The Restory Retreat Centre

Down by the river. Photo by George Angus "At the age of 37 She realized she'd never ride Through Paris in a sports car With the warm wind in her hair" Marianne Faithfull's raw voice singing The ballad of Lucy Jordon , had me in tears on my 37th birthday. Like her, I would never make it to Paris before the day was done and a sports car was definitely out of the question. Hearing the song being played again recently, and thinking back sixteen years, I tried to remember what made me feel so wretched. Outwardly my life was not that bad, but it struck a deep chord that I myself was not yet fully aware of:  of a soul longing to be realised.  In all honesty, Paris or any city abroad and sports cars are not my criteria for happiness. It would be fun, but no reason to throw myself of a roof like poor old Lucy. Surely it is not merely about a longing to be someone special, or of experiencing the most romantic dream one could possibly have amidst the drudgery of...

All during Dad's nap Yesterday we had what can be called a "good day". Dad slept well through the night and was as close to normal as paneer is to labne. He took a rare late morning nap. I have been desperate to do something creative. Anything that doesn't involve adult nappies, cleaning up, washing or watching a dvd of Celtic women for the hundredth time. For me to be denied any creative outlet is like wearing a straight jacket. I go insane rather rapidly.      So, I jumped at the chance, tried my hand at making some fresh cheese (using a recipe for labne) and started a new batch of jogurt with the lovely fresh milk we have an abundance of. Sounds impressive? But it's ridiculously easy and utterly satisfying.      I then got into my gumboots and joined the gardener in the vegetable patch to try and remedy some of the damage caused by the recent heavy rains.We sowed new crops of lettuce and dwarf nasturtiums in large flower boxes, planted out basil, c...