' Forget your perfect offering. There is a crack in everything. That's how the light gets in.'
Tuesday, 10 February 2015
It occurred to me that I haven't written a lot about living in the van lately. That's because there isn't much to tell. Aside from less space there's no huge difference to living in a house, most of the time that is. I cook study, parent, read, entertain friends, sleep.....all the things that I did in a brick built home.
I'm sometimes reminded that it's not quite the same. With a drastic temperature drop overnight in the early hours of Sunday morning, the motorhome dumped the contents of its tank. So I had no water yesterday morning. The outside tap was frozen too so I couldn't even fill the kettle. I've now sussed the procedure so that the next time it happens it won't be a big deal. I've also added 2 x 5 litre water canisters to the kit on board to use as emergency rations. Never again will I be in a situation where I have to forego that life giving early morning cuppa.
Salty Dog came by last night, stir crazy from setting up her new business and seeking respite in my rural neck of the woods. We ate most of the contents of the fridge and drank Prosecco on a school night. And we helped Louis with his homework, analysing 'Blessing' by Imtiaz Dharker. Thought provoking but way trickier than anything that I had to unravel at the age of eleven.
The skin cracks like a pod.
There never is enough water.
Imagine the drip of it, the small splash, echo in a tin mug, the voice of a kindly god.
Sometimes, the sudden rush of fortune. The municipal pipe bursts, silver crashes to the ground and the flow has found a roar of tongues. From the huts, a congregation : every man woman child for streets around butts in, with pots, brass, copper, aluminium, plastic buckets, frantic hands,
and naked children screaming in the liquid sun, their highlights polished to perfection, flashing light, as the blessing sings over their small bones.