Beyond (extra) ordinary

A little extra is coming for paying subscribers: Beyond A Life (Extra) Ordinary

Photo by Emily Bauman on Unsplash

My house smells today like beeswax and coconut oil, underlaid with the smoky scent of sandalwood and native plant resins from the incense I am burning. I have just cleaned up after making candles; I’m still in the “sorting” stage of my new season, and part of this involves finishing projects that have been on hold before starting new ones. A denim pinafore with sashiko and boro elements made from a pair of dungarees I found at a charity shop; ‘Fortune’s Fool’, a mixed media piece using upcycled vintage pewter figures; a quilted jacket made from a quilt found in a charity shop, featuring clay buttons made by

Sara Santa Clara

.

Finished projects

I’m still very much in the “detoxing and de-stressing” stage of this season; my body and mind has a lot to let go of, and I’m learning to invite, encourage and hold space for the process of letting go. As I wrote in my last post, when you make a major life change, it takes the time it takes. I am learning to enjoy the process, to engage wholeheartedly in my progress, and not focus on the outcome. Because as humans, we are never finished, are we. We’re always sowing and growing, pruning and blooming, fallowing and filling.

And pivoting.

Although I finished up full-time work two weeks ago, this week I returned to the same workplace for a short-term casual stint, covering for someone who has flown to the United States to visit family. It’s only two days a week for two months and in a very different role, one that focuses on tourism, job creation and small business support. Two consecutive days feels like a good compromise for now, a way to ease into not working rather than ripping off the Band Aid.

And so here I am, late on a Friday afternoon in May. It’s actually cold (by Perth standards) today and I’m looking forward to a hearty stew and a glass of New Zealand chardonnay in an hour or so. My cat is perched on my antique walnut-framed armchair, breathing heavily in the way she does when she wants cuddles. Outside, the light is fading and the birds are singing their evening songs. To the west, the clouds are stained peachy-purple; in the garden, the lemons ripening into yellow globes, while the mandarins have hints of orange. It’s been a good day, productive, but not in a busy way. Whenever I’ve felt the urge to rush, I’ve taken a breath, slowed down and showed up. I’ve showed up for me, for what brings me joy.

Learning to un-busy will take months. But becoming un-busy is about making space, as much as it is about taking (and having) time. By creating space to focus on what matters to me in this journey, by finishing projects, decluttering the tools and things that no longer serve me, by learning what to hold on to and what to let go, I’m making space for more mindful showing up. I’m holding space for a life of simplicity and joy, a life (extra) ordinary. Just as creativity thrives in letting the process unfold (even if it’s messy), so does life.

Five (extra) ordinary things: the cat snuggling up behind my knees on these colder mornings; lace-leaves under the lemon tree; fat caterpillars eating my mint and thyme; a mob of kangaroos feasting on grass at the end of the street; soft rain falling, dripping.

A little extra is coming

For those of you who are (or would like to be) paid subscribers of A Life (Extra) Ordinary, I’m now ready to offer you a monthly bonus post. Once a month, I’ll email you Beyond A Life (Extra) Ordinary, with a recipe, bonus photos, what I’m reading and writing, as well as an invitation to my upcoming Huddle Together, a time to connect and create together online. This example post is free, but these “extra helpings” will go to paying subscribers only from next month. My fortnightly A Life (Extra) Ordinary posts will remain free for all subscribers.

What I’m cooking: Sticky Fig and Pecan Loaf

Back in March, I was given some home-made sticky figs by Kathleen, the owner of the farm we stayed on for a weekend. On their own they were sublime, but I had a hankering for a loaf cake last week, and so this cake was born.

Ingredients

• 125g unsalted butter at room temperature, chopped

• 150mL boiling water

• 200g sticky figs (or semi-dried, or soft pitted dates), roughly chopped

• ½ tsp bicarbonate of soda

• 150g coconut sugar (muscovado sugar also works)

• 2 eggs, room temperature

• 1 tsp baking powder

• 220g self-raising flour

• pinch of sea salt

• 80-100g pecans (or walnuts or nuts of choice)*, roughly chopped

Method

1. Heat the oven to 180C/160C fan/gas 4. Butter a loaf tin and line with baking paper.

2. Place the butter, figs and bicarbonate of soda in a large bowl, then add the boiling water. The bicarb helps break down the dried fruit. Stir until the butter melts and set aside for around 15 minutes.

3. Now whisk in the sugar until smooth, then whisk in the eggs one at a time until combined. Add the dry ingredients, stirring out the lumps until the batter is smooth. Fold in most of the nuts*, reserving some to sprinkle on top, then pour the batter into the loaf tin.

4. Bake for 20 minutes, then reduce the temperature to 170C/150C fan/gas 3 and cook for another 40-50 minutes until golden brown and a skewer inserted into the centre comes out clean. At about the 30-min mark, I start checking, placing foil loosely over the cake if it is getting dark.

5. Cool the cake in the tin for 15 minutes, then transfer to a wire cooling rack until completely cool.

This cake is delicious as an afternoon tea treat and can frozen. I sliced the loaf before freezing.

*I used pecans and pistachios as this is what was in the pantry.

What I’m reading

This week I’ve enjoyed reading Table for One by

Emma Gannon

. It’s a funny and relatable story of learning to love your own company. It reminded me of the first time I visited London back in 2017 and found myself at a table for one in a posh Lebanese restaurant. Far from being lonely, I watched the comings and goings of Londoners at the end of an early spring day. If you like contemporary stories about finding oneself, I’d recommend this book.

I’m also very much enjoying listening to Always Home, Always Homesick, a memoir from one of my favourite writers, Hannah Kent. I’m up to the part where she is an exchange student in Iceland, feeling very much the outsider.

What I’m watching

Ever since I watched Stanley Tucci: Searching for Italy and read What I Ate in One Year I’ve been hungry for more. Yes, I started watching Tucci in Italy (Disney) the day it landed, but I am pacing myself - one episode a week. I’ve also been giggling at this light-hearted Stanley parody on Instagram. If you’re a Stanley fan, you’ll see why.

themattfriend

A post shared by @themattfriend

I also watched the final Vera season this week. I’m going to miss Vera and all her quirky mannerisms, but I think the series ending was just right.

My creative space

Now that I'm an empty nester, I have a beautiful and generous-sized creative space to enjoy (pics below). But it wasn’t always that way - we’ve lived here since 2008 and I started with a desk in the family room, then, as our kids moved out one-by-one, I moved into the smallest bedroom, and then into this room. I originally expected to focus on writing, but then I started sewing in August last year, and the room has become a multi-passionate creative zone!

My creative space - room for writing, sewing and painting.

What I’m working on next

Aside from the “extra helping” here on Substack, I’m keen to get back into creative writing. Will I finally finish the first draft of my work-in-progress? Here’s a snippet below … I’m considering redrafting what I have with two timelines. I’m also considering something else - is it time to let go of this? Was this writing simply a way for me, a writer who felt lost, a way back to myself? I’m still trying to understand that.

The first time Sara Slightly disappears is an accident. The how and why of it she cannot remember, for it seems to her that one minute she is wandering aimlessly in the bush and the next she is hopelessly, inexplicably lost.

Of this truth there is no gasping realisation. It is a gradual knowing. A blurring of the landscape into indistinct shapes, a palette of muted greens and browns. Vivid bush-scents blending into a featureless perfume. Birdsong flattening into a tuneless dirge. As the knowing takes root, she spins around, eyes darting like the watching willy wagtail, casting about for something familiar: a rock, a gnarly branch, a spiderweb glistening with fine mist. But it all looks the same, no matter which way she turns, which angle she tilts her head.

Lost. The word is as disorientating to Sara Slightly as its meaning. She has gone astray, off track, adrift; her mind races with answerless questions, wheeling round and round in circles. Confronted by crushing uncertainty, she sinks onto a rotting log and weeps. The first tears shiver to the surface; she sniffs them back in a futile attempt to emulate the heroes and heroines of fairy tales she has read a thousand times. But she is no match for their bravery, their stoicism in the face of adversity. Great heaving sobs wrack her body, and she slides to the ground, hugging her knees to her chest, heedless of the cold, damp log against her back.

How long she weeps, she cannot say. But when she rubs her eyes and cheeks with the sleeve of her patched ulster, and gazes about the tangled undergrowth with clearer sight, it is growing dark. The cold is more insistent now, reaching fingers under her dress and through her stockings, and into her very bones. The air itself breathes with moisture – not yet rain, but close, so close – and Sara fast understands that finding shelter for the night is more important than being found.

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I hope you’ve enjoyed this introduction to Beyond A Life (Extra) Ordinary. For those who are paying subscribers, see you next month with another extra helping.

A Life (Extra) Ordinary is a gift of words and will continue to be free for all readers for the foreseeable future. However, once a month I'll send paid subscribers Beyond A Life (Extra) Ordinary. If you feel led (and able) to support my writing financially, there are a couple of options: 1) Buy Me a Coffee, which is a one-time “tip” as a way to say thank you, or 2) subscribe at one of my paid tiers if you wish to provide ongoing support. You can also recommend my Substack to other readers.

Either way, I am grateful that you have chosen to be here today, to be part of my community of readers and writers living lives (extra) ordinary. Let's keep connecting as a community and building each other up.