Author: Rare Bit Blogging

I went for a walk after practice yesterday. I walk most days, not particularly far but it’s a vital part of my routine. On my way down I suddenly saw the sky and a few stars. At 4pm? I hear you ask. Yes, I slipped on some mud on a slope and fell on my back, jarring a shoulder that was already sore from playing the previous evening. I was practicing multitasking – I was on my way to the recycling bins and I had my backpack on with one glass jar in it. Just my luck I thought as I fought back tears and swore, more at the shock of falling than anything. Thanks to my padded sit mat, the glass jar remained intact but I bruised my spine.

I started to worry about my bones. I fall occasionally and I try to see it as good practice for getting up and carrying on. It’s also quite reassuring – nothing broke so my osteoporosis can’t be that bad.

I am struggling this winter though. January seemed to last forever and February feels twice as long again. I need to diarise things to look forward to. I want to get the court case out of the way first though. There’s a chance I’ll lose in which case I’ll have fewer options. I’m desperate to escape. I keep burning out, mainly from overthinking but my body makes hormones for a reason and when they’re depleted, so is my stamina, mood buoyancy, focus and energy.

I do have days where I’m content and almost vibrant. On Tuesday (the sunny day) I passed through the little cemetery up the road. I had previously noticed clusters of crocuses and snowdrops through the wooden gates. Some graves had flowers bursting abundantly through the patchy grass and dead leaves.

Part of me likes to imagine this unmarked grave holds the remains of a kind and gentle old soul. That’s why such beauty thrives here. Gotta keep believing…

Never Offer Your Heart to Someone Who Eats Hearts
Alice Walker

Never offer your heart
to someone who eats hearts
who finds heartmeat
delicious
but not rare
who sucks the juices
drop by drop
and bloody-chinned
grins
like a God.

Never offer your heart
to a heart gravy lover.
Your stewed, overseasoned
heart consumed
he will sop up your grief
with bread
and send it shuttling
from side to side
in his mouth
like bubblegum.

If you find yourself
in love
with a person
who eats hearts
these things
you must do:

Freeze your heart
immediately.
Let him—next time
he examines your chest—
find your heart cold
flinty and unappetizing.

Refrain from kissing
lest he in revenge
dampen the spark
in your soul.

Now,
sail away to Africa
where holy women
await you
on the shore—
long having practiced the art
of replacing hearts
with God
and Song.

In my writing group last week, the tutor brought in a plate laden with slices of crisp green apple and halved cherry tomatoes, an interesting combination. We were encouraged to write about anything that arose. Here’s what I wrote:

Oh cherry tomato, you are so red

You grow on the vine and not in a bed

I pick you so ripe right before you burst

You make my soup better for sure, it’s not worse.

I mix you with onion, get tears in my eyes, I add

garlic and basil, a snip of fresh chives

Because you’re a fruit you could be confusing

You make good gazpacho, you sure take a bruising

I sneak you in salads, I smuggle you in

To a number of dishes, your flavour’s a win

Tomato you’re sweet, you’re tasty, you’re tart

You’re small you’re petite, you’re a work of art.

…I saw a sky of the brightest blue. A brisk sunny day in January is most welcome, especially when it follows a cold day of perpetual rain. As usual, I lacked the luxury of time to languish in the surprisingly warm sun so I soaked up the brilliant warmth with an urgent thirst. I love being outdoors come rain, wind or shine although I won’t stay out as long if it’s wet, and cold rain is my least favourite weather.

While I was perched on one of my favourite stones, I recorded a cheerful birthday video message. It’s impossible to be miserable on such a day.

By this evening, a thick veil of fog has enveloped the village and I’m pleased not to be out in it.

I received 2 books for Christmas which I love and they’re giving me some deeper insight into seasonal cycles. I now know that this intriguing specimen

is a hoof fungus. Look at its underside:

The only problem is that there are no photos or illustrations in the book so I end up using my phone in bed to help me recognise UNO’s (unidentified natural objects).

One of the books is an almanac. I’ve never had an almanac. I love the feel of that word in my mouth. Try it! I patiently waited to stumble across a piece of shedded silver birch bark for this exercise

although it might be a while before it dries enough for me to write on it.

It’s been a good week and it picked up as the weekend approached. My mood has been more buoyant and I’m sure that’s got something to do with waving goodbye to the longest ever January. I swear it gains a week every year.

Last Saturday I played for a wedding promotion event at a venue where I’m a recommended supplier, and on Sunday I played at a regular local fayre. These events are really tiring and as yet, no uptake. I try to reassure myself and not take it to heart but it does cause me some concern. Paying to work and getting no business is the pits, it really is.

However, on Sunday evening, after the fayre, I got an email from a couple I met a year ago who are now very keen to book me for their wedding this year, so there’s a silver lining if ever I saw one.

And today, Monday 2 February, feels like my blue Monday. It’s a grey damp day. I hear the rainwater dripping steadily into the drain outside. Imbolc is behind us and the full moon arrived last night bringing with it an ensuing flatness today. Yesterday seemed a good day to pack away my Christmas tree and its embellishments, a day earlier than planned – today is Candlemas – but it felt like the right time. That might also be a factor – delayed post Christmas blues. I spent a significant amount of time working on my laptop over the past 4 days, so that’s definitely a factor and, somewhat unusually for me, I’m not in the mood for exercise.

I want to be in southern Spain but I can’t go this winter. I crave light, brightness, sea, sand. The weather seems to exacerbate my negative outlook and my problems become a hundred times bigger than they are in reality. I’m finding planning ahead difficult and I’ve slowly been coming to terms with the fact that I probably won’t be undertaking any more major home improvements once the remedial work is completed on the kitchen. I’m grateful for my home but the shabbiness grates.

There’s only one thing for it – bed by 7pm.

In my reading group yesterday, one of the exercises was to choose a line from a poem as a starting point. Here’s the line I chose:

“The smoke travels deep to the seat of memory.”

And here’s where it took me:

She sits to attention in her armchair beside the blazing fire, logs and coal aglow, her fingers blackened by the ink from last week’s headlines in the Free Press. She licks her thumb and forefinger before deftly rolling the large sheet of flimsy flammable paper to make a tight stiff scroll. She twists the tube and folds it like giant origami. And there it is – kindling for tomorrow’s fire. I look at her in silence, marvelling at her skill.

She disappears into the small kitchen. I hear the hot water tap gurgling while she concocts a heady mix of green Fairy Liquid and Imperial Leather to remove the stubborn ink from her wrinkled fingers.

A few years after she died, I asked Mam for Nain’s wedding ring. It was a simple gold band but the magic for me was where the band was worn thin from years of hard work. She never ever removed it.

Stars shine tonight

A moon full and bright

The frost’s bitter bite

There’s no more fight

Be gone all spite

Reindeer in flight

They pull with all might

Sleep is in sight

Put out the light

Goodnight, goodnight.

I was out all day Friday. I went to Sowerby Bridge followed by Hebden Bridge, Halifax, Slaithwaite and finally Marsden. My student couldn’t come to me for her lesson and I needed to go to SB anyway so I decided to make a day of it and offered to teach her at her home on her lovely new harp before doing the rounds.

I’ve got a church wedding before Christmas in SB. I wanted to check out the access and get my bearings beforehand. It’s an 11am ceremony so I need to be on the ball. I’m a bit jittery about playing in churches in Winter anyway.

Even though I had checked my route prior to leaving, Google maps proved to be unpredictable. It took me through Slaithwaite and up Scapegoat Hill. I’ve always disliked going up this incline as it’s narrow and occasionally, big lorries get stuck there. Maybe those drivers were using Google maps too.

Up and around the bend I went. An extra wide SUV was coming down towards me. The driver seemed unwilling to back up so I obliged but I got cramp in my left calf from holding my foot on the pedal. There was a car behind me too. The SUV eventually passed after much stubborn huffing and puffing. So much for Christmas spirit.

On I went. The route looked familiar and I felt reassured. Then I recognised where I was heading – Ripponden. I was filled with a sense of dread. 2 years ago, at the same time Mum and her sister died, I tried to help a woman who was desperate to play the harp. She came for a consultation lesson a few years ago but the timing wasn’t right for her to have regular lessons. She contacted me in September 2023 – she had been diagnosed with cancer. Her urge to play was still strong. We arranged for my teaching harp to be left with her so that she could play a little.

I delivered the harp on an icy winter’s morning. I couldn’t find her house. Ripponden has a network of narrow winding lanes. I eventually found her house, set the harp up and gave her a brief lesson. It was the only lesson she had since her condition deteriorated quickly. Her one wish was for me to play at her funeral. I couldn’t refuse.

All these memories came flooding back yesterday. My psyche and my body remembered that traumatic time in vivid detail. Up went my shoulders and I struggled to breathe.

Safely out of Ripponden, I started to relax a little. Oh no you don’t, said Google maps as it proceeded to direct me up even more twisting single track lanes which were waterlogged in places. There were nauseatingly vertiginous drops to the right.

I got to SB and clambered out of my car, relieved to arrive at the church. It was locked but at least now I know which route NOT to take!

I was agitated before I left. I dropped a jar half full of pumpkin seeds which smashed spectacularly – glass and green grains went everywhere.

When I got back, I did these breathing exercises which really helped me discharge the stored emotions and energy:

1. The “Soft Throat” Breath (very gentle)

Sit or lie comfortably. Put one hand lightly on the front of your throat or upper chest — just for reassurance. Take a slow inhale through your nose. Exhale through your mouth like you’re fogging up a window — soft, warm, unforced.

This relaxes the larynx muscles that clamp when we’re overwhelmed.

2. Humming (the vagus nerve’s best friend)

Even 10–20 seconds helps.

Close your lips gently. Hum on a long, low note. Don’t push sound — think “quiet fridge vibration.” If you can, rest one hand on your sternum while you hum.

The vibration releases throat tension from the inside.

3. The “Say Nothing” Stretch

This is incredibly simple but powerful.

Tilt your head very slightly up — just enough to feel the front of the throat lengthen a little. Take slow breaths for 20–30 seconds. Keep your jaw soft, lips parted.

Many people try to swallow emotion down; this gently reverses that reflex.

4. Jaw Release (because jaw and throat tension are linked)

Place the tip of your tongue behind your top front teeth. Let your jaw hang slightly open. Breathe three slow breaths. If you feel like swallowing, let it happen — that’s release.

5. A grounding phrase for the throat

You can say this quietly or just think it:

“I don’t have to hold it all right now.”

You may feel warmth, a sigh, or even a tiny wave of emotion — all normal signs of the throat releasing.

————

Then I went for a gentle grounding walk in the dark. The hoot of the owl nearby in the cemetery was reassuring.

It was an extremely uncomfortable experience but I’m so glad I did it. It’s easy to avoid potentially challenging situations but they’re where growth lies. I AM still capable!

It’s the last Sunday night in November 2025. I survived another Black Friday. Only Cyber Monday to go now. Don’t you think Christmas is being pushed more and more aggressively each year? It’s still November and it feels like Christmas is tomorrow! Did you remember your sprouts?

To dodge the relentless festive marketing messages, I went out for a longer walk today. It was a ruthlessly cold, thermals, 2 jackets and my warmest hat kind of morning but the sun was shining. I had very little energy. I was slow and I stopped a lot but it’s getting out that matters.

Yesterday it rained most of the day. I confess that I brought my trusted Christmas tree down from the attic and, in a moment of weakness, decorated it. I’m a sucker for sparkles at this time of year. The rain, darkness and endless grey dreary days make me default to magpie mode. My kitchen instantly looked more cheerful and the fairy lights chase away some of the winter gloom. It’s getting earlier each year – I mean, tree up in November? Me?!!

December is quiet until Christmas week. My mind keeps taking me back to Christmases I enjoyed, when I had festive orchestral concerts. I let myself get carried away on the wave of Christmas cheer. I’m not one for big gatherings. I think that’s why alcohol featured so much in the past, to ease the social awkwardness of post gig get togethers as well as the void which ensued. There’s none of that now. I occasionally eat too much fruit and if I’m feeling really rubbish, there’s always peanut butter.

Each Christmas I try to make some gifts, usually something edible. I love cooking and baking but I’m not particularly gifted. It stresses me out too. Deciding what to make is hard enough, then working out the quantities and logistics adds to the pressure. It’s the thought that counts though, right? I reassure myself as I scrutinise the misshapen festive cookies I test baked on Saturday.

Other than an early January wedding, my regular teaching and a few fayres, I have very little work at the beginning of next year. I’m going to need to act fast or I will be in trouble. Thing is, I don’t know what I can do other than weddings and teaching. I’ve inadvertently pigeonholed myself. Oops. Another thing is, I don’t really like going out this time of year, especially with my harp. Big oops!

On a lighter more positive note, I am feeling an inner shift albeit very subtle. I have trouble letting go and I carry so much unnecessary shit around with me but this morning, before going out, I wrapped some choice words around a small carefully chosen stone and set light to the paper. It burnt really well and I felt some weight lift from inside me.

I know I’m fixated on my problems but I do count my blessings. I know so many people are struggling. The greatest gift is compassion for others and, perhaps a little harder to offer, for ourselves.