I sit at my typewriter
remembering my grandmother
& all my mothers,
& the minutes they lost
loving houses better than themselves
Erica Jong, extract from Women Enough.
I've been busy ... a project, of course. A new website specifically for the project, and all kinds of other things too.
At night, I shift my aching body from my ergonomically-disasterous desk and creak to my bed ... tired from sitting rather than anything deliciously active.
But the website is almost done. I'll launch soon, via a newsletter that shall become regular. I'm eyeing Instagram too ... I'm in Genova next week, it seems like a good time to work out all this social media stuff that I've mostly ignored, as the new project is all about Genova.
I've been cooking and cleaning, imagining myself quite marvelously productive there too, although wanting more applause than I get for fitting everything into my day. I've always been dubious about this housewife stuff. It seems to run along the lines of 'if a tree falls in a forest and noone is there to see it ...' Same with housework. A clean house is the result of many lost minutes and hours. Many.
Erica Jong wrote the perfect poem when she wrote Women Enough.
So precisely, yes.
But I must work. I have one more in the elderberry series to post. It's been up to 28 celsius, thunderstormy, calm and cool too. It's Spring. I'm loving it.
