Another beautiful post from my blog friend Janelle in Tanzania. I was discussing her latest post with my brother last night and how wonderful it was….”she’s a much better writer than you” he said.
YES I KNOW THAT.
Here she is writing about the end of summer in her gorgeously evocative way.
I’m just jealous.
But feel I should share – her words are just too beautiful to now spread about.
——
“This life disappears only very quickly
Like something written in water with a stick.” – BUDDAH.
I’ve been rattling around the empty house, unfocused, nibbling on bacon, Bram’s pate, chocolate biscuits (in that order) withering (and wilting) into a bland but persistent white fear about upcoming responsibilities, my psychosis, my job, my future, about being a mother, a teacher, a grown up generally. The holidays are ending. And they were too good to be true. They glimmer around me like a retreating lightning storm at the rim of the hills. I can still smell the rain. I am sulking. I want them back, please thank you very much.
Eventually I settle onto the bed in the spare room with the Dalai Lama’s sage “Advice On Dying” if only to remind myself of the impermanence of all things (especially holidays), how important The Moment is and, although irritating, a virtuous mind. These pious reflections are sobering and enlightening but seem to unravel spectacularly around friends. And whisky. As I discovered on Monday morning after a particularly boozy Sunday lunch chez Julie and remembered we had cut my hair clean and quite remarkably off. To just below my ears. I staggered to the mirror, giddy with horror and a hangover from hell, to discover, with lashings of relief, I actually like it. It’s short. Very short. And square. Very square. In fact, a little too square as Louise sweetly pointed out last night.
It’s time for another chocolate biscuit. Winter is still here. The hills are tinder dry already, heralding a revoltingly dusty summer season around the corner, the white heat days when the dust overtakes your car. But for now, the jasmine is flowering and scenting the house, very delicately. There is sweetness to this in so many ways.
Still.
I want to go back to the magic forests of Meru, where the air is sweet and clean, where the Colobus’ eerie howls echo in the mist. I want to go swimming in the marble sea again under glass still Zanzibar mornings, swim out to the boat, into the sun. I don’t want to be here. I’m ready to trade in my horse. Call an ambulance. Or hide my horse. Play No Woman No Cry and turn the volume up at the “everythingsgonnabealrighteverythingsgonnabealright” bit. right. there you are.
These long quiet hours are taxing to the spirit as are the ghosts and Veronica’s fresh flowers in the old room. And capital letters.
“right. enough uf zat. rauss rauss!”( sound tracked to some eye watering Wagner.) sweaty German alter ego man steps in. or is it my dead mother? “there’s no blood. you’ll be ok. chin chin. toughen up. there are starving children in somalia and thank your lucky stars you’re not Syrian”.
there.
phew.
thank goodness for that then.
toodely toot, y’all. bisous X.X.X. flittery, faffy, frolicky ones x. j.
janelle
August 22, 2012oh i love your brother. can i marry him? … heh he… feel terribly flattered that you’ve posted this here lulu. gosh. . . THANK YOU. love and salaams, as always. x janelle
Family Affairs
August 22, 2012Sadly for you, he’s already married…..and so are you…..so there we go…..Lx
N xx
August 23, 2012Yes – but Janelle does have a landscape and atmosphere to inspire her wonderful words! It is hard to wax lyrical about the dying summer when you live a stone’s throw from the A205, under the Heathrow flight path in a house full of smelly teenagers! I guess we all need to spend more time in the park!
Family Affairs
August 23, 2012Yes, but she does have snakes and scorpions to put her off her concentration! Lx
Family Affairs
August 23, 2012ps … and smelly teenagers – and I don’t suppose they’re v different whether they are living in Africa or London! Lx