharing more stories about them and our lives together).
I will reflect on this for the next few days. I am not into the “cancer was the biggest gift” narrative, no fuck that. But I do believe that any and all experiences in life hold the potential for transformation.
ON WRITING
I am fully into fiction mode, having regular book sessions with my dad. He is my human AI and does what some folks were hoping ChatGTP would offer.
Whenever I hit an obstacle in the plot, get lost in details, or whatever is frustrating the writing flow, dad knows how to get me back on track with just two or three questions. I don’t know how he does it, but he intuitively seems to know where any answer can be found.
Ok, going out on a limb here, but I do have a bucket list wish… I want to travel to France with dad to do research for my book… no idea when or how.. because I will need to board 4 pets or learn how to drive a big van…
Anyway, back to writing itself. While I am puzzling and plotting away my mind is a bit cramped for space.
I have already shared the Anne Lammott interview, but I feel I want to share that and two additional ones again:
WHAT MATTERS MOST: THE LOST LONG LIST OF DRAFTS
I have a long list of drafts, both here and on SULMUM. It’s odd how a topic or theme can carry a sense of urgency in the moment, but when left untackled suddenly has lost its shine when revisited a few days later. I need to see what is worth dusting off after months now even. Yes it is part of spring cleaning and a much needed decluttering of my mind (it may actually replace my bathroom cleaning today…)
A few of the drafts concern my body. Cancer. Perimenopause. Somatic therapeutic stuff. That last one will slowly be incorporated into SULMUM but the rest will remain untold, for now. For the last couple of days my body has been telling me to “back off and leave me be”. Despite my best intentions it has started to feel like a project. Every ache and pain studied, the subject of all the healing meditations, the reason of lying awake with worry at night. It’s exhausted.
So, while my body and I are going to quietly breathe and me, I refer you to this great read / listen:
THE PACK
All pets are dropping their winter fluff now the weather is warmer. But they still do huddle cuddle at any opportunity. Moggie has had new adventures at puppy school. Adi has introduced his training dog Leelu and its going really well!
So well that Adi caught me off guard with:
I have changed my mind about Moggie…
I went, oh uh…. expecting bad news (not sure why..)
I think she will make it to the forest group after all…
That means Mogs has off leash running in the woods with new furry friends on the horizon!!!!!
Please support us so we can keep watered, fed, vet approved and on track with training!
GOFUNDME: https://gofund.me/c446d841a
I HAVE NO ROOTS
I have written a lot about home and belonging. So often in life I have been told by people or shown by events that I was destined to be the outsider, the one who doesn’t fit, belongs to something other than group, location, anything that belonging can be based on.
But I do feel very strongly connected with my place of birth. Zeeland, the Netherlands.
Last week I was thinking about the cultural heritage of the Zeeuws Meisje (little zeeuws girl..) and I found an array of amazing photography reviving Zeeuws dress.
https://www.jimmynelson.com/stories/walcheren/?srsltid=AfmBOor4i-P_nR2TAH2v--dYye5_uZt64jWjfZ0H1quYPNV10-HCd7n7
(I want the book for my birthday!!!)
The province is historically known also for the flood of 1953, something I am slowly addressing in my Ancestral Medicine practice.
And I will leave you with its motto: LUCTOR ET EMERGO (I struggle and rise up…)
