Archive: June, 2006
Sunday Scribblings: Earliest memory
My childhood wasn’t so cripplingly awful that I would need to block it out of my memory, but for some reason I find it hard to remember much about it in detail. I remember the feelings rather than the events, the uncertainty, the anger, the frustration, the love. Inevitably the bad is more clearly recalled than the good: my mother telling us our father had moved out… home-grown chillis burning my eyes after playing with them in the garden… my father dropping my pet rabbit as she struggled in his arms, and breaking her delicate spine. Rifling through the files in my head, I see my sister and I standing on kitchen chairs, crying, frightened of the dog my parents brought home that day, its excited barking scaring us so much they returned the puppy that afternoon. My mother has lived in the same house for the last thirty years; I have sat at the kitchen table in joy and in grief, in shock and in love.
But now new memories are being made and I think I prefer those. Yesterday, the hottest day of the year so far, we celebrated my mother’s partner’s 60th birthday with friends and family. For the last seven years Jim has been the man who has made my mother the happiest I have ever seen her. His calm thoughtful presence complements her perfectly and each weekend, without fail, he buys her flowers; they kiss like teenagers when they think we’re not looking.
We met Jim’s two sons, his daughter-in-law and his twin grandsons for the first time yesterday, and it was an afternoon of coming home. We all got on famously, drank too much wine and laughed and played with the boys, their parents enjoying the break as my sister and I fussed over the twins, playing on the lawn and kissing their grazed knees better. Standing among this extended family in my mother’s kitchen I watched new memories being woven, new connections nurtured. My family has grown, and as my sister’s partner joins us – a man I like very much – I see that this is the beginning of something. I was there on my own, of course, but I wasn’t alone in the slightest.
For more Sunday Scribblings, go here
Ode to being single
This is probably going to sound incredibly pedestrian, but I was just looking at the contents of my fridge as I put my groceries away. Every single thing in the fridge is something I love. Pickled cornichons, proscuitto, houmous, white wine, fresh orange juice, soya milk, tomatoes, broccoli, coconut cream… every single item is there for me, chosen by me. I’ve been living on my own for fifteen months yet today was the first time the fridge-factor struck me. After so many years sharing fridge space with a partner or flat-mate, this is now my kingdom, and I love it. I love that my reign influences the entire flat: treasured objects are displayed just as I like them, books and magazines are strewn everywhere, my desk can be messy and I don’t care, the bathroom is always pristine. I don’t think I would ever want to give up this freedom.
Surviving an event as devastating as the death of someone you love can make you feel invincible. I have a friend who survived a train crash a few years ago, and he said the same. Now he feels he can do anything, though it is tinged with guilt as he remembers the people who died in the crash, but nevertheless, the feeling of invincibility remains. Now I have survived this I do feel guilty when I fill up my fridge and know that my lover can’t do the same, but there is a new thought too: I have to carry on. There is so much more life to live, I no longer want to avoid it. This is such a new place for me and I’m very gently nurturing it. I’m still not ready to venture too far from my safety – I still probably spend a bit too much time on my own – but I can’t bring him back so I must carry on, though towards what I have no idea. I can’t imagine ever being touched again; I don’t know if I want to be, I don’t know if I could risk that pain, that vulnerability. It feels safer on my own, and as I’m starting to like it, perhaps this is the way forward.
