Moving house – the saga!

Well we are in our new house.

We arrived without internet or phone and discovered our cell phone doesn’t work here either. Sod’s law. Our TV didn’t work, radiators weren’t on upstairs and we had the coldest day of the year.

With a thousand people to contact it was all very difficult and predictable. I read the glossy pamphlet from BT assuring a painless seamless conversion.

We have been unpacking, investigating, constructing beds, moving furniture, putting down carpets, finding how things work and trying to contact people. Things don’t fit. The layout is different. Some places are too big and others too small. Gradually we are finding places for things.

The line fault was rectified giving us telephone and internet. Beds are all built, lots of boxes unpacked, heating partially on, and there is still a long, long way to go.

But the change has happened. In a week or two we will hit a new normality!! We hope!!

Poetry – Treadmill – a poem about the life we get caught up in.

Sometimes we seem to be going at life with our heads down, trying to keep up and never getting anywhere. We lose sight of the most important things and get caught up in the trivia.

The little things clog up our minds and take up all our time and energy. We can only glimpse the things that are important to us. Love, friendship, creativity and our passions go out the window – there’s no time left.

The modern life is so destructive. The pace of life and pressure becomes insane. We need to take time-out and reconnect with nature. But the life we lead often prevents us doing that.

TREADMILL

We are living in this treadmill

That keeps ever going faster

Spinning our silk cocoons

Spiralling towards disaster

 

It’s hard to see through the webs we weave

To glimpse what it is we’re doing

It’s so hard to see where the energy goes

As we spin this web of ruin

 

So what is this whirlwind we’re harnessing?

The trap we make of life?

Dieting on light slipping through the walls

As the spinning produces strife

 

Surrounded with the baubles

Attached to the threads around us

Blind to the horizon

Where love can never find us

 

Our home can be a prison

And the planet much too small

The mental tendrils we weave

Produce a steely wall

 

OPHER 29.1.97