Today

Gay Anderson

I wake far too early - it's about 5.30am and still dark - after an unsettling dream about searching for a child who doesn't know her name. Don't know what that means (or do I?) but it don't seem good.

A comforting cup of tea brought back to bed - cats delighted by an early breakfast - and I'll just write my morning pages for a while before I go back to sleep.

I've heard the rain drip, drip, dripping all night. Oh dear. And my poor visitors are on their summer holidays and they've already had enough rain this year to float a battleship... what'll we DO today? Now there's a challenge; surrounded as we are by the hills and rivers of the great outdoors, in our town the great indoors is sadly lacking so we will, as they say, have to make our own fun. I begin to think of some creative challenges - will they be up for painting, writing a story - a song perhaps? Maybe some environmental art? In our family it's called 'doing an Andy Goldsworthy', after the artist, and brightens up a walk or a picnic with a little personal ingenuity and fun, using whatever natural materials are to hand to make a 'sculpture'. Basically, I never grew out of making sandcastles.

About to go back to sleep (or try to) I realise it's almost time to get up and I'm wide awake so I carry on writing and reading (The Artist's Way by Julia Cameron). I have another cup of tea and start to write this piece.

With the rain, I was feeling a bit down but by now I'm in full flow and feeling the possibilities of the day and I feel happy. I try to remember to let go and trust that the Universe will organise my day far better than I can if I stop trying to control it. Also, believing that whatever happens actually happens for me and not to me, can really take the edge off anxiety - if I remember.

There's a few soggy birds singing their morning songs, bless them.

Now it really is time to get up. But I snuggle down to sleep anyway - and can't, so I get up after all - pleased, actually - and take myself out in the rain to visit the morning and walk by the river through the woods to feed a neighbour's cat, then collect some wet kindling from under the trees and a few small logs as the wood pile is dangerously low.

One of the visitors is up, making coffee to take back to bed, so I go out to tidy the shed in case we paint today - and end up doing a couple of quick paintings, which please me. Abstract, so who's to say they're 'wrong'? Finally, we have a lazy brunch and watch the rain. Easy to get bogged down at this point in what to do. But they read happily and I try to stick to not organising the Universe. It's an old, old habit, which brings anxiety in its wake, as if I'm responsible for everyone. Let go and think what I'd really like to do......actually, more painting, a wet walk and maybe an Andy G.

So - out to the shed and start painting. Visitor comes out to join me after a while. Neither of us is producing masterpieces, so, if either calls 'swap!' we do; gaily painting on, round and through the other's picture - trying to make it 'work'. It's a challenge because she loves hard edges and I can't stand them. After some time and quite a lot of laughter, we produce two surprisingly interesting pictures which, WE feel, would be at home in any gallery of modern art....so I frame them and hang them on the living room wall. So satisfying that I want to go and produce two more - but visitor has had enough for now. Anyway, there are errands to do in town, so I drop visitor at the swimming pool while I visit an old lady friend. She's very upset because she's just heard of a young person's death and asks me why she, at 96 and ready to go, lingers on. Any answer I have seems trite, but we have a cup of tea, and talk.

After, visitor and I shop down the High Street and she buys me a cappuccino in the lovely pottery cafe where she has painted jugs the day before. They're fired now and look good.

Back in time for some fresh air - only vaguely moist, so it's out for an Andy G. We spend a happy hour in which I cut a path through tangled undergrowth and visitors make a lovely line of Autumn leaves by the river - no hard edges here. Andy would be proud (we feel).

Definitely time to make the tea. My visitors are both keen and able cooks of the most delicious food, so I'm more than happy to leave the meal to them. But I eat with enthusiasm - that's my role in the affair.

Then, rather too much telly, I'm sad to say - we could have played some music together instead, but we got hooked by the box, as you do.

And so to bed. They have miles to drive tomorrow and I shall miss them