and on the penultimate day she sat,

surrounded by boxes, looking at the view

lemon bon-bons

just recently I've developed a bit of a thing for them

I don't munch the whole sweet, I just suck the fizzy bit on the outside; it's the equivalent - but opposite - of sucking the insides out of a sherbert lemon

if only there were an old fashioned corner shop that sold lemon sherbert powder, in paper bags, by the ounce. . .

everything is slightly topsy-turvy at the moment, as you could possibly imagine, so it's no surprise that I'm taking it out on some cheap confectionery

today I started sobbing twice, both occasions totally unexpectedly - the tears that refused to budge only a while ago flowing freely

do I feel any the better for it? I'm not sure. . .

and I going to miss being here? the view, yes; the sky, with certainty; the light, most definitely

to be honest, I'm trying not to think about it too much (not what I am going to miss, you understand, but the whole caboodle)

and the effect of that is that I can think of barely anything. . . (and I can't even express myself decently)

the juke-box in my head has almost ground to a halt again (hence the word ver providing this morning's "inspiration" - but then, that is what inspiration is! so why am I complaining?) and I'm also having trouble with my semantic recall: I put this down to stress (altho it's worryingly similar to the effects on my memory and brain function of the ECT sessions); I'm sure both the words and the songs will return sooner or later

in the meantime I'll just keep chatting away to myself, until I can work out what it is I want to say (and sing)

(but in my heart of hearts, I do know it is going to be alright. . . in the long run)

cold

I am and I have one

(isn't the English language marvellous - so many words that function* as verbs and nouns) (or, in the case of cold, an adjective as well as a noun) (*that's a kind of tortology, isn't it!) (to function and a function. . .)

last night a North wind was blowing as I sat shivering on the balcony enjoying the peace and stillness of the late evening: the sky was full of banks of dark clouds, strips of which were underlit by the vague glaze of the buildings in the city where people seem to care not a jot about their carbon footprints; the moon - two thirds full - was rising in the north east; the river - which had been the fullest at high tide that I've ever seen it here (due to the torrential rain waters from earlier in the week coming downstream, I imagine) - was a shimmering blackened strip, reflecting the reds and yellows and oranges and blues and whites of the ever shining lights of the buildings on its banks and the bridges which cross it at this point

it felt very very wintry and I craved a fireplace with a fire, crackling in a grate, that I could sit next to and be warmed by

The House has one - and in a few weeks I'll be back there. . .

I don't know how I feel about that, to be honest; altho, actually, whatever I feel I have to cope with - because I am going back at the end of the month; I have to have an MO for what to do in times of stress, so I don't cave in again. . .

. . . hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

but, that's not my present - my present is the start of a new week (see vicus, it didn't end, after all!) and this week's objective is to get to the Post Office and post two parcels that have been on the workspace in front of me for far toooooooooooooo long, and some early Christmas cards (you have been warned!) (they are so lovely I couldn't resist purchasing them a little ahead of time, but what is important is that I send the messages I've written on them - so it'll be a case of "not shooting the messenger", if you see what I mean)
.

wish me luck. . . please (and thank you)

I'll need it - the Post Office is way out of my comfort-zone!

and in the meantime,
you have a good day

OK?

a great one. . .

a river's tale

today it is one of wind and rain and storms
.

all coming from the north - wrapping themselves around the glass and the balcony of my eighth floor perch over the city

I've taken to smoking inside, just by one of the sliding doors (that was one of my favourite films ever! and I'd forgotten about it until now - thank you, river, for bringing it back to me)

this is NOT ALLOWED (the smoking inside) but I'm not telling, and I hope you don't squeal on me

now the heating is working, all I have to do is turn it up full blast and all the hot air it puffs just goes straight out of the balcony doors - along with my smoke - and altho I worry about my carbon footprint I have been doing this twice a day now for a couple of days (morning and evening, when I smoke my first and last cigarettes)

and I do worry about my carbon footprint - I know I ought to just put on a wind-cheater and go sit on the freezing balcony. . .

. . .but then I think that I kind of offset my footprint a little in my youth, when my parents could not afford to heat the house we lived in, and we did just put on extra jumpers in the winter. . .

. . .jumpers that my mother had knitted (more offsetting, especially since she bought English wool - no cheap or expensive fashion mass manufactured in foreign parts for me as a child/young teen) (she made most of my clothes, until I was old enough to buy my own with my babysitting money, too) (*shudders at the memory*)

my children, by comparison, don't know they've been born

if you see what I mean

I was brought up with tales of rationing during and after the war, few - if any - possessions: because my mother had had none and it didn't damage her (HA!) in anyway. . .

she was very frugal and thrifty: good qualities for me to draw on now in current conditions

no thing was wasted, no thing was taken for granted, every thing was treasured and cherished and valued, there was no excess and there was very very little waste

so why, if that was how I was brought up, and I suspect many people of my generation also, have so many people lost those qualities - and why have those qualities been derided over recent years

(that's not a question, so no need to answer)

all this is making me feel slightly guilty about my pre-xmas spending this week

is it alright to treat yourself, every now and again, I wonder

ho hum

someone asked me the other day what my vices were

I answered "smoking"

perhaps I ought to have added "xmas" to the list

ho hum

the wind continues blow from the north - I think I'll go and put (another) jumper on

still

it's that moment when the tide is on the turn*

(*from being out, to coming in) presumably the river is still flowing downstream, but there is nothing to indicate this on the surface of the water

the surface of the water is almost flat - a mirror-like sheen of reflecting light from the bright winter sun; the sky is clear blue sky and there is very very little wind (unlike the predictions of the forecast, which were for the onset of wintery weather)(perhaps that will come later)(or maybe this is the eye of the storm and I just haven't realised that)

I saw a programme at the weekend about Phil Spector and have the tune to River Deep, Mountain High buzzing around my head - there are no mountains, and the river is not that deep here, but around and around the tune goes anyhow; for some reason I'm also humming Always Take The Weather With You, by Crowded House (and the bluegrass song Blue Skies. . .)

I read the word pagan at the weekend, and the mornings here in The Tower often feel like that for me, because I'm up so high: face-to-face with the tree tops, and the sky, watching the sun rise, or the wind blow, as if I am part of an ancient rite of worship for a new day

and there we have it

it's a new day

to fill with activities and opportunities and the everyday necessities of life, and hopefully a good thing or two

I hope your day
has some good things in it

noise

it's NOT peaceful out there

angle-grinders, staple guns, hand saws, electric saws. . .

. . .too much traffic, too many sirens and too much honking of horns; too many planes and helicopters; far too frequent trains clattering over the bridge

I can barely hear the squawk of the seagulls above it all

the wind had dropped

at ground level anyway (and even eight floors up)

the clouds, which look like the ones a child might draw, are scudding across the sky, from the east to the west - so it must be windy up there

this morning the river is flowing, from the east to the west

the sun breaks out momentarily and everything I can see is either suddenly alight with the brightness or hidden in deep shadows

such a contrast

leaves, like butterflies on a kamikaze mission, flitter around in the air from the trees down to the ground - some land in the river and are washed seawards

there is a man, tall thin and stooped, who I watch everyday and sometimes walk past; his job is to empty the bins on the piazza; it is a daily ritual that I find painful to watch:

he walks towards a bin, then strides purposefully away; he turns and marches back to the bin and takes a key from the pocket of his coat (which he wears rain or shine, heat or no) and unlocks the top of the bin, which he then flings open; he walks away; he returns and takes out the black bin liner; he walks away with the bin liner and then empties it into a big black bag which he has put down somewhere else; he returns to the bin and wraps the liner around the lid; he walks away; he returns with a bucket of what I assume is disinfectant - he splashes the inside of the bin with handfuls of the liquid and then takes a step or two back and splashes the liquid from a distance at the lid of the bin; he walks towards the bin and wraps a cloth around the lid of the bin; he walks away and then returns; he puts the liner back in the bin and squeezes some liquid from the cloth into the replaced liner; he walks away again and then returns and closes the lid, which he then wipes with the cloth; he hurls more liquid at the bin, as if with a vengance; he walks away back to his bucket and the black bag and strides off purposefully again to the next bin on his rounds, where the ritual is repeated

when I walk past him as I come and go from the building he is always head down, muttering as he goes about his cleansing chores. . .

I hope his habits bring him comfort

I hope your day has moments of comfort

have a good one

*

POSTSCRIPT

how wrong I was about the wind! it is coming from the east, as I could tell by the clouds, and on the west facing balcony I must have been protected from it: as soon as I stepped foot outside the building, I was almost blown away - shame I didn't have my umbrella really. . .

POSTPOSTSCRIPT

I have to get my phone camera computer cable thingy sorted - I've just taken a photo using my mobile of the guy who is currently abseiling down the building, cleaning the glass. . . the colours are great: his safety helmet and straps are the same colour as the leaves on the trees eight floors down. . .

the view from the tower

.

last night at eleven thirty I saw
the most spectacular lightning storm over south London
- flashes and sparks in the sky
.

sheet lightning
..
horizontal lightning
. vertical lightning
.
today at lunchtime
there was the most wonderful thunderstorm
with rain so thick
you could barely see the other side of the river
. but you could hear the splashes!
.

this afternoon there were
clear blue skies and the sun beamed down


.
and right now I'm looking at a rainbow,
which is hovering just above The London Eye
.

marvellous!

.
nature and weather are stunning, eh

.

:-)

yesterday all my troubles

thundered down on me, as they had done the day before. . .

but something deep inside me (perhaps the need to drink coffee) made me venture out of the glass tower, to go to the corner shop to buy some milk

I crossed the path of the silver soft top (by total coincidence, and not one I would have planned if I'd known) exiting the underground parking. . .
.
(it really is very pucker here - who'd have thought it when XCH and I were penniless students all those years ago, from ordinary families, I never knew - because he never told me - that he aspired to this sort of thing) (or maybe he didn't then; perhaps he just kind of arrived here, with me sort of in tow along part of the journey, tied in his wake by the strings of one of my homemade aprons) (I used to do a very good line in homemade aprons - found some marvellous fabric dead cheap at IKEA of all places, and bought lots of wooden spoons; made child-size and adult size aprons and sold them with a wooden spoon in the pocket, all prettied up with ric-rac, at local xmas craft fairs) (I think the profit I made covered the cost of the petrol to IKEA and the few dozen times I had to drive around the North/South Circular to get there) (ho hum)

. . .with Mini-Teen in the front passenger seat (where I used to sit)

the experience made me feel very alone and very left out (whereas selling aprons to people who didn't know how to use a sewing machine gave me a strange sense of fulfilment, at the time)
.
on the way back from the corner shop, I passed a home furnishing store and - even tho this is not my home - I decided to spend a huge amount of money on new bedlinen (XCH's not only needed washing, cos I've slept in it for over a week now, but reminded me too much of our marriage and - strangely - Manhattan hotels); later I went back and bought some cushions and throw to jolly up his black leather bachelor sofa. . .

. . .then I rearranged his furniture (which I helped him choose, even tho we'd separated), so that all the seats are facing the view, instead of the tv and the games consoles

. . .then I rearranged his art work (all of which we'd bought together, when we were married), so I have the pictures hanging where I'd like to see them
.
. . .then I rearranged his what-used-to-be-garden-furniture (which I'd bought him as a present three summers ago, with the profits from my apron-and-other-hand-made-items-business), on the deck-cum-terrace-cum-patio that wraps itself around his sky high apartment, so I can sit comfortably at a table when I draw
.

then I drew little boats all day long,
in between drinking lots of coffee
and smoking far too many fags

.

then I was very sad for a while,
but not as sad as I'd been on Friday
and earlier on in the day

on Friday I was told that I will be here, alone,
for six months

but, each day as it comes, eh;
each morning, afternoon or evening;
each hour, each minute or second

thank you for spending
a few of yours with me

I enjoy your company
very much. . .

happy day, dear reader,
happy day

people of various sizes

so my POVS come over, one-by-one, for a visit

The Teen walks in and says: "it feels far more like home with all your things in it", after gazing about in quite an interested fashion, he smiles at me; we have a discussion about "belongings" versus "clutter", "homes" versus "houses" versus "hotels", personal freedom, liberty in general and the Geneva Convention. . .

The Teen will be fifteen in four weeks (he leaves soon after I feed him and give him some holiday pocket money)

:-)


Middle One walks in and says: "I love you, mum", he gives me a kiss on the cheek and then plugs himself into the xBox. . .

Middle One is twelve-and-a-half (he has stayed for two days so far; last night he actually turned off the dratted machine and suggested we watch a movie; we decided on The Belleville Rendezvous, which I can thoroughly recommend if you appreciate superlative animation, great music, and have an ear for the most beautiful tongue in the world - if you don't, it comes with sub-titles; he is currently still fast asleep)

:-)


Mini-Teen walks in and says: "I'm hot, tired and thirsty!", tosses her top on the floor, kicks off her shoes, goes to the freezer to find some ice, fills a glass with tap water (bottled water has a very environmentally unfriendly and personal kudos damaging carbon-footprint, apparently) and has a drink; she then gives me a huge bearcub-like hug and starts talking. . .

Mini-Teen (formerly known as Smallest Person) is ten (but will be eleven in two weeks) (no, there is no list, she only wants cash, thank you very much) (she didn't stop hugging and talking until she left a few hours later to go to the cinema with three of her friends)

:-)

beautiful rhythm

.
remember, a while ago,
when I was contemplating the life of a phoenix?
.
possibly not,
why should you recall all that I jabber on about?
.
(I was singing a different tune then)
.
well. . .

. . .the above is my new perch

it has very good views!
I hope you'll join me there

XXX

no room at the inn

so the NHS hasn't managed to come up trumps - there's no bed for me (and from what I've heard from reliable sources about the Local Loony Bin - this is a case of the pot calling the kettle black, I do apologise - this might be a VERY GOOD THING in disguise)

XCH's very generous medical insurance cover finally runs out tomorrow - they gave me two extra weeks gratis, I'm very grateful for what I've had

I'm not well enough to look after the children, they are safe and sound in the new house with XCH and a nanny - but I am determined that one day I will be
.

2 + 2 = 4
.

there are some things
you just can't fiddle. . .

..
I won't be out on the street, I won't be "home" (funny, I can't even remember living there for the two weeks that I apparently did) but I do have a stable

I'm alive
.

I'm thankful
.

I have a second chance at life
.
I'm going to try my hardest
in a relaxed manner
not to screw up again. . .
..

:-)