What's so funny 'bout peace love & understanding?

An itchy, important, frustrating day. Another period away from the artist and a meeting with someone different again: another person who knows his war-zones. It was tea this time, in a tall light room with ornate furnishings. It was like a film-set, a scene from a French period piece, with English undertones. There we were, in the middle of it all, two white cups, two white saucers, a tea-pot and tea-strainer, two uneaten biscuits, and two people talking about conflict, post-conflict, and the issues of aid. His own particular expertise was in picking up the pieces and, though I was frustrated, I felt emboldened by his company. I spoke to the artist before returning and when I got back she was hovering by the piece on the wall. To be frank, she looked intimidated by the amount of work she still has to do. It is not all ardour and loyalty in this household. There can be moments of domestic tension, especially when the subject of the artist's work is raised. (The same place where the artist gets her strength is the same place where she also gets her frustration.) Anyway, the issues she has are now being worked on as I write this blog. I can hear that familiar dabbing and stabbing. There is no rest in this house. We are always striving. It is not helped by the fact the children are still awake and we are all in one room. But, and I must try to remember this, diligence is not explained by success alone. We may not have our rewards, but we most certainly have our creative and functioning aspirations. As I peer over the brow of the day, I can see the next excitement, too. It comes in the shape of three family birthdays in the next six days, including the two children's birthdays. There are always birthdays. Even in the war-zones. But ours are ours.