I think part of the reason that I am stuck in a room made of writer’s block is that I am a tad fearful, of what I don’t know. I have spoken about fear before, but that was fear induced by panic and by a situation. The fear I am writing (and rather ironically at that) about is a fear that slowly creeps up on you and then you do something, or something happens and BAM! it has hit you in the face.
For me, this was when I built a new compost bin (I know, I’m quirky out!). I really felt like I put my stamp on this house, that I was here to stay. Forever. I couldn’t pin point why this was in particular.
Yes, I know. I’m forever doing things to this house – painting rooms, building fences, hanging paintings, planting flowers but whatever it was about that compost bin made me realise that I have laid down roots that could be quite difficult to dig up. You can’t take a compost bin with you.
In the end I think it was because I connected this compost bin to the house where I grew up and my childhood which when you’re a kid, seems to be forever. There were similar compost bins knocked together and I remember loathing that walk (especially in the rain) to the top of the garden, through the gate that my dad built and into the field to chuck the day’s compost bounty*.
My parents still live in that house and the compost bin is still there. My childhood home is my forever. Everything I associate with that home means forever – my parents, my brothers and sisters, the memories and the compost bin.
I am now making T’s forever and I think it started with this compost bin.
*According to my sister this was poetic license as she was the one who always took up the compost!