There's baskets of knitting, the green blanket and the blue one, one nearly done, one just begun. Scissors. Loaves of bread and anti inflammatories and sunglasses and hats. Oat milk and teabags.
Spare clothes, for painting, for cold weather, for hot weather. Trainers and boots and various pairs of socks, flip flops, sunblock. Panadol just in case. Deodorant. I leave the basket by the front door at night and throw things I'll need for the next day in it. It's the best organisation trick I've found.
Buckets of swedes and fennel and eggs.
I have baskets of limes. Last week I gave them to a Thai food stall in exchange for dinner. Jungle curry leaked onto the rattan.
I bring buckets of hope. Buckets of energy. Buckets of love. They also can arrive in baskets. Either works.
I philosophise - you empty your basket & life fills it up.
My grandson agrees we will need a bucket and spade to take to the beach.
I fill baskets with pine cones - the nights are still cold, and the fire lights quickly with them.
Buckets of compost, worm castings, chicken straw, grass clippings, broad leaf weeds for the compost at the new place. The two gardens are littered with coloured tubs - red and green and grey, some split and leaking water, some containing fruit trees and other stolen plants I am moving from inland to coast.
There's a bucket with my wetsuit and gloves and booties and hood that stink and need rinsing out with bicarb and vinegar. Winter is nearly over, officially. I will change suits and store the cold weather rubber in another tub.
I bring baskets of food, for when we're hungry - crisps and dips, oranges and bananas, nuts, dates. Pasta and sauce for tea with salad on the deck. A bottle of water for the beach, in case. It must always be full.
There's a bucket of grief I still carry for my father. Sometimes it splashes out, sometimes the surface of it is calm, like a mirror, like a lake.
Live by the coast again before you die, I had written on a wish list, a bucket list, a hope list.
I fill my baskets and buckets with joy.
Before I kick the bucket.
Thankyou @ablaze for giving me opportunity to fill my baskets and buckets with many, many tunes for #threetunetuesday.
With Love,
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This is so damn emotional, yet so passive and eye-glazey-mundane it is awesome. My head-voice read this with no tempo, no pace, just measured and slow. I wanted to save all the words as they slipped by the page.
We have a basket. We used it once for a photography thing. Since then, every summer time, the cat likes to use it as her bed, as it ventilated, because, well, its a basket.
Whenever she goes into it, she's a basket case.
You know what a basket is? Timeless. Elegant. Practical. Much more so than a beach bag, or a designer tote, or whatever else. I feel as though I should take the basket to the gym just to be different. A towel, a water bottle, my gloves, a phone, headphones, a shopping bag in case I want to duck in next door to grab something on the way home.
People don't appreciate baskets anymore.
And regarding buckets - they're so bloody expensive if you want something with the longevity of a pail, which is much nicer.
I always think there is beauty in mundanity, and plenty of really good authors pull this off with aplomb. We often miss the banal and mundane because we're looking for the spectacular! And thankyou. I didn't think much about it as I wrote and it's not structurally sound.
I think rocking a basket to the gym is definitely a go. It's so much easier than rooting through a bag, as the English would say (how I went into fits of giggles when I heard this for the first time).
As for buckets, I got a ton of Mt Zero olive buckets for free from a sourdough bread company who was using them for their olive bread. I have tons of bloody buckets and tubs - the big plastic bunnings ones suprisingly split when you're carrying soil and rocks.
There is beauty in the mundane. I have started collecting photographs for a new project I have an idea for - haven't decided to call it friction or traction yet - but I am photographing the ground where there are places of evidence of friction or traction, the gentle erosion of soil or tarmac.
The texture is mundane, but beautiful. You'll no doubt see it soon.
Gives me something to do when I am not able to do portraits as regularly as I like.
I took a bag to the gym today. I don't think I actually have the balls to take a basket to the gym. I'll go back again tomorrow, will see if I have the courage to do so tomorrow :P
ironic, coz they're balls AT the gym!
I wouldn't mess with ya with that beard!
Looking forward to your new project.
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STOPI love this! Your baskets and buckets hold everything that makes life real, work, play, grief, joy and hope. There’s such beauty in the ordinary and the extraordinary coexisting in them. The way you move through life, carrying and sharing, makes it feel alive and generous.
Aw, thanks so much! These lovely comments want to make me go and write it again more carefully and poetically - I didn't realise that was what I was doing until it was done. I was being flippant!
Your writing already has that spark! You're welcome!🤗
Hehe I stopped called my bucket list my bucket list a long time ago as I thought too negative and if you manifest it enough the Universe delivers, and hey I don't want to kick the bucket just yet!
Swapping the limes for your dinner from the Thai place, now that is an awesome thing!
I'm going to try again tonight - I have another basket of them!
Hehe good luck with that
We had jungle curry and pad Thai.
I love jungle curry, I used to work in Hammersmith in London decades ago that had a brilliant Thai restaurant and I had red and green ones at least twice a week for lunch.
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