Tag Archive

This time of year is not at the top of my list of favourite times. With Christmas over, all you can do is wait for the mornings to get lighter. And keep your head down.

Saying this, it is a time for considered thought somehow. I think of people who’ve died, who I’ve lost touch with, or things I’ve let slip. And I am grateful for those who’ve reminded me just by their friendship and steadfastness of what’s important: Nancy, Lynne, Lisa, Katherine, Deborah, Helena, Valerie. Not to mention relatives, again whose consistent and unconditional presence has been life-changing: David, Janet, Hugh, Bridget, Anna, Howard, and my mother.

And don’t even get me started on the children, or R.

***

I feel a need today to write for Valerie. From the ages of 10 to 12, we were each other’s best friends. Bestest friends. Times change though, and we moved on, and lost touch, and…to her credit she searched me out last year — after 25 years. It’s been a treat to talk to someone who is ‘from where I’m from’ and who — still, all these years later — is interested in what I’m interested in.

Anyway, today I heard that Valerie’s much-loved dog Luna had died. The memory of holding our 17 year old moggie as he died last year is always close to the surface, despite our two new lovely kittens. Like everything we lose or lose track of, they stay with us.

The title of this post is taken from a poem by Yehuda Amichai called ‘Ballad on the Streets of Buenos Aires’. It’s a love poem, really, and the whole thing is one of my all time favourites, but this particular line keeps me breathing this dark time of year: and the light is always there to serve all loss. (I prefer the Stephen Mitchell translation, so have used his version of this line.)

This is not exactly what I said to Wonderful Builder at 8.15 am this morning, but it is what the world feels like today. Another full inbox or two, a playroom which is impassable, cold and snow (they say) approaching. January throttling me.

Happy New Year, by the way.

Before I get really carried away, a breather: we enjoyed a sparkling and joyful Christmas with family and FOUR fluffy white cats meeting for the first time. Glad to report that after half a day of hissing and deliberate nonchalance, all are fast friends now. Sound familiar?!

Then four days back in the Lakes, where we shot up to Stickle Tarn like bats out of hell on the only good day for it. This time I did get a couple of pictures.

Yes, back too soon…I’ll hold onto these as long as I can though.

Another crisp frosty start, so rather looking forward to heading into town later to finish the shopping. Staving off panic. All a bit last minute this year. And no cards written yet. Again.

As usual, my lists are exhaustive, obsessive and nearly incomprehensible: E haircut (made), M haircut (make), cats’ claws, cat litter x 2, drycleaning 24 hours? (ask), travel medicine, night time cough medicine, shave, truffle ingredients? (R). Etc. And the list of presents not yet secured: E to M, M to E, E to R, M to R. Etc. And now that the children can read, all in a code only I understand: M C & H, E 2… Sigh. And as if one list isn’t enough, I’ve today started my usual list series, a day by day countdown. I don’t think that a poem out of all of this would be very entertaining to anyone but me. However, in all my spare time I might write it anyway.

As a kind of leavening (wandering lists), check this out. Sent by Deborah via via via via facebook, as ever. Enjoy!

I’m scratching my head about headers and titles and meaning, for heaven’s sake. And implication. Thus any thoughts about whether the title of this site/blog means that all visitors will be looking for (and not seeing/seeing, har har) CATS are welcome.

Because this isn’t strictly about cats, although it might sometimes be. We have two of them after all, much loved and adored, called Schubert and Tilly.

Strictly about… I don’t want this to be strictly about anything. Except trying to catch some things that might otherwise slip by, from the past or the present. Either real or imagined.

It’s a habit hard to break, the fear of loss. My whole life I’ve projected being without the most important people/things — what if, I free-fall, what if. Sometimes these projections make it directly into my writing. Most often, though, they just niggle at me: I can’t leave without doing x, without gathering up y. A low-level crisis mentality — all the time.

That sounds much more complicated than I thought when I started. Good grief. Not sure it matters. Is it too early for a glass of wine?