Changing
After my love died I lost a lot of weight. Food wasn’t top of my list of priorities back then and the weight just dropped off me. Fast forward two years and he probably wouldn’t recognise me now. The weight is back, with a little extra to spare. I accept that this part of the journey; that sitting on my backside all day at this computer doesn’t bode well for keeping a trim figure, and neither does my not-that-old-but-feeling-it-today age of 34. But it’s very disheartening to have clothes hanging in my wardrobe that are too small for me. The jeans that used to fall off me without a belt (oh so annoying) are now a little too… snug, shall we say. Favorite tops and cardigans leave me feeling constricted and hemmed in. My bust has taken on a life of its own, requiring certain coats to be left undone.
I’ve never had to deal with this before, but today I decided to tackle it head on and buy new clothes that actually fit me. There were skinny pink-cheeked students in the cubicle next door, trying on clothes that I wore in the late 80s. And then there was me, trying on the bigger trousers, the looser tops, the more stomach-flattering dresses. And it felt okay. I decided I would much rather wear clothes that don’t cut me in half, that don’t leave waistband marks branded across my middle. I’m a size bigger – and not just sartorially. It feels like another layer of my old self I am shedding, and I don’t mind at all. I think I officially became a woman today.
Flickritis
The discovery of Flickr has been such a joy, taking me back to my college days when we shared our photographs and discussed their artistic merits (or lack of). There is so much inspiration and camaraderie out there, so many talented people using cameras to document their worlds and dreams, families and selves. The online communities that are growing through blogging and photosharing are changing the world, they really are. How can we claim to not understand each other when I can now read about life in Afghanistan or Seattle or India or Sydney? When a close friend I first met online is moving to Uganda, who will share her experiences and enrich our appreciation of other cultures. Today all of this is blowing my mind a little bit, as I prepare to move my home, prepare to change my horizon again. The world feels more full of possibilities today than it did yesterday. Maybe it’s because the sun came out and shone so brightly through my kitchen window all day. Perhaps it’s because my sister is well, and phoned me this afternoon to talk about plans for the future…
Sending love
I think I’m still on red alert after the emotional strain of last week. I can’t settle or concentrate, and the flat feels too quiet when I’d much rather be with my sister. We live two hours from each other, a distance easily traversed when the call for help is sounded. But my other sisters, the women I care about as if they were my family, live further away, and it is hard to not be able to get to them when they need me. Today I sit quietly and think of my dear friend Thea, who is going through something I wish she didn’t have to face. My body may not be there, but the rest of me – the real me – is there with her, holding her hand and stroking her face…
Update
I’m writing this from Bristol to tell you that my sister is okay – she doesn’t need brain surgery. We are all completely strung out after these last 72 hours, but we are so relieved. I’ll write more when i get back home – right now i need to go hug my sister! Thank you all so much for your support – it made such a difference to know i had such powerful allies out there, so thank you from me, Abby, my mum and Steve x
Updated to add this photo of my sis, taken this morning (Saturday) as we went to get the paper, so grateful to be doing something normal, together, arm in arm. Sisters forever.
SOS
I don’t really know how to write this post. Three weeks ago my sister had an MRI scan. Yesterday she got the results containing some scary words and findings that we won’t fully understand the implications and severity of until Friday when we go to see her neurologist. Abby will have me, and our mum, and her boyfriend Steve by her side, and we will get through this together. I just wanted to put the call out to all of you – can you send some strength to help us? Thoughts and prayers and healing energy would be wonderful right now, and I will be taking all of my love and sister-power with me tomorrow. i know how the love and support of the blogosphere can move mountains, so I humbly ask for a bit of help…
Thank you x
DNA
I spent today at the cottage with my family, celebrating Mother’s Day. Full of delicious salads, leek tartlets and apple pie, we explored the woods that back on to the garden and encountered sunshine, rain, hail, sleet and a rainbow. I’m now back in the flat, exhausted but smiling, and just had to share this photo…
Me and my…
I’ve been taking a lot of photographs of my shadow recently, but it was only this morning that it occurred to me what this really represented. She’s my constant companion, and I’m starting to make friends with her… at last.
Checking in
Every time I leave the flat is an opportunity for an Artist’s Date. If my camera is in my bag, and my eyes are open, I see potential photographs everywhere. The day before last Friday’s date had been one of sadness, remembering and an awful lot of staring into space, so I knew I needed to get out by the sea and let the wind blow through my hair. With only a few weeks left in this town I’ve been wanting to visit as many picturesque locations as I can, a lepidopterist skipping around with her net, catching photoflies with iridescent wings.
My commitment to the Finding Water journey has been pretty lax and the Morning Pages have gone out the window, viewed (incorrectly) as procrastination. However, as a prolific journal-writer, this is not a great loss. In the back of my mind I saw Julia Cameron’s new book as an opportunity to restart the writing machine; instead, as the writing takes a backseat while I look for ‘proper’ work and get the moving plans in motion, other creative avenues are opening up to me. My reignited love affair with photography continues to smoulder and I’m excited about my online print store, which is almost ready to go live. Taking my focus off The Book and allowing myself to explore other passions is refreshing and rejuvenating. I’m already planning the Artist’s Dates I’ll be having back in the city (Columbia Road flower market… Greenwich market… the V&A… Battersea Power Station… I almost can’t wait). The energy down by the sea is becoming stagnant for me; the city will, I hope, offer new inspiration for my words and my eyes.
Last week I reached out to friends and asked for their help with my embryonic business, and in return I found the believing mirrors that Cameron writes about. I have mirrors everywhere, sending me heart-shaped stones, prosperity charms, magical notebooks, photographs, poetry and beautiful pendants. Today I remember how lucky I am to have cherished friends who believe in me. It helps me to do so too.
Two years
Two years have passed since the day your heart stopped. Two years today. I would write you a poem, but today I am numbed to words, numbed to sound and light. Last night I dreamt I was floating above my bed, the warm air cushioning me, and I wasn’t scared. Is it like that for you now? Do you float, are you unafraid? If I walk to the beach, will you meet me on the shore? I would like to see your face again, the creases across your forehead, the crinkles at the corners of your eyes. The sheepish grin, the raining kisses. We can sit together on the sand and talk, as there is so much I want to tell you. Later we can come back home, and I’ll cook risotto and salad while you tell me all about your journey through the sky. Afterwards, I will take your hand and lead you to my bedroom, with its new bed covered in soft and familiar sheets. Perhaps the universe will grant us this one night; perhaps one night stolen from two years of longing will cauterise the wound I still carry. I miss you.
Love
Love is talent, the world love’s metaphor.
Aflame, October’s leaves adore the wind,
its urgent breath, whirl to their own death.
Not here, you’re everywhere.
The evening sky
worships the ground, bears down, the land
yearns back in darkening hills. The night
is empathy, stars in its eyes for tears. Not here,
you’re where I stand, hearing the sea, crazy
for the shore, seeing the moon ache and fret
for the earth. When morning comes, the sun, ardent,
covers the trees in gold, you walk
towards me,
out of the season, out of the light love reasons.
~ Carol Ann Duffy, Rapture, 2005
