I am still gloating over all the marvellous stuff I got yesterday at a boatyard sail – he is off to sail the world and needed to unload. My haul included two battered West Point trunks, an amazingly solid caged work light, four life rings, two copper ventilators, an old wooden wood plane, two solid brass cleats, a bronze hawser guard, ship’s bell – is that all? It feels like so much!
I had to leave the beautiful scroll saw as I have nowhere to put it, but I rang a friend who could use it so it’s no loss what a friend gets, as my grandmother used to say, (said when my brother’s ice cream toppled from the cone and a dog ate it in two gulps).
I have been sitting with a cup of strong tea contemplating the light off the water to steady myself after paying for my first large order of commissioned fabric, and maybe it’s the number of noughts involved which make the light unbearably clear, the colours so sharp and subtle: sun-bleached fluorescent pink on the fender swaying in the wind, bright olive in one of my favorite pieces of driftwood hanging on the wall, and the colours picked up and echoed by hats and books and art I normally don’t notice. I am alone, though the cat is sitting in her basket beside me with one paw draped elegantly over the side, and the raccoon and her kittens are just inches away under the kitchen floor, what a strange thought. Everything feels so solid and tangible, a very robust sort of happiness grounded in ticking clocks and passing traffic. Ordinary happiness is so sturdy if I take the time to settle into it.