Away, kindness, embodied

Approximately-weekly news, #89

I have been away. I have had in my diary, for months, a date to spend time with friends celebrating my eldest goddaughter’s eighteenth birthday, and another to see my favourite band with another friend. I decided I would still go. To be honest, it wasn’t much of a decision: quite aside from being What Alan Would Have Wanted* it was what I wanted, maybe needed, too: time with trusted, loving friends; celebrations; different places.

Something I am trying to be mindful of right now is my somewhat limited capability in some** areas. On Wednesday, the driver behind at some traffic lights had to beep me because I hadn’t noticed the red turning green, and I scraped another car’s bumper in a car park a couple of weeks ago***. And so I decided against doing fifteen hours of driving over four days on hot and bothered roads, and booked trains. Which was quite expensive, but Safety First. The trains were air-conditioned (yay), but substantially delayed (boo), which meant could reclaim my fare (yay). This made me think of the Taoist parable of the farmer who lost his horse.

Anyway. I had a genuinely lovely time, punctuated by a couple of wobbles. Because this is the first time I’ve been away from home since BMB died, of course there came a time on the first evening**** when I wanted to call him. And of course I saw something in a shop that I would have bought for his birthday.

In Stamford, we discovered Ink and Ember, an absolutely gorgeous bookshop with community at its heart. The plan was to have a reading weekend - and we had all brought at least four books each, and two of us had a Kindle back-up - but by the time I left on Saturday afternoon we had been so busy chatting/drinking tea/mooching that we had yet to turn a page between us. Still, one of the many, many, many lovely things about books is that they wait for you.

I somehow failed to take any photos in Stamford, so here it is starring in the 1994 TV adaptation of ‘Middlemarch’. (aka the definitive and best adaptation of ‘Middlemarch’ and the foundation of my longstanding parasocial relationship with Rufus Sewell.*****)

Then it was off to stay with another friend. We saw Virginia Woolf’s Night and Day, which I really loved. It’s not a perfect film but I think it has a perfect heart, and WOW the acting, and I would very much like shoulder-of-mutton sleeves to come back into fashion now, please.

And then, on Sunday, we went to see my favourite band, Belle and Sebastian, in a woodland venue. Even before there was music, it felt glorious: blue sky, breeze, trees.

Of course, Belle and Sebastian were fabulous.

And there was a moment of - well, let’s call it magic. Obviously I was singing along to everything.****** But one song in particular (‘If you find yourself caught in love’) grabbed me with its energy and joy, and as I danced and belted out the words the loveliest thing happened. Just for those few moments, everything in me came back into alignment. And now I have typed that, it looks mad. Let me try to explain.

Ever since BMB died, I have been all out of whack. My body cannot seem to tell me when it’s tired or hungry. I cannot keep a grip on what day or time it is. My brain jumps from memory to thought to plan and then forgets all of them, or starts the same loop again. I have noticed that sometimes my speech stutters. I keep walking into things, because my (tenuous anyway) spatial awareness is all over the place.*******

But for the duration of that song, my voice was sure and strong. My body was 100% certain of where it was in space and time, and it knew exactly how it wanted to move, and that’s what it did. My mind was thinking only of the lyrics.

And as for my heart... For the last six weeks my poor, sad heart has ached and wept. Sometimes it has been as though I could feel it breaking, a jagged line across it. My heart has been so full of longing that there have been times it has felt too big to be contained in my body. At others, it has been so shrivelled with misery that it would have passed through my wedding ring with space to spare. But for the duration of that song, my heart was in my chest, comfortable, rhythmical, content.

For a mad moment I thought, maybe I have done the hardest bit of grieving now. Maybe now it gets easier. And of course, it isn’t that simple. But that song showed me some things that it’s not always easy to admit:

Happiness is possible. Grief can dance.

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This week’s permission:

You have permission to have another ice cream.

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Thank you for all of the birthday suggestions, which have been thoughtful and kind. I have bought a foot spa, and I will be writing myself a letter to open on my birthday next year, and in my new book there will be a Loraine and a Sophie, and we, my friends, know why. I have some gentle shenanigans planned for today and tomorrow. Because I will be 55, the most exciting of these is obviously choosing handles for my new kitchen. (The kitchen is another story. Maybe one for next week.)

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Some quick reminders, before I go:

• Bookings are open for autumn mentoring and edits: September is full, but there’s some availability in October and one slot in November. Take a look here and then message me for a no-obligation chat.

• The Lost For Words Bookshop Shop******** is open for business. Thank you to everyone who has bought themselves (or their bookish loved one) something, and sent me a photo. These make me very happy!

• Something else that makes me very happy is to talk books. If you’s like me to meet with your book group via Zoom, just reply to this message and we’ll make a plan.

Until next week, my friends, be well, stay cool, and love your loved ones with all of your heart.

Stephanie x

*I think we are going to have to invent WAWHW, to sit alongside BMB

**probably all

***I left a note with my number, and the other driver said it was a tiny scratch and not on the paintwork and not to worry, and I am adding this to my evidence file for Most People Are Good And Kind

****and the one after, and the one after

*****I will not be taking questions on the brilliance of the adaptation. We can chat about Rufus Sewell whenever you like.

******Obviously, I had revised, as I always do for a gig

*******do you see what I did there?

********we need a better name, I think