Stop all the clocks

A very very close friend of Twin, her husband and The Blessings has very sadly and suddenly died. I looked through my books and this blog for a passage to send. It was this poem that kept running through my mind. I think I understand it now.

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,

Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,

Silence the pianos and with muffled drum

Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead

Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,

Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,

Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,

My working week and my Sunday rest,

My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;

I thought that love would last for ever:

I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;

Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;

Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.

For nothing now can ever come to any good

W.H.Auden

The Month of May

Waking up with a hangover from a wonderful wedding the day before....
Exploring Greenwich in the bank holiday sunshine and then a 'phone call from mum about granny....

A train ride through the Kentish countryside to see mum and dad. Sun shining, green green fields, oast houses and a great book made it less sad. Coffee and shopping at The Goods Shed, eating lunch outside in the garden, a walk along the river, seeing ducklings and ending with walking through a field of cows.
Drinks at The Phoenix.
Discovering the maxi skirt that suits me, having wanted one since last summer but discovering that maxi dresses don't suit me - a straight jersey maxi skirt is for me.
A great Friday evening shop. A favourite Whistles top - I may buy it in white too. Getting to grips with eye lash curlers and discovering that Lancome Hypnose is truly a great waterproof mascara.
Mooching around the Forest Hill Open Studios.
Meeting up with dear friends at a Eurovision party.
Finally receiving notification of our mortgage. We shall be moving.... An initial visit to Criterion Auctioneers to see how it operates for when we're ready.
Meeting dear friends, who were previously friends and colleagues, for supper at The National Portrait Gallery Restaurant. Delicious food, gorgeous company and the views of London sky line - superb.
Discovering the perfect summer red nail varnish - Essie 5th Avenue.
A dear friend was over from New York so it meant the chance to meet up with a lovely group of friends. We met at Bam Bou I've been to the bar before, and this time the cocktails were just as divine but we ate - and the food was absolutely delicious.
Sunday lunch with my aunt followed by boules in the garden.
I would love to tell you all about the christening we attended in a field for Rogation Sunday but alas due to the most horrific accident we spent that time sitting on the A3. The party afterwards was glorious and we spent the Monday recovering from over eating and drinking.
Oh no I've just realised that May started and finished with a hangover...

Cakes baked. Real Cookie Girl's Strawberries and Cream cupcakes for Eurovison (they shall be baked again). Hummingbird Lemon Bars, Lady Grey Tea loaf and a disastrous Ballymaloe apple cake for Granny's funeral.
Books read - High Wages - my first Whipple. I am so glad I saved it perfect for this time. I loved it - strong woman, friendship, clothes, shopping and day dreaming - what could not be more perfect for me? Hons and Rebels by Jessica Mitford. The hand that first held mine by Maggie O'Farrell, The Rector's Daughter by F.M. Mayor.

I count it happiness

One of the readings Granny had asked to be read at her funeral.

I count it happiness-

Ere we go so quickly where we came

To gaze ungrieving on these majesties.

The world wide sun, the stars, water and clouds

And Fire. Live Parmeno, a hundred years

Or a few months, these you will always see

And never, never any greater things.

Think of this lifetime as a festival

Or visit to a strange city, full of noise

Buying and selling, theiving, dicing stalls and joy parks.

If you leave it early friends,

Why, think you have gone to find a better Inn.

You have paid your fare and leave no enemies.

Menander b.342 BC Athens

In these hours

Darling , Dearest Granny died today.

'In these hours when the silence, unfilled by any ceremony, was made almost tangibly oppressive by a sense of absence, only the flowers took the place of the singing and psalms.
They did more than blossom and smell sweet. In unison, like a choir, ... they unstintingly poured out their fragrance and, imparting something of their scented strength in everyone, seemed to be accomplishing a ritual.
The kingdom of plants can easily be thought of as the nearest neighbour of the kingdom of death. Perhaps the mysteries of transformation and enigmas of life which so torment us are concentrated on the green of the earth, among the trees in graveyards and the flowering shoots springing from their beds.' Boris Pasternak Dr. Zhivago

31st July 1918 - 5th May 2011

Bathroom of the Vanities

Warmth bought me Christopher Reid's A Scattering for my birthday, it's a collection of poems he wrote after his wife died. Here's part of my favourite one, which seems appropriate as we pack up our flat. Thankfully we're packing up under very different circumstances to this poem.

Bathroom of the Vanities

The model mask, the mannequin moue,

the face I loved to catch her pulling

after sundry perfecting dabs

and micro-adjustments in front of the mirror

will never be seen, by me or the mirror, again.

......

Odd bottles in an orderly queue -

Issey Miyake, Parum, Tea Rose, the eternal billing

doves of L'Air du Temps - keep their caps

on, converse their last drops of essence and aura

and wait for no one.

Christopher Reid

@

How poignant thinking about all our lotions, potions, scents which we will leave behind.

The memories scents evoke...

The Inheritance of Loss

I don't quite know what to write about The Inheritance of Loss by Kiran Desai, apart from the title is perfect. If ever a novel had the right title then this is the novel. Right on page two we have this sentence.
'Could fulfilment ever be felt as deeply as loss?'
We journey with four main characters
'these were four shadow puppets from a fairytale flickering on the lumpy plaster of the wall - a lizard man, a hunch marked cook, a lush-lashed maiden, and a long-tailed wolf dog....'

There are moments of light heartedness, tender touches.
'Ah, the dumpling stage of love-it had set them off on a tumble of endearments and nicknames. They thought of them in quiet moments and placed them before each other like gifts.'
But yet oh the hatred between couples.
'... the dread they had for each other was so severe it was as if they had tapped into a limitless bitterness carrying them beyond the parameters of what any individual is normally capable of feeling. They belonged to this emotion more than to themselves, experienced rage with enough muscle in it for entire nations...'
Reading plays a large part in their lives, especially English authors, and another moment of humour.
'I always said,' she turned to the others in a frivolous fashion, ' that I would save Trollope for my dotage; I knew it would be a perfect slow indulgence when I had nothing much to do and, well, here I am. Old fashioned books is what I like.'
Like all of us they're trying to make sense of, understand who they are, in the country they live in, at this moment in time.
'How many lived in the fake version of their countries, in fake versions of other people's countries? Did their lives feel as unreal to them as his did to him?'
I don't think this review tells the story. Partly as I don't know how to without giving things away. So instead I've tried to show some of the emotions of the novel. My over riding memory is of The Inheritance of Loss. It moved me, it made me feel desperately sad yet there were also glimmers of hope in it and that's what I shall hold onto.