I derive such succour from the ordinary things, the commonplace events I can reply on to be commonplace, the cherished routines …
School started today at Pinewood. I watched Polly’s green gingham back as it disappeared through the doors amongst a chirruping flock of other six and seven year olds. I’ve been spending so much time with her lately, I felt a flush of sadness this time, on top of the customary relief.
Polly is going to be in a film tomorrow. A student film by the lovely Ben Andrews, in which she is going to walk to a refrigerator, open it and pour herself a glass of milk. I’m not sure she if she quite understands what’s going to be happening. She keeps calling it a ‘play’ - as plays are something she’s reasonably familiar with - but I’m confident she’ll adapt, and not freeze-up or anything like that. I’ve been astonished by her progress lately, her reading, writing, comprehension, all that stuff. And of course, her imagination.
I’ve set her up a desk in my study where she occupies herself while I work. Long gone are the days when work was a pipe dream if Polly was in my sole care.
My wife has retired from the scene for a few weeks, requiring some peace and quiet to mend the inner fabric of her soul. My recent precipitate departure took as much of a toll on her as it did on me.
I am able to breathe a little easier now, though there is a looming darkness on the horizon and it is difficult not to worry about. Strangely, having emerged from such horror and remorseless grinding stress, I feel freshly energised. Particularly with my work. I have a whole lot of projects on the go now, and I am appreciating all the sacred little things, which, for a period there, I thought I might have lost.
The honour of feeding the white duck Immaculata is by no means the least of these.
And, of course, nothing now stands in the way of my intention to photograph and identify the native fungi of Mt Waverley.