Omission

It doesn't matter how long or short any break I get from work might be, or how much I cram in to it, towards the end of it I will sit and list to myself all the  very many things I meant to do and just didn't squeeze in.

This last break was two whole weeks. We did lots. We visited relatives, lunched with friends, and with just the two of us. I swept out the shed, weeded the lavender bed, planted potatoes, sowed seeds. I did a pile of household chores. I read four or five books. I did some knitting, I finally got round to a sewing project that I half abandoned well over a year ago.

The list of things I didn't get round to is probably twice this length, and for every book I read I have three still untouched, for evey load of washing I did there is a pile of ironing, for every email sent a letter unwritten...

Before the break one of the things I had definitely planned to do was some piping and some recording. As it happens I just sat at that musical crossroads. I played, twice, very briefly, for relatives. The fan and I played together once, putting together a putative set for this semi-mythical first gig, and another day I ran through the set on my own. But mostly, nothing.

Sometimes when I don't play I have a little panic. Suppose I've stopped piping? Suppose I'll never be in the mood again? Suppose the whole thing was a fad, a stage I've grown out of? Presumably the fact that I panic means it isn't so... I played tonight, because I had been humming tunes all day, and because I needed a de-stress and because, crossroads or not, I just wanted to. So I did. And I loved it, of course I did. It's just what I do, who I am.