January, a gallimaufry

Thinking

I’m thinking about time. Deep time, recent time, the future. On my desk, two fossil chunks of the Sooke Formation, from the Oligocene period (34-23 million years ago). A seam of something like clamshell runs through the one in the middle of the photograph. The rock on the left is studded with small shells like oyster. In the little basket, some Eocene (56-41 million years ago) fragments from Whipsaw Creek near Princeton, B.C. — I’m not quite sure what the fossils are but I think leaves and maybe bits of insect, which are common in this formation. When I hold one of these rocks in my hand, I am part of the long spiral of time, of the plants, animals, the weather, the water, the relationship of day to night, and the events that have been filling our consciousness over the past week, the past year, decade, take a less prominent place in time. Literally, they take up less oxygen.

Reading

In my own self-designed program to learn more about paleoanthropology, I’m reading Becoming Human: Innovation in Prehistoric Material and Spiritual Culture, edited by Colin Renfrew and Iain Morley. At night I lie back on 4 pillows with the book propped against my knees and I read, make notes in the margins, pause to think, and think again. Right now I am reading Henry de Lumley’s “The emergence of symbolic thought” and I keep noting this interesting trajectory of development: tools as simply tools, then as objects possessing their own harmony and beauty, of fire and its influence on group activity, symbolic thought evolving as humans buried their dead, commemorated them, decorated them, and then decorated caves, panels of rock, and how these things are all important to us now. I pause and remember the rock panel above the Côa River, two horses facing one another, and how contained in that moment is something so profound I can hardly imagine my life without it. Hardly.

Listening

Listen to this, I told John. It came up in my news feed and of course they had me at “Boulder to Birmingham”. They had me at Jessie Buckley.

Sipping

It was late afternoon, I was sewing, the light was falling, and all the day needed, all I needed, was Tio Pepe sherry in a beautiful Waterford glass. And Reader, it was perfect.

Finishing

How many times can I record that I am finishing a quilt that still is not finished? First I couldn’t think how to bind it. Then I found enough deep blue premade binding but something kept me from using it. It wasn’t quite the right colour. And the sewing shop in Sechelt has closed so there’s no easy way to find a better match. Sometimes I make my own bindings, using a contrasting fabric, but I didn’t have anything I liked the look of. But wait, I had yards of the indigo-dyed linen I’d used for one side of the quilt. I cut 4 inch wide strips, ironed them in half, then ironed 1/3 inch under. I’ve done two sides and might finish the other two today. This quilt has been long in the making, long in the finishing, but I love the colours, and love that I found them myself in the dye vat.

Appreciating

Oh, the stars! The last three days have been clear and cold, the nights too. How I’ve missed getting up to pee and stopping to look out a north window at Orion, the Great Bear, Venus. Not enough light to read by but enough to be alive under.

Looking

The amaryllis I planted too late for Christmas is blooming now, white trumpets edged with soft pink.

Wishing

As I swam my slow kilometre this morning, Crash Test Dummies on the playlist (lifeguards decide this, not me!), overhead lights turned low (because it was only me swimming), I was wishing I could set our table tonight for the whole family — we are now 14 — and talk in candlelight until all the wax had dripped down.