In spite of my perpetual preference for warm, sunny days, I love the smell and feel of fresh-falling snow, especially when it feels like the first page of winter, the start of a new story. It looks as though we will be getting snow for the next day, perhaps day and a half. Since we are travelling tomorrow, I am hoping the snow doesn’t begin to melt until we are out of the snow zone. Freezing rain is my greatest concern for when we travel.
The story is coming along on the writing front. It is slow writing as I am making it up as I go while trying to ground the story in Jungian psychology, as well as tie it to the previous novel in a logical manner. Of course, naturism is a vital part of the story, both in practice as well as a means of healing the soul. I am including a scene from the book below just to illustrate what I am trying to do.
My tea had turned cold as I had forgotten it was there as I got lost in thought. I am used to this, having my hot drinks grow cold because of my head taking off to wander in inner worlds. I got up from my chair in front of the fireplace and wandered into the kitchen in order to warm up my tea in the microwave. With the mug of tea re-heated, I was about to return to my comfortable chair when the door opened. It was Jacques who entered. Seeing me standing there with the mug of tea, he spoke:
“Why is it every time I come here since your return from Europe, you are stark naked? Don’t just stand there with your mouth open, go back into the kitchen and pour me a cup of tea, in a proper cup, not a mug.”
“If it bothers you to see me naked in my own house, knock and wait until I have time to put something on so that your sensibilities aren’t disturbed.” I set my mug down and headed back into the kitchen remarking as I walked off, “Go make yourself comfortable by the fireplace. I’ll be right back with your proper cup of tea – one sugar and double cream coming up.”
Jacques is a psychoanalyst in his mid-eighties. We became friends about fifteen years ago when I met him at a depth psychology conference in Toronto. I had been working as a therapist for almost five years and was still exploring various counselling techniques which would help me work with my older clients. For adolescents and adults in the first half of life, Gestalt therapy and Solution-Focused Brief therapy worked well. For those who came with issues such as Richard’s, something more was needed. Jacques had taken a seat at a table near the front of the convention room which was in a large hotel with round tables with seating for six people at each table. Though the other chairs were still empty as most people took seats closer to the back of the room, he sat immediately beside me. We were there to listen to a Jungian psychoanalyst and author give a presentation on something called archetypes, presences within each of us, part of us, yet somehow independent of us. I know, it all sounds quite confusing, but it was interesting, even fascinating.
Jacques often visited unannounced, always walking in as if my house was his home. Somehow, he only did so when I was alone, when there were no clients or family to disturb. And typically, it was when I had need of him whether I was consciously aware of that need or not. I had become used to him showing up unannounced. However, in the beginning, it was kind of shocking to see him walk into the house without ringing the bell or knocking. I seriously was upset that he didn’t respect my space and simply acted as if he owned the space. Jacques was my mentor, my father-confessor, my amiable pain-in-the-ass when I needed a kick in the pants.
I walked back into my office carrying a small tray with an old English teapot, a cup and saucer, sugar cubes and a shot glass filled with condensed milk, Jacques idea of cream. Setting the tray on a TV tray beside Jacques favourite chair, a rocking chair with upholstered fabric the same as that used on my reclining arm chair and the swivel chair, I reached for my robe to cover up before sitting down.
“What? Are you all of a sudden turning into a prude?” criticized Jacques as I began to wrap the robe around me. “It’s not like I haven’t seen you toute nue before.”
“But, you were complaining just a few minutes ago about my nudity.”
“No I wasn’t, I simply made an observation that you need to think about. Now,” he continued, “Sit down and enjoy your tea before it gets cold.”
I left my robe on as I sat, still feeling uncomfortable with what Jacques had intimated. We didn’t say much while he poured himself a cup of proper tea. After several quiet moments of savouring his tea, Jacques brought up the reason for his visit.