Grateful: Day 70 - Hands in the Air

70. Seventy! That's twice 35. 10 x 7 (seven weeks). It feels like so much more and so much less. This ritual, night by night, has become a part of what I do. Though the focus changes, the intention is still the same.

I question myself daily. Is this the way to do things? Shouldn't it be more intellectual? Is it interesting/honest/good enough? Good enough. That's the little itchy kernel of it, eh? Not the blog. Me. Am I good enough. Oh, don't you just love ego. It's tenacious, I'll give it that much. It's a terrier with a rat. And the bit of you that can observe it is the rat, but if you're not careful it'll shake you so hard you won't know what's you and what's it and even which way up you are.

I love writing this blog. I love the focus it has given me. It's less intense a feeling, most of the time, than it was at the start. Perhaps that's how marriages go. Or even just relationships. But is it still worth it? Of course it is. It's wonderful. Doing this has changed my whole outlook, along with a few other things too. It's done what years of intellectual knowledge and good intentions never did.

It's helped me really see a good thing in pretty much everything, while retaining some sense of balance (as in not squealing 'ooh, a present!' when I get a slap in the face - just carrying on, looking for some kind of sense or lesson from the slap and getting out of the way of the next time that might happen).

This morning, I was sung to, very briefly, by a man whose name I don't yet know.

It was the best kind of surprising little sing. It was the man I talk to every morning - the man who guides the traffic for the construction site and sends them down a route that IS okay rather than one that ISN'T. It's not always him, but he's been there every day since I came back from Scotland.

We chatted, as always. Yesterday, we were discussing how the ladies' pond was first established in Victorian times, when it made more sense to have the genders separate, and the ladies' pond all enclosed. He said he wouldn't be even talking to me, or if he did, not sitting on his chair while I was standing. At that, he leapt up and I told him to take off his hat. He sat down again with a flump and a guffaw and said 'times have changed.'

This morning, we wished each other happy Christmases - the builders will be away until early January - and all good things for that. And as I was climbing onto my bike, he broke into 'So this is Ch

ristmas' - sung a little tentatively, but with a lovely voice. Filled me with glee. Thank you. What an unexpected little gift.

Goodbyes to Ruth, who is in Actual Europe for Christmas, with people who love her and want her to do art with them (you're an artist, you're an artist, you're an aaaaarrrrrttttiiiiiiiisst!). I am staying at hers - gratefully, happily. Nice chats again this morning, and still glowing from our pleasant evening last night, I was.

I bought some cheese. I went to the cheese counter in a manic branch of Sainsbury's in Islington and asked advice. Oh, the man fed me cheese. Blue, vintage gouda, something else (I bought it, whatever it was). And I tried some cave-aged cheddar that

really tasted cavey (and to my buds, really not very nice) but that's not what he was offering. I said yes to most of that, and it was so nice to have that bit of attention. He really got into it. As I was about to go, he said 'Next time, I'll recommend some goat's cheese options'. Very good! I loved it.

I spent the day at The Hub, first with Amanda Dormon (I'm surprised either of us look the same - we haven't seen each other for months and months), which was lovely, and then with a handful of Hubbers - Luke, Tom, Rob, Alex (uni, not multi - multi's already gone away for Christmas), Anna Levy, of course, Kirsty. And maybe

others, but my brain's gone blank.

We ate thai food together, and chatted. Liora came, and someone else whose name I didn't get. We laughed a lot again. I didn't get much done. A bit, though. I cancelled my insurance (thank you, Lawrence) and I sent a bunch of emails.

I did some invoicing today and I realise I'm grateful to everyone who has employed me this year... there are LOADS. Get this: Memetor, Frank Partners, Steps, Power Train, Mannaz, Fun Fed, Questors, Scribe

Tribe, Paloma, John, The Belgian(s), Save The Children, Kenexa, Peacock Tree Yoga, Spontaneity Shop and now Lux.

I've written, translated, trained, acted, taught, coached, designed, roleplayed and simply had ideas. And that's just the paid stuff. I've also done some fabulous projects with Rob (as drop2), led mask workshops, done coachy/NLP stuff, organised shit, and I've done a whole bunch of weaving. How rich and diverse are the things I get to do and call them work. How huge a proportion of my work really does feel like play. And ultimately How Lucky Am I? Very. Very. Very.

After the Hub (goodbye, Hub, till next year) I came on home, watched an episode too many of The Killing, changed my brake pads, oiled my chain, ate some sausage and some cheese and didn't do yoga. And for some reason, looked up the search term 'happy animals' on google images. You can see the results for yourself. My favourite is the preventative squirrel. He's just ace. Doesn't look that happy, though.

And here I am, warm, steroided up (not quite) to the eyeballs and ready to sleep. The rash, in case you wondered, is becoming calmer. It still flares up at least once a day and the skin is still funny colours and a little bit raised, but it is so much better. My back is almost clear. Belly too. Just my legs and arms to go now.

I'm sure it's on its way. Let's see if I can sleep it off. Tomorrow: pond, work, presents, helping with a service in Hampstead, seeing friends. I say again: How Lucky Am I? Very.