Tag Archives: Creativity

I See: Reflections on Creativity and Seeing Part 1

I’m having to abandon my varifocals to read until my new specs come. Incidentally, Ana T Forrest’s ‘Fierce Medicine’ is a great read for challenging times.

Yesterday I went to the opticians for an eye test.

Nothing unusual about that, you may say, and hardly a suitable subject for a blog about Creativity. However, aside from the fact that every experience is fodder for a writer, I want to tell you what a literal eye-opener it was.

I should probably mention that it is about six years since I last had an eye test, never mind new glasses, since with my cruddy eyesight, the latter invariably involves coming up with a hefty three figure sum. Luckily, we’d put a bit aside over the winter, and I’ve finally got my chance, which is a good thing since my close sight (I wear varifocals) has got so bad that I seem to manage to slice, grate or peel my fingers every time I prepare a meal because I can’t see what I am doing.

I had also made the momentous decision to give in to Husband’s badgering, and go to his optician, instead of the cut-price outfit I attended before. You get what you pay for, and my scarcity thinking had ended up with me wearing a pair of specs for six years that were the wrong prescription to start out with. I don’t even want to think of the potential damage caused as a result, never mind the wrinkles from squinting!

My new optician was breath-takingly thorough and professional. When he touched my head, or slotted new lenses into the machine, I felt as soothed as a fractious baby. I relaxed into the the chair, something I had forgotten how to do in a clinical context, at rest in my trust in his skills.

And then he put in the final lens and removed the blank so that I could see out of both eyes with the new prescription. And that was when the magic happened.

I had forgotten the rush, the sheer, giddy thrill of being able to see the world in all it’s crisp, hard-edged glory:

R V S B

Clear as day!

I had forgotten. I had forgotten how one day, long ago, the school nurse had sent me home with a letter for my mother, saying that I needed spectacles. My mother cried (a wonder I had never seen before), mortified that she hadn’t noticed how dreadfully shortsighted I was. Even at seven, I was excellent at hiding it, of course. I hid my blindness as I hid so much else, not wanting to be a bother, wanting to be a good girl.

I shall never forget the day I was taken to collect my first pair of glasses – plastic, pale pink, National Health frames guaranteed to make you a target for bullies at school. They were monumentally ugly and unflattering, and they never sat straight on my nose because one of my ears is higher than the other (most people’s are, apparently) and they could never adjust them to get the angle right. I still have the same problem.

I didn’t care.

Because for the first time in my life, I could see.

I came out of that little shop, and saw road signs and shop fronts, chimneys, roof tiles and clouds, car number plates, birds, litter in the gutters, pebbles and cobbles, a myriad of enchanting details that were entirely new to me. It felt like a miracle.

Other kids at school moaned about having to wear specs when their turn came, or refused to, point blank, on grounds of vanity. Some even deliberately damaged theirs so they wouldn’t have to wear them. I never understood what they were on about. Spectacles were for me a liberation, a swipe of pure magic in my life, and I loved them.

And sitting in the opticians chair yesterday, looking at a row of illuminated capital letters through a contraption that Professor Brainstawm would have been proud of, I felt once more that giddy thrill of being able to see.

So I am resolved never to neglect my eyesight again. Not for perfectly sensible health reasons, of which there are many, and which I entirely subscribe to; not in recognition of my ‘lack of deserving’ habits which explained my recent years drought, nor even to avoid those pesky wrinkles. No, I shall make sure my prescription is always up to date in in future for the frivolous, delicious rush of childlike excitement, the giddly thrill of seeing.

May your eyesight always be sharp and clear,

Wonder Weeks

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Bungay from the banks of the River Waveney, the perfect place to contemplate my own personal Wonder Week experience!

You see, I haven’t forgotten you!

Taking a bit of a blog break has been less of a necessity and more of ‘I only have so much energy and something has to fall off my todo list in order for me to survive’ thing.

Its not that my life has been event-free; more that it has been so event-packed that there has been no room to breathe. Recent weeks have been so full of stuff – appointments, health problems, elder care, visitors, travelling, and aggravation – that there has been almost no space to remember who I am, let alone what I want to create.

One thing struck me this weekend, though, as I talked with my song-writer friend. There are times in life when we have these emotional growth spurts, when life is difficult and challenging, and when all our energy has to go into dealing with whatever mountain we have to climb. These are the times when we learn and grow. They are not necessarily when we are in the right place to create the Great English Novel! (Or poem, or song lyric!)

I am reminded of friends who have become parents talking about their baby’s ‘wonder weeks’, those stages in development when an infant’s brain grows to allow it to gain new capacities to interract with its world. These are often times when a child is grouchy, sleeping badly, and crying for no reason. Get to the other end of a wonder week, and your baby has learnt to sit up unaided, or vocalise in a new way, and it was worth all the pain and sleepless nights.

As adults, I think we have wonder weeks too. Its just sometimes we go for months or years without development, and then a dozen wonder weeks come along all at once, leaving us feeling like we have been hit by a steam roller.

If, like me, you are caught in a chain of adult wonder weeks, it’s worth noting that while your brain is preoccupied with making new neural pathways, and driving a bulldozer through old ones, it is unlikely to have any energy, space or interest in anything else. Time to be kind to yourself.

I’ve had to accept that this is not a time in my life during which I am going to have the ability to concentrate on complicated activities. I’ve given up trying to read fiction, watch drama or write anything complex. I seem to be only able to cope with reading books about history (which feels strangely comforting), or wellbeing (which are directly relevant to my situation), or to watch TV documentaries. I can’t even read blogs at the moment. I just can’t take them in.

But that’s okay.

My brain is doing other stuff. So I’m not trying to force it back onto the straight and narrow. I’m trusting that it knows what its doing, and that eventually I will come out the other end with my pockets stuffed full of psychological doubloons from this unplanned diversion. It may be an adventure I didn’t sign up for, but that’s how life sometimes is.

Don’t pile yourself up with SHOULDS. The blogosphere is full of exortations to fulfil your Life Purpose, organise your house, build your dream business, learn Mandarin in a week – but if that week happens to be a grown-up wonder week for you, believe me, trying to learn Mandarin at that point in your life will be the emotional equivalent of trying to run a marathon when you are lashed to the Rack. And just as pointless.

Give yourself a break. Don’t live in SHOULDland.

Unfortunately, adult wonder weeks don’t arrive in calendar-friendly order like those for babies. We never know when the Universe is going to clock us round the chops with the Frying-pan of Enlightenment, or fell us with what feels like a very back-handed ‘opportunity’ for growth. But that is what they are – opportunities. No matter how wretched they might feel.

Give yourself a break. Be where you are. Accept where you are.

Stop fighting it.

Rather than try to soldier on when brain and body are apparently no longer willing to cooperate, it is far better to let them do their thing and hang up the whip for a while. Preferably permanently.

Give yourself a Break. Choose a new way.

Choose kindness towards yourself.

In the meantime, I’ll keep you posted as to when I surface from my wonder weeks!

Happy Creating,

Creative Recuperation

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Statue by Anthony Gormley on the top of Blackwells Art and Poster shop, Broad Street, Oxford.

We just got back from a demanding time in Oxford, and after the difficult fortnight we have had, I find myself feeling emotionally as well as physically exhausted. So when I found this post from Jamie Ridler this morning, I realised I had to make a concerted effort to have some healing time.

One of the hardest things to accept about our creativity is that it often comes and goes. There are times of bounty, when the Muse is flowing and there are so many ideas coming into your head and out of your pen that you feel like you could get hysterical just trying to keep pace.

And there are the droughts. The times when nothing new has come for months, and you feel like you may never paint or write or dance again.

One of the things that my ME/CFS has taught me, and continues to teach me, is to go with that flow. There are times of the year when our bodies need downtime, and times when our tails are up and we are full of energy. Any woman knows this from her menstrual cycle.

The trouble is that we live in a 24/7 culture that requires us to be ‘on’ seven days a week, twelve months a year, and our biology just hasn’t evolved sufficiently to keep up with that. (We’ve only had the lightbulb for a hundred years or so, remember?) We simply can’t be in action continually. We aren’t machines. We have to stop and rest.

Resisting that PUSHPUSHPUSH productivity mindset is a constant practise, but if you are intent on living a truly creative life, you need to take account of not only your own biorhythms, but also your creative rhythms.

It is time to be gentle with ourselves.

Because if we don’t make time to be gentle with ourselves, our bodies will remind us that we must in no uncertain terms – often with the red traffic light of major illness.

So this week, I am resolved not to make any particular demands on myself. I will be journalling, and watching some old films, eating nurturing food, and taking lots of naps. Maybe I’ll even paint my toenails, which always cheers me up! I am going to take it one day at a time and listen to what my body needs. By doing that, I know my mojo will come back eventually. I just need to give it some space.

Happy creating – or resting, whichever you need to do right now,

Lemon Lessons

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Hilarious card sent by our niece to cheer us up. It worked.

You may have noticed a distinct absence of Evenlodeness on your dashboard lately.

This is because here at the Evenlode Burrow, we have been struck by a hail of lemons.

Yes, I was ill. Quite ill. Verging on very ill.

And then Husband got diagnosed with diabetes and taken into hospital overnight.

This was, despite all expectations, a major shock. Diabetes is endemic in his family, so we can’t say we weren’t expecting it, but somehow seeing him in a hospital bed still felt horribly distressing, not least because he is close to the same age that my father was diagnosed with terminal cancer. Both my father and grandfather died at the age of 52, and Husband celebrates his 50th birthday this year, so the rational part of my brain sort of went AWOL.

Matters were further not helped by the fact that the doctors can’t decide which sort of diabetes he has. Type 2 is what you would expect given his age, but apparently his blood tests are not clear. Trust him to be awkward! He could be either, so the quacks are going with treatment for Type 2 for the next fortnight, and if the tablets don’t work, reassessment will follow. Cue uncertainty on an epic scale.

So many people have been telling me how their relatives live healthily with diabetes of either type, and believe me, I know, I know. Husband’s brother has been living well with Type 1 for thirty-odd years. I’m well aware that its not a death sentence, and that it could be a lot worse.

But it has still rocked our world.

There are, however, unexpected gifts even in this hail of lemons:

1) Yay for the NHS

Here in the UK, we have the National Health Service, and it is one of our national sports to complain about it incessantly. But when the s**t really hits the fan, the NHS is there for you, BIG TIME. Yes, we had to sit in a corridor for three hours the first evening, waiting for a bed to become free. Yes, we had to wait two hours for a doctor to be free in order to prescribe two paracetamols for Husband’s headache. And yes, the information we came home with was not what you might call exhaustive, to say the least.

BUT, and this is a HUGE BUT, we didn’t have to worry about paying for any of it, a fact that we were profoundly aware of, and grateful for, throughout the whole process. We were treated with unfailing kindness and courtesy, and given everything we needed. Husband came home with equipment and medications without paying a penny. He can ring up for help any time he needs to. He has a series of further support and assessment appointments to attend, none of them requiring him to cover fees.

To me this is a sign of a civilised society. Anyone who thinks people should have to pay for healthcare needs to reassess their capacity for empathy, which is the key quality of a human being, And anyone who has ever had a sick relative or partner knows just how important it is.

2) Hey, I just stopped giving a stuff!

When the life of the person who is the centre of your world is threatened, suddenly everything becomes very, very simple. All the things that seemed so important have now become completely irrelevant.

Please note the use of the word IRRELEVANT.

I no longer care about all the SHOULDS and OUGHTS that seemed so important to my future last week. I don’t care about having the right filofax or whether the kitchen floor needs mopping, or what people think about the fact that I don’t work, but don’t look sick either. I don’t care about not having a career at 47. I don’t care what people think about me not having children or an income. I don’t care about the piles of stuff we are keeping in the house. It doesn’t matter what people think of how I wear my hair. It doesn’t matter what I think of how I wear my hair. It doesn’t matter if there is nothing in the house for lunch, or the DVD player gets bust – we’ll just buy another one if we have to. (We did!)

Because its all IRRELEVANT.

3) Pure Freedom

The consequence of all this IRRELEVANCY is pure freedom.

I can concentrate on being here, now, with the man I love, which is all that matters.

This is a freedom I have never been able to give myself. The freedom to concentrate on getting both of us well. The freedom to be myself and not worry about trying to start a business or get published or do all the other things that my friends and acquaintences think would be the sign of success, but mainly, the things that I put myself under pressure to do because I don’t think I am enough as I am.

I don’t have to think about any of that now.

My sole intention for the next year will be to get both us well, and to enjoy every single second of the time we have together however the hell I can.

Because nothing else matters.

4) Creativity Caveat

This doesn’t mean I am going to stop writing, or being creative. Rather the opposite. It frees me up from all the SHOULDS and OUGHTS. I can do whatever I like, whenever I like, whenever I am well enough. And I can concentrate on him whenever I need to. I can use my creativity to process and express this new journey we are on. I can enjoy doing it for the first time, instead of making it a labour of OUGHTS. (In fact, I started a new story today.) Its just that from now on, I don’t have to apologise for doing what I want. All that matters is to be happy and healthy with the man I love.

Because when it comes down to it:

from @geraintgriffith on Twitter

I don’t know where this journey will take us. I hope that you will join me as I endeavour to go on using my creativity to live up to what is increasingly speaking to me as my own motto:

SPEAK YOUR TRUTH

In the meantime, I would like to say a heartfelt thank you to everyone who has supported us during the last week as we have negotiated this crisis. To all our dear friends, supporters and readers, we owe you a huge debt of gratitude, and I hope that you know that if you ever need us, we will be there for you too, no matter what.

With love and gratitude to you all,

The Tale of the Soapy Otters

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The view from my pillow. Sorry its a bit blurry, but that’s how I feel right now.

This is my life right now.

Lying in bed, sleeping, reading, writing, staring out of the window, watching the clouds, listening to the wind.

I’ve had a real health crash. I’m back to the ‘having to sit down to brush my teeth and wash my face’ stage. The ‘having to go back to bed after my shower because thats all the energy gone for the day’ stage. The ‘oh, shit, how the hell did I get this bad again?’ stage.

Today, I’m regarding myself as lucky. My brain has picked up again, so I am able to read once more, but to start with it was impossible to take anything much in. There was that horrible feeling of staring at the page and knowing that the letters and words so familiar to me were completely unintelligible, that even if I could understand them, they wouldn’t stay in my mind long enough for me to make sense of the author’s ideas. Words become like soapy otters on days like this. You’ve no hope of catching them.

That’s the hardest thing for me to handle about this illness, I think. The soapy otters.

Because I am a reading addict. I was the kid that read the back of the cornflake packet at breakfast every day (even the list of vitamins) three or four times, just to keep myself entertained. As an adult, I need to have something to read continually with me, or I get twitchy.

And if I am not reading, I am writing.

Being deprived of this capacity on however temporary basis is agony. I feel lucky that it doesn’t happen too often anymore, because when I was first ill, some 17 years ago (Gods! Is it that long?) it was pretty consistent for months. I couldn’t even listen to the radio because the sound hurt my ears, and I couldn’t understand what was being said anyway.

I’m grateful to be better, believe me.

Not least because the soapy otters are harbingers of major changes.

They herald a time when I am forced to lie down and face my thoughts. They offer me a time to rest and recuperate, but also to realign. My body may be rusting like that of the Tin Man, but my soul is in hyper space. Things are shifting.

Soul shifts seem to come in spurts for me. Nothing for a long time, and then everything all at once. Maybe that’s why I am so exhausted.

My diary has taken a hammering since I’ve been able to write again. Pages and pages. So has my writing notebook. And that big notebook you can see in the picture? That’s my wellbeing workbook. That is where I write down what my body needs, what my heart and soul need too. My diary is for my thoughts and feelings. My workbook is for my vision and planning. For working things out. It is my wellbeing memory. And yes, I like to use brightly coloured pens in that one, not just to draw attention to certain paragraphs and concepts, but because I like them. They make me happy. Yay for Papermate Flair pens, I say!

You’ll notice there is another notebook in the picture, too, a black one. That’s my current writing notebook. And yesterday, I actually was able to write something in it. A scene from a story. I felt so proud of myself.

And when I have exhausted my Bloglovin’ feed, I’ve got books, though they are a bit more resistant to my brain at the moment. I don’t know why I find the written page harder to understand at times like this. The electronic one is definitely less ottery.

At the moment I am rejoicing in Danielle LaPorte’s wonderful ‘The Desire Map: a guide to creating goals with soul’, a title which is a bit of a misnomer because actually its about core desired feelings which really hits the spot. I’m a person who finds it hard to connect with feelings, so using them as a life compass is a huge and thrilling idea to me.

The other book is Tami Lynn Kent’s ‘Wild Feminine: Finding Power, Spirit and Joy in the Female Body’, which is feeling more like hard work, but I think that may because I am so resistant to the material. One of my intentions this year is to connect more to my womanness, and thats why I am reading this one. I think its going to cause a revolution. I’ll let you know how I get on with it.

And now, after writing all that, I’m exhausted again. Sorry, I had better wrap up. I just wanted to share with you where I am, the good and the bad. And on the whole, while it is an uncomfortable and frustrating place to be, I find that actually I am deeply grateful for it.

But before I go I want to leave you with an unbearably cute photo of an otter sleeping:

Sea Otters can sleep on their backs in the water.

Yes, I know he’s not soapy, but I couldn’t find one that was. Which is probably for the best, don’t you think?

Happy Creating,

Inspiration Monday: Intention

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On Ardnave Beach, Islay.

Hello dear friends.

I just got back from a weekend looking after mother-in-law and aunt-in-law. It wasn’t how I would expect to spend the Valentine’s Day weekend, but actually it was a chance to show love in ways other than romantically. I did mother-in-law’s hair for her. I gave aunt-in-law a manicure. I made them pancakes, something they would never be able to manage themselves. Husband cooked us all a slap-up roast dinner. On Sunday, Husband and I took some time to visit the centre of Oxford, and soak up the beautiful architecture and bookshops.

It was a weekend filled with all kinds of love.

Now I am home, with a week stretching out before me, and the need to take account of my own health and wellbeing. I’m in the middle of a ME/CFS flare-up, which means taking a lot of time to rest and sleep. I couldn’t do that while we were away, just caught enough sleep on the hop to keep going until we got home. Now I’m flaked.

One of the things I find it helpful to do is to set an intention for the week. I usually do it on a Sunday, but circumstances dictated otherwise this week. So this morning I am sitting here in bed, considering what should be my priority for the coming seven days. These are a few of the activities I have in mind:

Rest.

Self care.

Some quality time with Husband.

Doing some drawing.

A bunch of pink roses.

When I’m up to it again, cooking some luscious vegan food.

Catching up with some writing I want to do.

Reading a new book, which arrived on Friday – so excited about this one, as I think it could make a real difference to my health and creativity.

Maybe giving myself a pedicure.

Of course there are a dozen other things I would like to do, and hundreds of OUGHTS and SHOULDS which I am ignoring. It’s hardly a ‘To Do’ list. I don’t like Goals, as I’ve said before. I can’t set targets because frequently unexpected health problems prevent me from meeting them, which only leads to despondency. Instead I give myself Intentions.

For me, an Intention is the spirit in which I go about my daily life, the ethos that guides me in choosing what I am going to do next. It is a way of nurturing not only my own wellbeing, but my creativity too.

My intention this week is ‘Rest and Recovery’.

I will do this week whatever needs to be done to look after myself, and to gently feed my soul.

What is your intention this week?

Happy creating,

Friday Quickfic: Juggling Knives

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Kevin Whately and Laurence Fox promo shot for ITV’s ‘Lewis’ series.

Last week, I gave you ‘Cooking Breakfast’, a little insight into the intimacy between Robbie Lewis and James Hathaway. This week, I have finished the companion piece to that – told from James’ point of view:

“I’m chopping mushrooms, dancing between hob and chopping board, cha-cha-cha. Paper white flesh of fungus. He says mushrooms have no place in a fry-up, but I haven’t noticed him complaining much these days when I put his plate in front of him. Just looks up at me with those twinkling eyes, and I melt. Bastard knows it, too. He can do anything, and then look at me like that, and I’m putty in his hands.

I’m not complaining.”

You can read it here at AO3.

Happy Creating, And a Happy Valentine’s Day to you all,

love,

Friday Quickfic: Cooking Breakfast

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Kevin Whately and Laurence Fox in ITV’s ‘Lewis’

Its been a long time since I conjured up a quickfic for you. I wrote this little morsel while I was on my writers retreat last weekend. My fellow writers liked it, and I hope you will too. Just a little bit of Lewis romance to start your weekend off with a smile. Here’s a taste:

” He is in the kitchen, dancing his Sunday morning sarabande amongst the pans.

You stand in the shadows of the hall, take a moment, watch him lit up by the morning sun, count your blessings. Because it wasn’t supposed to be like this. You weren’t supposed to get this lucky twice in one lifetime. If you believed in God, you’d thank Him. (Never mind, leave all the thanking God to James.)”

You can read it here at AO3, or if you prefer, here at FF.net.

If you like it, you’ll be glad to know that I am working on a companion piece, told from James’ POV. Watch this space!

Happy Creating,

Processing

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Snowy sky from my living room window today.

Well, I am finally coming down from my time away – six days caring for my mother, and then my annual weekend writing retreat. There is so much to deal with, so many emotions to process. Its been a very intense time, with not much time for myself or my creativity. The only thing I have really been able to do is to keep taking photographs. I’m so glad I did, though. It gave me such pleasure to be able to capture a few moments, which I’d like to share with you:

During my time at my mother’s home, her hairdresser visited. John Hallett has been cutting my mum’s hair for a mind-boggling 41 years. He used to cut mine when I was little. It was wonderful to see him again, and a privilege to watch him work.

We managed to get a couple of walks on the beach nearby when my mother was feeling better. Even in the bitter wind, it did us both good.

Sunbeams over the Isle of Wight

You see trees like this on every coastline. This one is on Stokes Bay, near Portsmouth.

The view from the train station at Portsmouth on the way home was pretty impressive too:

HMS Warrior, the Royal Navy’s first iron-clad warship, seen from Portsmouth Harbour train station.

I managed to settle to a bit of writing on my retreat, in spite of all the emotional upheaval. This is a shot of my desk during the weekend:

My desk at our 2015 writers retreat.

And this was the sky outside our house yesterday morning. Freezing cold, but sunny and beautiful. I’m so grateful to live where I do.

Freezing cold, but great weather!

Hope you’ve enjoyed my little photo interlude. On Friday, I’ll have a new Quickfic for you, crafted on my writing retreat! Yay! I got something done!

Happy Creating,

What to do when Life interrupts (again)

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I have to go travelling once more. My mother is ill and I am needed to go down there to look after her. My brother and his partner have been doing a sterling job, but its really hard and they could do with a bit of respite.

This is what you do when you have to. You go and pick up your shovel. And you get to work.

I need to remember to look after myself, as well as her, whilst I am there. It is so easy to forget that you can’t care for someone else if you are exhausted and sick yourself. And I can get that way very easily.

(Witness two hours spent in a freezing bathroom in the early hours of this morning with a poorly tummy. Trust me to choose the coldest night of the year so far to have a stomach upset/nervous meltdown!)

I’m taking my creativity with me, though.

I’m going to have to be creative about how I get her to eat and drink enough (and drinking enough is a real issue with old ladies.) I’m going to have to be creative about how I keep her entertained and lift her spirits. (Hello Scrabble, crosswords, endless episodes of Miss Marple.) And I’m going to have to appear to be relentlessly optimistic (even though a part of me inside is a gibbering toddler afraid of losing her mummy.)

I’m tired just thinking about it, and thats without the fact that I only had three hours sleep last night.

But there are thousands of people out there right now who are doing exactly the same thing. Caring for their elderly relatives. Coping with looking after those with chronic illness or dementia. Wrestling with the health care system. Trying to face inevitable grief. People like you and me. A silent army of carers that is only going to get bigger.

In the face of this upheaval, I don’t know when I’ll have the chance to post again for a while. I ask you to bear with me. I’ll be back soon, I promise. The nib of the pen doesn’t stop moving, after all, and neither does the Muse,

Happy Creating,

evenlodesfriend

Speak Your Truth: Writing and Creativity

Tag Archives: Creativity

I See: Reflections on Creativity and Seeing Part 1

R V S B

Wonder Weeks

Give yourself a break. Don’t live in SHOULDland.

Give yourself a break. Be where you are. Accept where you are.

Stop fighting it.

Give yourself a Break. Choose a new way.

Choose kindness towards yourself.

Creative Recuperation

It is time to be gentle with ourselves.

Lemon Lessons

1) Yay for the NHS

2) Hey, I just stopped giving a stuff!

3) Pure Freedom

4) Creativity Caveat

SPEAK YOUR TRUTH

The Tale of the Soapy Otters

That’s the hardest thing for me to handle about this illness, I think. The soapy otters.

Inspiration Monday: Intention

My intention this week is ‘Rest and Recovery’.

Friday Quickfic: Juggling Knives

Friday Quickfic: Cooking Breakfast

Processing

What to do when Life interrupts (again)