An account of my movements on Easter Monday when I should have been doing my flat.

Easter Monday and there’s so much I need to be doing that it is typical of me that I spent the whole day on social calls.

My half brother and sister in law live on one of those squares in London that come with an exclusive garden. There are many. Many of them used to be localised plague pits, so the ground is fertile now. Useful to remember that a hard past can lead to a soft present. “There are only about 100 people able to use this garden,” says he. The gardener gets to live on site in a little clocktower. His work is bearing fruit now with tulips and hyacinths and spring blossoms aplenty. “But don’t you think it’s all a bit twee?”

I was very happy to be there in this weather that is actively pretending to be Spring. I was happy to have two of the lucky feet that are allowed to tread on the grass here. These gardens are closely monitored by the residents, the fences are high and the keys are hard to copy. Some of them are huge. This one is pretty big. They could turn into a tent village without the security.

After lunch we went through a box of old photos I carried back from France. Family stuff. Grandparents and sport trophies. A whiskey flask. My grandmother’s dogtag. The things you aren’t supposed to throw away but often have nowhere to keep. Heirlooms looming over the heirs. Responsibilities. Connections to the past.

I’m reminded as we walk in the park that I’m seeing an old friend tonight. Jethro. A kind and powerful man who has gently invited himself into my life with a mixture of trust and challenge. We first met about 13.7 billion years ago and we’ve been jumping alongside one another ever since in different ways. “Bring your cards.”

I drive home, grab my tarot cards, and head over to his around dinner time. I’ve barely finished the chicken from my brother’s. “You didn’t eat your rice,” I am admonished after my lovely veggie curry. “It won’t fit.”

I end up giving some readings and remembering as I do it that I’ve really built a strong connection with that deck and can be uncluttered as I pick my way from symbol to symbol building a narrative that may or may not be helpful. “Your whole demeanor changes,” someone observed. I enjoy that flavour in my mix. It was a pleasure to connect with people and simultaneously connect with my deck again.

Author: albarclay

This blog is a work of creative writing. Do not mistake it for truth. All opinions are mine and not that of my numerous employers.

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