Proud Kisses

Sunday 7th November

Day 200

I don’t want to but I’m going to have to shift the pussy cat off my knees, and replace him with my laptop which is sitting open and waiting for my words. I was hoping to avoid the call of the garden which needs some attention - some pruning and raking up of leaves. Cold spitting rain gave me the excuse to stay a bit longer in my Sunday bed with a bowl of porridge and Billy Collins poetry.

But now the sun is slanting through the bedroom blinds so I will go in search of that rake. I notice the pussy cat curled up on the duvet looks exactly like one of my husband’s clay models. It usually lives on top of the filing cabinet in his office but today it is relocated in a small town near by, with all his other creatures, in a long white room alongside his classmates creations.

Later I will carry plates of smoked salmon triangles and sesame cheese straws to this private view and toast my very talented husband with a glass of spiced mulled wine - and very proud kisses.

The Curiosity Gene

Saturday 6th November

Day 199

My father dips his chopsticks into the dish of deep fried king prawns swimming in a sauce of such sticky luminous orange that it offends my eyes. At his request, my sister and I are treating him to a day early ninety first birthday lunch at The Bird’s Nest - his favourite Chinese restaurant.

‘What’s the secret of your long life?’ I ask him.

He doesn’t hesitate.

‘Curiosity’, he says, ‘ and being interested in people.’

‘And believing you can change things - and doing something about it,’ I say.

Like planting a Peace Pole - and averting a war when it is uprooted.

I think this curiosity gene passed me by. But luckily I see it is thriving in his grandchildren.

Cake and Fireworks

Friday 5th November

Day 198

Lighting my way with a torch, I carry two stacked bowls of vegetable peelings and egg shells down to the compost bin at the bottom of the garden. The air is Florida warm on my face. The sky is misty with gunpowder smoke - it’s alive with bangs and whistles and raining showers of sparkling stars - blue and green and gold which die seconds later like melting snowflakes at midnight.

Back in the kitchen the scent of birthday cake welcomes me.Two round tins on the cooling tray giving up their warm coconut aroma. I’m not really surprised when they sink in the middle. As I tipped it in I thought the mixture was too batter thin for a sponge. Maybe they’ll be good for a trifle. I’ll need to whisk up something else tomorrow - possibly ginger - my father likes ginger.

It seems the fireworks will crackle and spurt all night. I’ll let the pussy cat stay crouched under our bed - his eyes as round wide as my flat cakes.

The Buddah

Thursday 4th November

Day 197

Since this morning when I first saw him, probably only a foot high, in the corner of my friend’s flower bed, his image has stayed with me, like a pebble rubbed smooth in my pocket. A robed, standing Buddha, tummy rounded, face crinkled with laughing, arms raised and open wide in unstinting welcome.

How clever to capture that kind of joy in a piece of grey resin.

Aubergine Earplugs

Wednesday 3rd November

Day 196

I forgot how shopping - especially in the loudness of other shoppers - makes my head buzz and drains my sap. I wasn’t sure about the two presents I bought and came back with a box of six drinking glasses that I wasn’t planning to get. I love their wide vase shape and heavy bottoms. I discover they are whisky glasses - but what’s in a name? I’m sure the water won’t mind. Foam earplugs for my father were on the list and I finally found those in B & Q - a small triumph.

At home I pack a roasting tray with chunks of red onions, peppers, courgettes and the last allotment aubergines and toss them around in a mixture of balsamic vinegar, mustard, olive oil and garlic. Their smokey scent fills the kitchen as I eat my late salad lunch watching the light leaving the sky, the wind tugging at the few remaining yellow leaves on the apple tree and a ring dove swinging from the bird feeder.

I’m wondering about the small wood louse that crawled out of the aubergine when I cut the end off, and skittered over the chopping board. How did it stay alive in the fridge for two weeks since we got back from America? Maybe cold doesn’t penetrate deep into aubergine flesh which is as spongey and snug as ear plugs.

Safe as Houses

Tuesday 2nd November

Day 195

The door bell rings at exactly 8.30 am. I knew it would - you can set your watch by our electrician. He shakes hands with me and then with my husband who’s eating toast and strawberry jam at the table. A nice firm handshake - old fashioned, courteous. He’s been sorting out our electrics for seven years.

While he’s fixing the dimmer switch in the kitchen, I lean against the sink with a cup of tea and listen to his stories. He had both his knees operated on four years ago and thought he’d never work again. Yesterday he walked seventeen miles on Dartmoor.

This afternoon when I arrive at my father’s he’s sitting at his round table in front of a chessboard - playing against himself. The room is in disarray with all the furniture pulled away from the walls. There is a man with a screwdriver in one hand and a plug in the other. He’s the handyman for the home and is checking all the electrical appliances comply with regulations - eighteen in my father’s case. While I cut up a melon, change the sheets, make a doctor’s appointment, I listen to his stories. He worked as an ambulance man for twenty five years. Then he fell off a ladder.

I like these men. I’m so grateful to them with their huge mysterious tool boxes and lengths of flex. And all that knowledge in their heads and in their finger tips. Keeping us safe in our houses.

Peaceful Soup

Monday 1st November

Day 194

Writing has slipped away from me today. I feel uninteresting and bored with myself.

If I write about soup maybe I’ll remember who I am.

At lunchtime I have five minutes to eat my bowl of coconutty lentil dhal, enhanced with last night’s left over veggies - broccoli and carrots cooked with crushed garlic - inspired by a mouth watering dish I ate in a restaurant in Boston on our last evening. I notice I don’t savour my soup when in my mind I’m already out of the door and on the way to my appointment. The hot flavours disappear on my tongue without me tasting them. Better to be hungry then and wait for a peaceful time to eat.

At 5.30 my father spoons his soup from a tray on his lap. It looks like Heinz Tomato with a little bowl of deep fried croutons - which he loves. I tuck a tea-towel under his chin to catch any drips.

‘I’m supposed to be an invalid,’ he says cheerfully.

I say he should keep pretending and then he can have supper in his room again tomorrow. Take a break from eating with all the other residents around the table in the dining room which can be an ordeal for him sometimes. All that shouting to be heard and listening to trivia.

Not very peaceful for the digestion.