clearing skies, temps 10
As I write the pipes are playing. I can hear them recede into the distance as an Armistice Day parade leaves from the church on the corner. It is so unspeakably moving to be here now. To see the crowds, to feel the sorrow. To read the Times and the announcements placed in memory...of men who died in Dieppe and Vimy and the Somme and in ships that went down and planes that never returned. And in Helmund and Basra. The new wars and the new names.
And to hear the eerie, beautiful pipes in this old city.
Very moving. Very humbling. I knew a few of you have a sorrow, a loss, I can't begin to imagine. I'm so sorry. I wonder if it is any consolation, any comfort, that so many people honour your loss? I wonder. I hope so.
The pipes have faded, the parade moved on.
I spent most of today editing Bury Your Dead...come to a sensitive part...needs thought...but also needs action. I find eventually I just need to dive in and see what happens. Make the changes...and trust I'll know when it is right and makes it better, or when it is wrong. Let's hope!
up to page 300 now. I think if I can do 50 pages a day now - this is the difficult, complex, patch - I'll be fine.
Michael went out this morning and picked up the Telegraph and the Sunday Times. We've settled in to a cup of tea and the sunday papers, in front of the fire. Michael was commenting that, this being Sunday, maybe we should go out for a Sunday Roast pub lunch. but I was working, and so he missed his roast. But when I'd gone as far as I could today I threw on my coat and went to the shops and picked up a roast and pudding. So tonight I will make him his Sunday Roast. Or burn down the flat trying. A small prayer might be in order.
I promised to tell you about the flat. It's on the British first floor, what we in Canada and the US would call the second floor. Basically one flight up. In this older and very classic architecture, the windows grow smaller as the floors go up - but the first floor windows in the Victorian/Edwardian buildings are enormous. Our flat has 18 foot ceilings. A beautiful bedroom at the back with ensuite bathroom. A tiny kitchen - barely more than a closet, but perfect for the likes of me. A quite lovely dining room painted ox-blood red...almost laquered. But the room that makes us gasp everyday is the drawing room. A living room to North americans. it's at the front of the flat...overlooking the garden square, and has huge floor to ceiling windows and a set of french doors opening onto a tiny balcony. there are massive bookcases and ancestral paintings and gorgeous urns and a cheery fireplace. How did we get so lucky???
We, of course, pretend to own it...and are constantly discussing how we would (will) redesign things when it is ours. We would not touch the front room...it is splendid.
We've re-arranged a date with Mike and Dom...off for dinner Wednesday to a Spanish/Moroccan restaurant near King's Cross. Tomorrow we'll see sister Carol and have lunch with Erkia, who owns the flat.
I'm trying to find a balance between writing/editing and enjoying London. So far so good. Off back to the Times...though since Mike works for the Guardian we tell him we read that all the time. Actually, the Guardian is a fabulous paper - and they have a great website.
Speak to you tomorrow!
Sunday, 8 November 2009
Saturday, 7 November 2009
The changing of the addresses in London
beautiful, bright, mild day - temps 13
Stunningly beautiful day. We'd planned to meet up with Mike and Dom and have brunch together but plans changed so we walked down to the Duke of York Barracks and had coffee at the Patisserie Valerie there...were planning to do breakfast but the waitress kept yelling at the other workers - I believe in Russian - but it was altogether too Dr Strangelove-ly - so after what was a really terrific cappuccino we moved next door for breakfast...fruit salad and toast for me...scrambled eggs for Michael.
Then we decided it was so gorgeous we'd hop on the Number 11 bus and go to St. James Park and just walk.
We got on the bus - sat up at the top of the double-decker...and got off at Trafalgar Square. Very moving. We went past Westminister and there were huge wreaths out and crowds gathering...then down a wide avenue - we think it was called Whitehall - with huge war memorials...it was clearly about to be blocked off...perhaps for the Armistice Parade. Television platforms were being erected. There was Nelson's Column....and behind it the National Gallery. We hopped off the bus and decided we'd go into the national Gallery. It's a glorious building...pillars and wide sweeping steps. At the top we looked out over Trafalgar Square...the monuments, so familiar from postcards and photos and past visits...but still and always so impressive. The fountains. And then we noticed the fourth plinth. It had sat empty...for centuries. And just this past week it was filled. One last monument, one last person.
I can't remember his name, but the statue shows a man in late middle-age. Slender. Smiling. Wearing aviators outfit and putting on a glove. He was the air marshall who led the Battle of Britain. And now he's taken his place with the other heroes.
This is a terrifically and terribly moving time here in Britain, and certainly in London, as preparations are made for the November 11th Remembrance Day. Since so many British soldiers have been killed and wounded in Iraq and Afghanistan. Just last week 5 more were killed in Helmand Province. Dreadful. Like most places, the Brits struggle with being so proud of the young men and women fighting the war...and so upset it is happening at all.
We went inside and saw an exhibit called The Sacred Made Real...a look at Spanish devotional art from the early 1600's...very graphic...violent really. Not my idea of the divine...I actually found it appalling, but others would almost certainly be deeply moved by it. Still, it was extremely interesting to see...and if I know one thing about art - it should move me...either to delight and safely and comfort - or to contemplation - to wonder and awe - or anger...or just revulsion. Good art is rarely neutral.
Then we hopped back on the number 11 bus and scooted for the flat...it was moving day and we had to be out by noon. We were a little late but the next people hadn't arrived. We'd already packed up so we just hailed a cab and came to the place we'd wanted to stay all along. The flat on Lennox Gardens, in Knightsbridge. It was still being cleaned, so we went off for lunch, then Michael picked up flowers and I did some grocery shopping and now we're back at the flat. It is enchanting...will describe more another time...except to say it is a black or so from Sloane Street...close to harrods...close to the Old Brompton Road. And is basically two semi-circular gracious attached buildings surrounding a huge fenced garden, with massive trees and stretches of lawn and flowers. It is a tiny private park in the very centre of this magnificent city. We over-look it.
How magical is that? We've rented this flat often and consider it almost a second, or third, home. One day we might be able to buy it. That would be such fun. I suspect our finances would never run to that...and as people keep pointing out, why buy when you can rent. And that is certainly the sensible thing...but this is a dream, a fantasy, and a rational-free zone. My own garden square, where sensible thoughts are locked out. and the sacred is made real.
Speak to you tomorrow, from London.
Stunningly beautiful day. We'd planned to meet up with Mike and Dom and have brunch together but plans changed so we walked down to the Duke of York Barracks and had coffee at the Patisserie Valerie there...were planning to do breakfast but the waitress kept yelling at the other workers - I believe in Russian - but it was altogether too Dr Strangelove-ly - so after what was a really terrific cappuccino we moved next door for breakfast...fruit salad and toast for me...scrambled eggs for Michael.
Then we decided it was so gorgeous we'd hop on the Number 11 bus and go to St. James Park and just walk.
We got on the bus - sat up at the top of the double-decker...and got off at Trafalgar Square. Very moving. We went past Westminister and there were huge wreaths out and crowds gathering...then down a wide avenue - we think it was called Whitehall - with huge war memorials...it was clearly about to be blocked off...perhaps for the Armistice Parade. Television platforms were being erected. There was Nelson's Column....and behind it the National Gallery. We hopped off the bus and decided we'd go into the national Gallery. It's a glorious building...pillars and wide sweeping steps. At the top we looked out over Trafalgar Square...the monuments, so familiar from postcards and photos and past visits...but still and always so impressive. The fountains. And then we noticed the fourth plinth. It had sat empty...for centuries. And just this past week it was filled. One last monument, one last person.
I can't remember his name, but the statue shows a man in late middle-age. Slender. Smiling. Wearing aviators outfit and putting on a glove. He was the air marshall who led the Battle of Britain. And now he's taken his place with the other heroes.
This is a terrifically and terribly moving time here in Britain, and certainly in London, as preparations are made for the November 11th Remembrance Day. Since so many British soldiers have been killed and wounded in Iraq and Afghanistan. Just last week 5 more were killed in Helmand Province. Dreadful. Like most places, the Brits struggle with being so proud of the young men and women fighting the war...and so upset it is happening at all.
We went inside and saw an exhibit called The Sacred Made Real...a look at Spanish devotional art from the early 1600's...very graphic...violent really. Not my idea of the divine...I actually found it appalling, but others would almost certainly be deeply moved by it. Still, it was extremely interesting to see...and if I know one thing about art - it should move me...either to delight and safely and comfort - or to contemplation - to wonder and awe - or anger...or just revulsion. Good art is rarely neutral.
Then we hopped back on the number 11 bus and scooted for the flat...it was moving day and we had to be out by noon. We were a little late but the next people hadn't arrived. We'd already packed up so we just hailed a cab and came to the place we'd wanted to stay all along. The flat on Lennox Gardens, in Knightsbridge. It was still being cleaned, so we went off for lunch, then Michael picked up flowers and I did some grocery shopping and now we're back at the flat. It is enchanting...will describe more another time...except to say it is a black or so from Sloane Street...close to harrods...close to the Old Brompton Road. And is basically two semi-circular gracious attached buildings surrounding a huge fenced garden, with massive trees and stretches of lawn and flowers. It is a tiny private park in the very centre of this magnificent city. We over-look it.
How magical is that? We've rented this flat often and consider it almost a second, or third, home. One day we might be able to buy it. That would be such fun. I suspect our finances would never run to that...and as people keep pointing out, why buy when you can rent. And that is certainly the sensible thing...but this is a dream, a fantasy, and a rational-free zone. My own garden square, where sensible thoughts are locked out. and the sacred is made real.
Speak to you tomorrow, from London.
Thursday, 5 November 2009
A Penny for the old Guy
cloudy, windy, but not cold, temps 14
What a hectic few days, but now Michael and I are in the London flat running from window to window, watching the fireworks all over London! It's magical. This is Guy Fawkes day and, as I mentioned in an earlier post (and mis-spelled Fawkes), the Brits celebrate by setting off firecrackers. it started about 6:30 this evening. Frankly, being Canadian, we were vaguely aware of this day but didn't think it was a big deal. So when the explosions started we wondered...and looked out the kitchen window.
We're on the 8th (and top) floor of an apartment building in Chelsea. Now, the thing about London is that there are almost no sky scrapers...most buildings went up a hundred or more years ago and don't go over 3 floors. there was bomb damage - alot - in the second world war and in rebuilding some of new-build got up to 8 or 10 stories. But it means there is a charm and human scale to the city. it is historic and beautiful...it gets light...and it means that from the 8th floor we have a panoramic view of the city.
Tonight for 4 hours, fireworks have shot into the sky from all over the city. It's spectacular. Some are just bright specks on the horizon...some are almost next door. Absolutely stunning and unexpected. Very moving, too...in the way bagpipe music moves me. Not in the head, but in the gut.
Spent this morning editing Bury Your Dead while Michael visited Carol. Then we went out for lunch...to The Peer pub on Sydney Street. After my last pub experience I clutched my purse (handbag as they say here) like a crazy woman. Michael had fish and chips, I had steak frites. Then we walked down the King's road to a wonderful art supply shop...one of those tiny shops filled with dark wood and curiosities you know have been there for a hundred years. Michael picked up a watercolour kit - he'd left his at home...then we walked along to one of my favorite gardens in the whole world...the London Physic Garden, down near the river. It's 400 years old and specializes in rare and medicinal plants, picked up by explorers from all over the world. it's magnificent, with all these ancient flowers and plants. It's walled and sits right in the centre of London...a sort of hidden garden. But - it had closed for the season four days ago! We stood outside like waifs. Hands clutched around the wrought-iron gates. As though staring and will could open them. It couldn't. So we left.
I went to Marks and Spencer to pick up something for dinner, and Michael went home to put the kettle on. We were a little chilled.
I went back to editing, he read the Times, and then the fireworks started. Delightful.
yesterday was quite a day too. Started with hoping on the 22 bus and leaping off at Green Park, on Piccadilly - for breakfast at the Wolseley. A real scene. Very elegant. Fabulous coffee. Michael had the....can you guess...yes! The Full English...which is pretty much everything fried, including the waiter. I had a bowl of fruit. And we soaked up the atmosphere. Then Michael walked me along to The Ritz where I was meeting my agent, Teresa.
Except...get this...they stopped Michael at the door. Only men with shirts and ties allowed in. Michael had a beautiful jacket, a cashmere sweater and a turtleneck, and they turned him away. We both thought it was pretty funny, especially given they were certainly letting in arms dealers and crooked politicians and trust fund kids who did little with their lives...but refused entry to such a lovely, kind, gifted man.
So, Michael went off to the Royal Academy - which was always his plan anyway - and I met up with Teresa then we went to Shepherd's Markets, nearby, for a bistro lunch. I'd planned to have breakfast with Deborah Crombie (one of my favorite writers and people of all time!!) who's in London researching her next book, but had to cancel when this agent meeting suddenly came up. Actually, meeting up with Deb was possibly because one of you - Marjorie - mentioned that Deborah Crombie was also going to be in London, and provided her email. I had it already, but it was at home. So - a big thank you to Marjorie.
While Teresa and I met and talked and discussed the future of the Gamache books Michael saw the Anish Kapoor exhibition at the RA...then had lunch at Fortum and Mason's (picking up two boxes of Turkish Delight...one for sister Carol and one for me). Teresa and I walked back through Green park...spitting rain but lovely. Then I hopped back on the 22 bus...Michael got on the 22 as well, but about 20 minutes later.
When we met up back at the flat he was raving about the Kapoor show. Extraordinary. So I'll go see it next week with him. Can hardly wait!!!
Have decided to take tomorrow away from editing...I can do that anywhere, anytime...but can't always do London! Off to Tom's kitchen for breakfast, then not sure what...but there's an antiquarian book show and sale at the Chelsea Town Hall, just around the corner from us starting at 2. Carol and David gave us their tickets...so generous. Can hardly wait to see the books!!! Hope Michael hides his credit card since mine was stolen. Wait...you don't think Michael... nah.
Spent an hour last night applying for a new birth certificate on the Canadian Government website. Very convenient. Surprisingly easy. Makes me wonder what I will actually get.
Off to bed soon...will leave the curtains open so we can watch the last of the fireworks as we drift off to sleep. How lucky we are.
Thank you, thank you, thank you for your kind wishes about John. All your thoughts, your words, your experiences. How kind you are to care for us. The funeral is November 14th in the Buxton Church...named for his family. Indeed, John oversaw the re-forging of the bells for the church. We saw the foundry, in Whitechapel.
We want you to know your presence has made a very real difference to us. surprising since I have met so few of you, and even those I don't know intimately. And yet there was real comfort I felt from you. As did Michael. I think it was the blessing of knowing we were not alone. How powerful community is. Belonging.
What a hectic few days, but now Michael and I are in the London flat running from window to window, watching the fireworks all over London! It's magical. This is Guy Fawkes day and, as I mentioned in an earlier post (and mis-spelled Fawkes), the Brits celebrate by setting off firecrackers. it started about 6:30 this evening. Frankly, being Canadian, we were vaguely aware of this day but didn't think it was a big deal. So when the explosions started we wondered...and looked out the kitchen window.
We're on the 8th (and top) floor of an apartment building in Chelsea. Now, the thing about London is that there are almost no sky scrapers...most buildings went up a hundred or more years ago and don't go over 3 floors. there was bomb damage - alot - in the second world war and in rebuilding some of new-build got up to 8 or 10 stories. But it means there is a charm and human scale to the city. it is historic and beautiful...it gets light...and it means that from the 8th floor we have a panoramic view of the city.
Tonight for 4 hours, fireworks have shot into the sky from all over the city. It's spectacular. Some are just bright specks on the horizon...some are almost next door. Absolutely stunning and unexpected. Very moving, too...in the way bagpipe music moves me. Not in the head, but in the gut.
Spent this morning editing Bury Your Dead while Michael visited Carol. Then we went out for lunch...to The Peer pub on Sydney Street. After my last pub experience I clutched my purse (handbag as they say here) like a crazy woman. Michael had fish and chips, I had steak frites. Then we walked down the King's road to a wonderful art supply shop...one of those tiny shops filled with dark wood and curiosities you know have been there for a hundred years. Michael picked up a watercolour kit - he'd left his at home...then we walked along to one of my favorite gardens in the whole world...the London Physic Garden, down near the river. It's 400 years old and specializes in rare and medicinal plants, picked up by explorers from all over the world. it's magnificent, with all these ancient flowers and plants. It's walled and sits right in the centre of London...a sort of hidden garden. But - it had closed for the season four days ago! We stood outside like waifs. Hands clutched around the wrought-iron gates. As though staring and will could open them. It couldn't. So we left.
I went to Marks and Spencer to pick up something for dinner, and Michael went home to put the kettle on. We were a little chilled.
I went back to editing, he read the Times, and then the fireworks started. Delightful.
yesterday was quite a day too. Started with hoping on the 22 bus and leaping off at Green Park, on Piccadilly - for breakfast at the Wolseley. A real scene. Very elegant. Fabulous coffee. Michael had the....can you guess...yes! The Full English...which is pretty much everything fried, including the waiter. I had a bowl of fruit. And we soaked up the atmosphere. Then Michael walked me along to The Ritz where I was meeting my agent, Teresa.
Except...get this...they stopped Michael at the door. Only men with shirts and ties allowed in. Michael had a beautiful jacket, a cashmere sweater and a turtleneck, and they turned him away. We both thought it was pretty funny, especially given they were certainly letting in arms dealers and crooked politicians and trust fund kids who did little with their lives...but refused entry to such a lovely, kind, gifted man.
So, Michael went off to the Royal Academy - which was always his plan anyway - and I met up with Teresa then we went to Shepherd's Markets, nearby, for a bistro lunch. I'd planned to have breakfast with Deborah Crombie (one of my favorite writers and people of all time!!) who's in London researching her next book, but had to cancel when this agent meeting suddenly came up. Actually, meeting up with Deb was possibly because one of you - Marjorie - mentioned that Deborah Crombie was also going to be in London, and provided her email. I had it already, but it was at home. So - a big thank you to Marjorie.
While Teresa and I met and talked and discussed the future of the Gamache books Michael saw the Anish Kapoor exhibition at the RA...then had lunch at Fortum and Mason's (picking up two boxes of Turkish Delight...one for sister Carol and one for me). Teresa and I walked back through Green park...spitting rain but lovely. Then I hopped back on the 22 bus...Michael got on the 22 as well, but about 20 minutes later.
When we met up back at the flat he was raving about the Kapoor show. Extraordinary. So I'll go see it next week with him. Can hardly wait!!!
Have decided to take tomorrow away from editing...I can do that anywhere, anytime...but can't always do London! Off to Tom's kitchen for breakfast, then not sure what...but there's an antiquarian book show and sale at the Chelsea Town Hall, just around the corner from us starting at 2. Carol and David gave us their tickets...so generous. Can hardly wait to see the books!!! Hope Michael hides his credit card since mine was stolen. Wait...you don't think Michael... nah.
Spent an hour last night applying for a new birth certificate on the Canadian Government website. Very convenient. Surprisingly easy. Makes me wonder what I will actually get.
Off to bed soon...will leave the curtains open so we can watch the last of the fireworks as we drift off to sleep. How lucky we are.
Thank you, thank you, thank you for your kind wishes about John. All your thoughts, your words, your experiences. How kind you are to care for us. The funeral is November 14th in the Buxton Church...named for his family. Indeed, John oversaw the re-forging of the bells for the church. We saw the foundry, in Whitechapel.
We want you to know your presence has made a very real difference to us. surprising since I have met so few of you, and even those I don't know intimately. And yet there was real comfort I felt from you. As did Michael. I think it was the blessing of knowing we were not alone. How powerful community is. Belonging.
Wednesday, 4 November 2009
John
bright sunny morning, giving way to driving rain in mid-afternoon, but clearing again
We got the call at 8:30 last night that John had died an hour earlier. Very, very peaceful. Asleep. Moira holding his hand. We called and spoke to Moira and John's daughter Joce (Michael's Goddaughter). Everyone exhausted. And sad. But also relieved he is free.
We feel we'd already said goodbye, and so this parting felt almost a formality. Not the crashing grief of a sudden death. And having seen him it was clear he was ready. As many of you have said too - knowing we did everything we could, that there are no regrets, is terribly important. I think it's regrets that get up out of the ground and start following us. We're haunted by them.
I also want to say, again,what a comfort your messages are and have been. thank you.
Michael is doing well. Difficult last night, but increasingly better as today has worn on.
A relief, really. I feel a little badly admitting it, but it's the truth. Thanks for being there, not just for the happy celebrations, but the 'thin' times too.
We got the call at 8:30 last night that John had died an hour earlier. Very, very peaceful. Asleep. Moira holding his hand. We called and spoke to Moira and John's daughter Joce (Michael's Goddaughter). Everyone exhausted. And sad. But also relieved he is free.
We feel we'd already said goodbye, and so this parting felt almost a formality. Not the crashing grief of a sudden death. And having seen him it was clear he was ready. As many of you have said too - knowing we did everything we could, that there are no regrets, is terribly important. I think it's regrets that get up out of the ground and start following us. We're haunted by them.
I also want to say, again,what a comfort your messages are and have been. thank you.
Michael is doing well. Difficult last night, but increasingly better as today has worn on.
A relief, really. I feel a little badly admitting it, but it's the truth. Thanks for being there, not just for the happy celebrations, but the 'thin' times too.
Tuesday, 3 November 2009
Ghost cookies and Afternoon Tea
driving rain in am, then clear skies, lovely evening - full moon, temps 14
Still very mild - except in the flat which managed to be quite cold! Last night I boiled up a couple of hot water bottles (we'd brought them from Canada - the first things we pack when coming to the UK, even in summer, are the hot water bottles and long underwear.) How yummy to lie in bed, reading The Times with a hot water bottle at the feet. And London outside our window. Actually, there were fireworks last night for a reason that escapes me. We looked to make sure they were fireworks and not something else...sure enough, burst of colour. At 11pm. Now, November 5th is Guy Faulkes day - commemorating a man who tried, and failed, to blow up the British Houses of Parliament centuries ago. The Brits do fireworks then - but that's a few days away. So we're baffled.
Had breakfast at home this morning...fruit...but couldn't figure out how to run the coffee machine. Very frustrating. So I brewed some tea and after breakfast while I settled down to edit Bury Your Dead Michael went off and got us some coffees and the biggest pannetone I've ever seen. he says it followed him home from a bakery on the King's Road, but I don't think I believe him. But we took it in and it has found a good, though temporary, home with us.
Bury Your Dead in manuscript form on my laptop is 500 pages (it will be a lot less in book-form). So I've set a goal of 100 pages a day. We'll see how it goes. I've learned that I am very goal oriented and do much better if I set one. The downside to that is that I am also very competitive - with myself. So if I set a goal of 100 pages you know I will do 150. Actually, today I did about 105. Might possibly have done more but we wanted to visit Michael's sister Carol.
She and her husband David live just off Sloane Square which is about a 7 minute walk from us. Very fun to be this close. Carol, you might remember, had a serious operation on her spine three weeks ago...then they discovered she needed a pacemaker, then they discovered - in quite dramatic fashion - that she was allergic to morphine. they found this out when she started raving about Kevin Spacey being on the other side of the moon. What seemed most unlikely about that was David's conviction that she'd never heard of Kevin Spacey. She became - in David's words after the fact - a nutter for three days, then slowly regained herself. We can laugh about it now because she's home and on the mend and looking great...but it was scary at the time. Horrible.
So off we went to visit Carol and David...taking along a copy of The Brutal Telling, two bags of jelly beans (Carol's favorites) some chocolate for David and some gourmet meals. After visiting for a while we headed out. Miochael, dear one, had already bought me what they call here an 'oyster card'...it's actually just an ordinary credit card type thing, but for the transport system...you put money on it and swipe it when you get on a bus or the underground. When my wallet was stolen that was one of the things in it...my old oyster card. But we dropped by Peter Jones in Sloane Square to get a new wallet...then up the street to Harvey Nichols, since it was now 5pm and we hadn't yet had lunch. And Harvey Nichs has a wonderful, fun, Japanese suchi bar thing with a conveyor belt. Our idea of heaven. We sit there and like a Disney ride, small dishes of suchi and other Japanese food conveys by. Great fun.
Got there, though, and it was closed for renovations...so we plopped ourselves down and gave ourselves over to temptation in the 5th floor restaurant. Yet another Afternoon Tea...with cucumber sandwiches, crayfish sandwiches, ham and egg, scones with clotted cream, and tons of delicate pastries. It was bliss!
Then the long walk home. We could have hopped on a bus but after that we figured we needed to walk. With the time difference it gets dark really early...about 4:30...so it was pitch black 0 except for this wonderful, stunning, full moon.
How lovely it was to walk hand in hand with Michael through Knightsbridge and Chelsea - tummies full of Afternoon Tea - to our flat. And now we're home...a glass of ginger beer poured and The Times waiting.
Had a call from Rona - John's daughter-in-law. they'd hoped to get him into a hospice today, but he took a turn and now they dare not move him. Frankly, he has far exceeded expectations. the will to live is strong, as is his heart. Everytime they tell the family to say goodbye, John rallies. I remember when my father died the same thing happened. It became a bit of a joke in the family...a hobby...saying goodbye to Dad. That and the fact that since he died around Halloween (this time of year, of course) my brother Doug who was 10 was asked to go out and get cookies so we had something to offer people coming back to the house after the funeral. Doug - a nice lad but perhaps not very bright - bought cookies shaped like ghosts. This is also where the family rumour (started by Rob and me that night) that Doug is adopted comes from.
Tomorrow we plan to go to the Royal Academy - one of our favorite galleries in London - then I'm meeting my agent, Teresa at the Ritz. How fun is that?
Be well - and thank you for all your good wishes...one person described it as placing us in the Light. And John, of course. And now I return the favour - placing you in the light. With thanks.
Still very mild - except in the flat which managed to be quite cold! Last night I boiled up a couple of hot water bottles (we'd brought them from Canada - the first things we pack when coming to the UK, even in summer, are the hot water bottles and long underwear.) How yummy to lie in bed, reading The Times with a hot water bottle at the feet. And London outside our window. Actually, there were fireworks last night for a reason that escapes me. We looked to make sure they were fireworks and not something else...sure enough, burst of colour. At 11pm. Now, November 5th is Guy Faulkes day - commemorating a man who tried, and failed, to blow up the British Houses of Parliament centuries ago. The Brits do fireworks then - but that's a few days away. So we're baffled.
Had breakfast at home this morning...fruit...but couldn't figure out how to run the coffee machine. Very frustrating. So I brewed some tea and after breakfast while I settled down to edit Bury Your Dead Michael went off and got us some coffees and the biggest pannetone I've ever seen. he says it followed him home from a bakery on the King's Road, but I don't think I believe him. But we took it in and it has found a good, though temporary, home with us.
Bury Your Dead in manuscript form on my laptop is 500 pages (it will be a lot less in book-form). So I've set a goal of 100 pages a day. We'll see how it goes. I've learned that I am very goal oriented and do much better if I set one. The downside to that is that I am also very competitive - with myself. So if I set a goal of 100 pages you know I will do 150. Actually, today I did about 105. Might possibly have done more but we wanted to visit Michael's sister Carol.
She and her husband David live just off Sloane Square which is about a 7 minute walk from us. Very fun to be this close. Carol, you might remember, had a serious operation on her spine three weeks ago...then they discovered she needed a pacemaker, then they discovered - in quite dramatic fashion - that she was allergic to morphine. they found this out when she started raving about Kevin Spacey being on the other side of the moon. What seemed most unlikely about that was David's conviction that she'd never heard of Kevin Spacey. She became - in David's words after the fact - a nutter for three days, then slowly regained herself. We can laugh about it now because she's home and on the mend and looking great...but it was scary at the time. Horrible.
So off we went to visit Carol and David...taking along a copy of The Brutal Telling, two bags of jelly beans (Carol's favorites) some chocolate for David and some gourmet meals. After visiting for a while we headed out. Miochael, dear one, had already bought me what they call here an 'oyster card'...it's actually just an ordinary credit card type thing, but for the transport system...you put money on it and swipe it when you get on a bus or the underground. When my wallet was stolen that was one of the things in it...my old oyster card. But we dropped by Peter Jones in Sloane Square to get a new wallet...then up the street to Harvey Nichols, since it was now 5pm and we hadn't yet had lunch. And Harvey Nichs has a wonderful, fun, Japanese suchi bar thing with a conveyor belt. Our idea of heaven. We sit there and like a Disney ride, small dishes of suchi and other Japanese food conveys by. Great fun.
Got there, though, and it was closed for renovations...so we plopped ourselves down and gave ourselves over to temptation in the 5th floor restaurant. Yet another Afternoon Tea...with cucumber sandwiches, crayfish sandwiches, ham and egg, scones with clotted cream, and tons of delicate pastries. It was bliss!
Then the long walk home. We could have hopped on a bus but after that we figured we needed to walk. With the time difference it gets dark really early...about 4:30...so it was pitch black 0 except for this wonderful, stunning, full moon.
How lovely it was to walk hand in hand with Michael through Knightsbridge and Chelsea - tummies full of Afternoon Tea - to our flat. And now we're home...a glass of ginger beer poured and The Times waiting.
Had a call from Rona - John's daughter-in-law. they'd hoped to get him into a hospice today, but he took a turn and now they dare not move him. Frankly, he has far exceeded expectations. the will to live is strong, as is his heart. Everytime they tell the family to say goodbye, John rallies. I remember when my father died the same thing happened. It became a bit of a joke in the family...a hobby...saying goodbye to Dad. That and the fact that since he died around Halloween (this time of year, of course) my brother Doug who was 10 was asked to go out and get cookies so we had something to offer people coming back to the house after the funeral. Doug - a nice lad but perhaps not very bright - bought cookies shaped like ghosts. This is also where the family rumour (started by Rob and me that night) that Doug is adopted comes from.
Tomorrow we plan to go to the Royal Academy - one of our favorite galleries in London - then I'm meeting my agent, Teresa at the Ritz. How fun is that?
Be well - and thank you for all your good wishes...one person described it as placing us in the Light. And John, of course. And now I return the favour - placing you in the light. With thanks.
Monday, 2 November 2009
You've got to pick a pocket or two
sunny, mild, temps 17
Gorgeous day here in London. And a fun day. We're just off for tea at Harrods. bought two big bunches of tulips at a stall along the King's Road and they're now on the tablein front of me. wonderful flat we've rented in Chelsea. We're here until Saturday. Fabulous view...we're on the top floor...at night we see one of the bridges all lit up. And the sun just streams in.
Day didn't start out so great. I discovered my wallet had been stolen last night in the pub. Quite upsetting. But after scouring the flat and realizing it really was gone I called Visa and cancelled the credit and bank cards. Need to alert other places. But I was actually very lucky that there was absolutely no money in it. I hadn't yet put in British pounds...and I consider Michael my bank machine anyway, so as long as the pickpocket doesn't steal Michael, I'm fine.
Went along to the pub to make sure I hadn't just left it there by mistake, then off to the police station. They were polite, but clearly were not going to put a cordon around London. Stop the flights. Then we went and had a big hot chocolate at Starbucks. We go to a very specific one - again on the King's Road. We went to it, and sat upstairs looking out the windows, before Still Life was published...before I had an agent...just a dog-eared manuscript, filled with all my thoughts, my characters, my dreams. I remember sitting in that very Starbucks editing it. And so every time we're in London we return. Today I sat there with the editors notes for Book 6, reviewing them, thinking about them. Making my own notes.
Michael's sister Carol gets home from the hospital today...we're so looking forward to seeing here and hope to tomorrow. She had a serious spine operation and had a bad reaction to the medication. Went quite nutty, apparently...but is fine now. Thank God. We were very worried for a while. She's a really wonderful person. Very smart and very kind.
Off now, as I say, to tea at Harrods...our regular treat when first we arrive in London. I realize how much I like routine, and how rich a place becomes once I've established one. We went, for instance, to Tom's Kitchen off Chelsea Green, for breakfast this morning...another favorite place. I'm not very adventuruous. I find people and places I love and pretty much stick to them.
My needs are simple. Great friends, luxury surroundings, a husband-cum-bank machine. Yes...very humble life.
No word about John today. But will let you know. What lovely comments you have sent. Bless you.
Gorgeous day here in London. And a fun day. We're just off for tea at Harrods. bought two big bunches of tulips at a stall along the King's Road and they're now on the tablein front of me. wonderful flat we've rented in Chelsea. We're here until Saturday. Fabulous view...we're on the top floor...at night we see one of the bridges all lit up. And the sun just streams in.
Day didn't start out so great. I discovered my wallet had been stolen last night in the pub. Quite upsetting. But after scouring the flat and realizing it really was gone I called Visa and cancelled the credit and bank cards. Need to alert other places. But I was actually very lucky that there was absolutely no money in it. I hadn't yet put in British pounds...and I consider Michael my bank machine anyway, so as long as the pickpocket doesn't steal Michael, I'm fine.
Went along to the pub to make sure I hadn't just left it there by mistake, then off to the police station. They were polite, but clearly were not going to put a cordon around London. Stop the flights. Then we went and had a big hot chocolate at Starbucks. We go to a very specific one - again on the King's Road. We went to it, and sat upstairs looking out the windows, before Still Life was published...before I had an agent...just a dog-eared manuscript, filled with all my thoughts, my characters, my dreams. I remember sitting in that very Starbucks editing it. And so every time we're in London we return. Today I sat there with the editors notes for Book 6, reviewing them, thinking about them. Making my own notes.
Michael's sister Carol gets home from the hospital today...we're so looking forward to seeing here and hope to tomorrow. She had a serious spine operation and had a bad reaction to the medication. Went quite nutty, apparently...but is fine now. Thank God. We were very worried for a while. She's a really wonderful person. Very smart and very kind.
Off now, as I say, to tea at Harrods...our regular treat when first we arrive in London. I realize how much I like routine, and how rich a place becomes once I've established one. We went, for instance, to Tom's Kitchen off Chelsea Green, for breakfast this morning...another favorite place. I'm not very adventuruous. I find people and places I love and pretty much stick to them.
My needs are simple. Great friends, luxury surroundings, a husband-cum-bank machine. Yes...very humble life.
No word about John today. But will let you know. What lovely comments you have sent. Bless you.
Sunday, 1 November 2009
To love that well
gale blowing in am, clearing in PM
So much has happened since the last post. We're in London now. Just had dinner in a pub on the King's Road. Michael had a Sunday roast and I had fish and chips. We both had a ginger beer. And talked about the weekend.
We fell into bed Friday night - exhausted but feeling very calm. Slept extemely well and had a wonderful full English breakfast Saturday morning. Then off to John and Moira's. The place is called the Guildhall and is a Grade 1 listed timber frame home right beside the church. From there we went the 30 minutes to Norwich Hospital to see John. He'd been so well the day before the family, who had been planning to stay, had decided that maybe it was safe to leave on Sunday and come back mid-week if need be.
Saturday, though, found John exhausted. Still aware, but drifting in and out of sleep. Michael and Dick spent time with him. I went in briefly to say hello and kiss him. Then left the guys alone. We spent all morning in the waiting room as the family took turns sitting with John. Then we went to the cafeteria for lunch. After lunch it was time for Dick to say goodbye. He needed to head off. So he went up alone to be with John, say to goodbye in private. It was heartbreaking to see him, so dignified, back so straight, walking to the elevator to see his friend for the last time.
He came back down 15 minutes later and we all hugged and wished him a good trip. He's a lovely man, and a wonderful friend to both John and Michael. And too much of an Englishman to show his pain, though it was evident in the red eyes when he returned.
Then Dick left for the train station and we spent the rest of the afternoon at the hospital as the family and Michael rotated in and out of John's room. In late afternoon we were driven back to the bed and breakfast.
Saturday felt different than Friday. As though the air had been released. Deflated. the energy almost gone. It also felt as though the family was reaching the end of their rope...just hanging on. And while Michael and I felt loved and welcome, we also felt they didn't need to cook for us, and make pleasant conversation, drive us home. Besides, honestly, we were tired too.
So we picked up a couple of sandwiches and some softdrinks and cocooned back at the fabulous B&B - Camomile Cottage. I realized I mis-spelt it in the previous post. And perhaps just now too! And I haven't had the chance to read the comments from the previous post, but I will...and I am certain they are loving and kind and wise and caring. And I am sure I will be deeply comforted, as will Michael. Thank you.
Neither of us slept well last night. I could hear Michael crying and held him a few times, then realized when I did he stopped, only to start again. And I wondered if I was holding him, and comforting him, more for my sake than his. That his crying hurt me and I wanted it to stop. But perhaps, I thought, he should just cry. So I let him. But it was hard. sometimes I could hear him speaking to himself, mumbling, but I couldn't make out what he was saying. Prayers? Talking to God? To John?
Next morning I found out he was practicing what to say to John today, when it came his turn to say goodbye.
Eventually that time came, and of course, everything he'd planned and practiced went out the window and it was just the two of them sitting quietly, Michael holding John's hand.
they'd had a call from the hospital last night to say John was now in renal failure and he would soon slip into a coma, and die. He might have a day. Perhaps two.
When we arrived, he was awake. Agitated, but not in pain, and not frightened. Michael held his hand, then kissed him. And told him he loved him. Then he left.
And now we're in London. Tired and sad. But also grateful we came. And feeling we, mostly Michael, really has said goodbye. And it was time to go.
We've received many beautiful messages in the past few days. Many very personal, with people telling me about their own experiences, losing someone they loved. the agony of the anticipated grief. Those final moments. How hope shifts from long life, to painless, peaceful death. it never leaves, it just changes.
And Harry sent us these lines from Shakespeare's Sonnet 73
This thou perceivest, which makes they love more strong,
To love that well which thou must leave ere long.
So much has happened since the last post. We're in London now. Just had dinner in a pub on the King's Road. Michael had a Sunday roast and I had fish and chips. We both had a ginger beer. And talked about the weekend.
We fell into bed Friday night - exhausted but feeling very calm. Slept extemely well and had a wonderful full English breakfast Saturday morning. Then off to John and Moira's. The place is called the Guildhall and is a Grade 1 listed timber frame home right beside the church. From there we went the 30 minutes to Norwich Hospital to see John. He'd been so well the day before the family, who had been planning to stay, had decided that maybe it was safe to leave on Sunday and come back mid-week if need be.
Saturday, though, found John exhausted. Still aware, but drifting in and out of sleep. Michael and Dick spent time with him. I went in briefly to say hello and kiss him. Then left the guys alone. We spent all morning in the waiting room as the family took turns sitting with John. Then we went to the cafeteria for lunch. After lunch it was time for Dick to say goodbye. He needed to head off. So he went up alone to be with John, say to goodbye in private. It was heartbreaking to see him, so dignified, back so straight, walking to the elevator to see his friend for the last time.
He came back down 15 minutes later and we all hugged and wished him a good trip. He's a lovely man, and a wonderful friend to both John and Michael. And too much of an Englishman to show his pain, though it was evident in the red eyes when he returned.
Then Dick left for the train station and we spent the rest of the afternoon at the hospital as the family and Michael rotated in and out of John's room. In late afternoon we were driven back to the bed and breakfast.
Saturday felt different than Friday. As though the air had been released. Deflated. the energy almost gone. It also felt as though the family was reaching the end of their rope...just hanging on. And while Michael and I felt loved and welcome, we also felt they didn't need to cook for us, and make pleasant conversation, drive us home. Besides, honestly, we were tired too.
So we picked up a couple of sandwiches and some softdrinks and cocooned back at the fabulous B&B - Camomile Cottage. I realized I mis-spelt it in the previous post. And perhaps just now too! And I haven't had the chance to read the comments from the previous post, but I will...and I am certain they are loving and kind and wise and caring. And I am sure I will be deeply comforted, as will Michael. Thank you.
Neither of us slept well last night. I could hear Michael crying and held him a few times, then realized when I did he stopped, only to start again. And I wondered if I was holding him, and comforting him, more for my sake than his. That his crying hurt me and I wanted it to stop. But perhaps, I thought, he should just cry. So I let him. But it was hard. sometimes I could hear him speaking to himself, mumbling, but I couldn't make out what he was saying. Prayers? Talking to God? To John?
Next morning I found out he was practicing what to say to John today, when it came his turn to say goodbye.
Eventually that time came, and of course, everything he'd planned and practiced went out the window and it was just the two of them sitting quietly, Michael holding John's hand.
they'd had a call from the hospital last night to say John was now in renal failure and he would soon slip into a coma, and die. He might have a day. Perhaps two.
When we arrived, he was awake. Agitated, but not in pain, and not frightened. Michael held his hand, then kissed him. And told him he loved him. Then he left.
And now we're in London. Tired and sad. But also grateful we came. And feeling we, mostly Michael, really has said goodbye. And it was time to go.
We've received many beautiful messages in the past few days. Many very personal, with people telling me about their own experiences, losing someone they loved. the agony of the anticipated grief. Those final moments. How hope shifts from long life, to painless, peaceful death. it never leaves, it just changes.
And Harry sent us these lines from Shakespeare's Sonnet 73
This thou perceivest, which makes they love more strong,
To love that well which thou must leave ere long.
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