THE WEIGHT OF THINGS

I’m in a very steamy hot bath, poaching all my feelings, processing every thought that races, and then realising the obvious that you can’t make sense of anything, and just hoping it all goes blank.

I’ve been quiet lately because I’ve been the opposite of busy. I’ve been given a heavy responsibility , I guess. I’ve had an incredible weight to deliver, to fulfil. It’s been all-encompassing. It’s stretched every capacity. It’s emotionally daunting, mentally challenging, physically impossible. And there’s no perfect answer. There’s no absolute right way.

Taking everybody’s feelings into account, making sure you’re doing your best, making the best decision, even though it’s not the decision you want to make. But it’s the best decision at the time. Building in all the outcomes, all the possible outcomes, all the variances.

I guess you could say it’s been difficult, but that would be an understatement, you know, standing on one leg is difficult. This is mounting a horse with bare feet and no saddle. Some people find it easy, other people will never achieve it.

What I’ve been doing is getting my mother the care that she needs, which you don’t realise is such an emotional process for you. Because you’re worried about the emotional process for them. And then everybody that’s with them, and everyone that calls them family, and everyone who loves them, and everyone who calls them friend, and everyone who’s been a friend for years. Every microscopic emotion is just blown out of proportion and has weight and responsibility.

I think I said weight and responsibility before, I’m sure there’s a better word. Maybe it’s just being a daughter!

And now, after months and months and months, I guess it’s been a six-month process or more, she finally has the care that she needs. And that is everything right now. And we’ll take it from there.

I’m struck by the irony of life. As people get older, the things they worry about become their personality. I’m sure there’s a lesson here. There’s definitely a lesson here.

My mother loves good things, you know, from Ming dynasty vases to Persian carpets and Italian chandeliers, and silver antique candlesticks, and designer clothes. And as things got more difficult for her, the one thing she did was worry about all these things and hide them and put them somewhere so that they couldn’t be seen and they couldn’t be used and they couldn’t be stolen.

So in the end, she wasn’t surrounded by all these things that she loved. She had the opposite. She had all the things that she wasn’t worried about at all, if anyone stole them or took them or she couldn’t find them or they didn’t fit.

I guess the lesson, and it’s something I’ve probably rebelled against as a child with a mother who liked nice things, is I realised pretty early that all you have, all you really have in this world is yourself. Your skin, your bones, your thoughts, your beliefs, your philosophies, your ability to learn, your time.

And things, things are great, but you don’t have to have them. I’ve walked away from houses full of things, relationships full of things, businesses full of things, because they weren’t working. I didn’t worry about the things.

And, you know, you can make things. And I’d rather make friends and relationships and family. I’d rather make colours and textures and laughter and tears and words that string together into something that means something in the moment, even if it doesn’t mean anything later.

I’m saying goodbye to my mother. Very slowly. Slow goodbyes are the worst. It’s not into the sunset. It’s a trek, a hike with a backpack full of memories and illusions.

But I’m lucky. I have my people. I have my independent thinking self. I’m grateful for my creativity, because it lets me look at all the angles and create shapes. Different shapes fit in different places.

You know, at 60 you’re supposed to be emotionally mature, so maybe I’m there at 61.

And I think everybody goes through this process with their parents. Or they don’t. There are many way to say goodbye. It’s just the long goodbye. And it’s heartbreaking and really hard.

So, take care. Plan your future. Plan the future that you never thought you were going to have. Plan the weight that you’re putting on your children to make decisions for you. Tell them what you want. Write down what you want. Make sure you’re very clear.

Because the people deciding for you are in torment. Placing all the things that you said you wanted into a tapestry that makes diametric nonsense because you say many things in your life, depending on what you want and where you are. And we think about it, we weigh it up. And then the decision is made, the outcomes happen. And then we’re left to make the best decision again if we need to.

I asked my mother about her memoirs from Bowenfields.

She said poetically,

“And I looked out the window.”

See you in the Atelier

Ax

amandadaniel.com

@amandadaniel.com__

AMANDA DANIEL

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La Femme Atelier

I know who I am.

The Atelier

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You received praise, love, and more responsibility, whether you could cope with it or not.

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I can’t even find coffee at 8:30am!!

I do like sitting next to people reading Kafka at a café!

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Ok, the trick I’ve found is - I had to stop trying to be me.

Trying is too much hard work. It requires effort, which somehow, even now, seems pointless when the idea is to just beyourself.

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Food for me is architectural, it’s built, layered flavours and textures.

This is my ridiculously simple lunch.

The food here in my tiny village inspires me to create these plates.

Lunch . In a minute.

1 apple 🍎

1 endive 🥬

Fromage Blanc ( sheep 🐑 milk)

Thyme , flowering is nice

Seasoning: grey salt , crushed blend of black pepper, sumac, fennel seed

Dressing: lemon 🍋 squeeze, extra virgin olive 🫒 oil

Voila 💋

amandadaniel.com

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Ax

PAINT & COOK WITH ME IN PROVENCE

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You are a recipe.

A recipe for authenticity.

A little recipe I’ve been working on for, well, all my life

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