COASTING ALONG A life writ small

Coasting along with LIBBY GREIG

A life writ small.

After 14 months of living in relative captivity, my life feels strangely like looking through the wrong end of a telescope. By that I mean small, perfectly formed and rather distant. However, I have strangely come to enjoy the pleasures of a smaller life and the contemplation it brings with it.

Before the pandemic struck, we were ‘big-picture people’ undertaking lots of travel – the more exotic and adventurous the better. Then there were the big events. Concerts, opening nights at the local theatre, new restaurants, sporting events and festivals. Did I mention shopping? (I have a belief there is an inherited gene for shopping, which therefore makes it futile to resist.)

Gosh we were busy and out there. I feel exhausted just writing it down. Now, after the past year, it’s all a thing of the past. Do I miss it? Well, not really. It has given me time and permission to refocus on the smaller things in life: I now have a list of things I really enjoy, which are not really earth-shattering but provide me with great satisfaction.

I could start with reading a good book in the sunshine. Then there’s sorting out the photo albums, reading old letters before destroying them, toying with buying a dog (I didn’t). And cooking, which involves trying to follow a recipe for a change; you should taste my souffle! As they say, the proof of the pudding is in finally reading the recipe. Making a cake with a child – or a grandchild – is a wonderful thing. Making jam, upside-down-cake, or even perfecting pasta sauce.

Gardening. I can’t believe I haven’t killed my indoor plants, but they are thriving with all this attention I can now lavish on them. A friend also lent me a leaf blower. I had previously regarded these as the work of Satan. But like a number of things recommended by the devil, they are rather addictive. I wielded it around the garden, and then couldn’t resist blasting it toward the front nature strip … and the neighbour’s nature-strip. I felt like Mary Poppins sorting out the street. Finally, it was wrenched out of my arms and returned to its owner before I could do any more harm.

Then there is exercise. Get back on your bike. Buy a wetsuit and have the pool to yourself. Or Zoom with exercise friends. You can feel free to exercise in the privacy of your own bedroom. If you’re really clever you don’t even have to make the bed and then you can collapse back on it the moment the Zoom goes off.

The list of small modifications to my life goes on and on.

I know I haven’t taken this time to write the great Australian novel, but I have written to old friends. I haven’t learnt another language, but I am working on my English vocab, and digging out oxymorons like, ‘social distancing’, ‘clearly confused’, and some might even say, ‘hotel quarantining’ that great source of infection-spread.

I haven’t painted the house or baked sourdough bread, but I am not beating myself up about that either.

I do worry that, like Alice through the Looking Glass, we will return to a bigger, busier, noisier and flashier life than ever before. People (mostly politicians and business people) talk about when ‘life returns to normal’. Who are they kidding? Now there is nothing wrong with normal or perhaps the new normal (is that an oxymoron?) but I have found this is the time to mark the moment. Stop and reflect on one’s good fortune, and better still, share it with someone.

So I will stop and smell the roses, albeit from our wonderful local florist, because my newly acquired green thumb for some reason doesn’t extend to successfully growing roses. Don’t ask me why, I can’t do Christmas lights either. A few of life’s small mysteries.