rockchicks

I don’t dwell in the past…
I’m all up to date…
and
I rock and I roll with the times…

I pay my taxes just like anyone else, my bills and my mortgage, for dancing and singing, for yoga, pilates, send the kids off to Welcombe to do a quick course at the Yarner to get them out of my hair for the day, take Billy to Golf and they come back so happy at the end of the day that I feel great guilt! And have done nothing at all that was wrong…

Jess has made a felt flower and Tom brings a panel made of red glass and yellow all set in lead like a small window to hang in the hall so it might catch the sun, a plaster on his finger but he had survived it and he loved it all, he’ll go again soon, is what he said and so too will Jess, it’s bee keeping next…

Must quickly check e-mails and facebook and twitter, load pics up to Flikr and work Photoshop for a bit, check the history on the puter to see where they’ve been, lol…

…and…

…then do lunch with the ladies, The White Hart's the in place, is where everyone goes now to lunch on the yummies that the Dutchman’s prepared.

Such an artist he is in the kitchen and out and he bakes all his own bread, tasty morsels to tempt you. Clear golden soups with lovage and chives and his choc tart is divine, the coffee amazing , all made with a glint in his eye and to die for and he comes in at the end to see if he’s passed…with not even a pearl drop of sweat on his brow…

…we all nod and we smile, we could hug him in turn, we would hug him in turn if we could…and he knows that we would and disappears happy, knows he’s excelled and succeeded and offers a treat to each one of a chocolate praline or perhaps a little liqueur?

Oh, ladies that lunch do so very much more… and they remember the past and how it all was…the excitement on Fridays when you’d get ready to go out for the night...you never knew whom you would meet…the twist was the thing then with Elvis and Chubby….we wore mini skirts and the sack was the rage…we teased up our hair in a beehive, wore lipstick, Pink Icing, and eau de cologne...Tweed was my favourite and Sandalwood too. Wore Tweed for Jimmy and Sandal for Jack and I alternated every week. Not that we ever stuck just to one…there was lovely Larry with his blond hair and a quiff combed back with Brylcream, black haired Brucie who was ever so shy but a mean dancer…there was Melvin who’s Mum had seen God and Chuck who now sported a DA, very chic, crepe sole shoes of blue suede and he rocked, jacket with a black velvet collar. I loved little David the best and Swiss Pauli who wore lipstick and dressed up in girl’s clothes. We even smoked a cigarette or two and the silver holder Mum no longer wanted looked ever so cool, is what everyone said…I wore white winkle picker heels or the blue T-straps and liked to wear dark tan stockings as if my legs were brown. We went for a giggle, and had lots of fun, teased the boys something awful and ate chips with salt and vinegar wrapped in the Daily Mail on the way home on the bus and sometimes mushy peas as well…we had to be home by twelve at the latest and had to make sure of the bus…as a Dad would be waiting at our stop to walk us all home…they took it in turns, our Dads, to make sure we were safe in the dark and alone in our beds…they’d carry our handbags and often our shoes as our feet were so tired from dancing…Joni Mitchell was in, Annie Murray, Bob Dylan and on her guitar played Joan Baez to free us…and Twiggie who did…

The Dutchman will never know about this, and why we all like him so much…he is all the loves we never dared to love, does all that and each of us to dream her dream, and reminisce together… we still are all friends, know who was with whom behind the shed then for a chat, had not moved away at all and still together to this day…and all too soon it is the time to leave, to pay the bill and go…back to the present to pick up the kids, make tea for the golfer, then pour him a G, lol, learned the shortcuts of speak, to understand what they said, get back to the ironing, the washing, feed cats and the dog, water the cactus, prune roses and bushes and pull out some weeds and make sure all the letters had gone to the post to pay all the bills, the new yoga subscription, the lessons for riding….then think of the shopping at Tesco…and think of the tennis at the Tarka next month…braces for teeth and the clinic for Jess…so you see that I rock and I roll with the times…

…and…
…that I’m all up to date…
…I don’t dwell in the past…

one day

I see you…
I see you still…running, climbing , dancing, …
I hear you…
I hear you still…laughing , crying, mourning…
I feel you…
I feel you still…touching, holding…your hand in mine…
I taste you…
I taste you still…holding you tight…taste the salt of your tears…
I smell you…
I smell you still…through the seasons of years…
I remember you…
remember

your spring
and
your summer
your autumn
and
your first winter snow

and

…one day…

you will stop…
…take the time
and
remember the one who held you
and
who soothed
and
who
helped
you
to
grow
.
.

in the moment

in the moment

sometimes it’s not easy what to think…
sometimes it is hard to catch a thought…
and
sometimes it’s best not to think
at
all…

you’re swept along with what is in the moment, when the phone rings or the lawnmower growls, do-it-yourself hammers, dog snores, breakfast, lunch and dinner, cobwebs when the sun shines, dust in the corners, un-ironed washing mountains, socks that might be darned and windows that need cleaning…

…so what’s with the memories?
sometimes they catch up with you…
sometimes they paint pictures of the past…
and
sometimes it is good to sit
and
think…

…we were a good bunch, the children of the 40s. Not all of them are left now, some died or have lost touch but those who are, are loyal still and safe in one anothers’ company in spite of aches and pains and some complaints… like Ellie’s knees and Elsa’s back, Mathew’s bladder, Rowans’s nose and Rita’s problem with her weight…we haven’t had it easy really, the in-between kids that we were, war babies they called us then and that is why we have so many problems with our health. It’s not as though we had been fed well when we were small, there wasn’t much to give us and to build us with…the fittest lived, the weak ones died. That’s how it was and the tears that sent them to their graves had to be put on hold and had to wait until all the battles had been fought. Flower children we became and hippies and we loved one another, gave each other daisies but not sex…that was another generation, that was for the beatniks. We were children of the 40s, a good bunch, really, the children of the war, the in-betweens.

…sometimes it is good to sit and wonder…
…of what became of all the others…
…sometimes it is right to ponder…
… what of their fathers and their mothers…

…Ellie’s china doll and Elsa’s dog, Mathew’s ginger tom and Rowan’s stamp collection…Rita and her love for sugared almonds…and what of me who cannot think so well these days…

…best not to when it is like that…
...best leave it as it is and has become…
and simply just to sit
and dream
and
let
the
sun
warm your soul…

home remedies

pee on it
my Grandma said.
Grandma’s grandma told her that.
just
pee on it.

And with a shiver down my back in disgust I did, I peed on my chilblain in the bath. We didn’t have a potty I could dip my toe into so the bath would have to do and it worked very well. It stopped itching almost straight away and it was gone before I could think much more about it. The old folk had their remedies and a way of life we’d no idea of.

They had sex not different from us, just attitudes that were not quite the same, ideas were other and though life could be tough in 1800 Grandma’s grandma who knew about sex and bringing up children she knew about cures and herbs and what to do when a girl had been too young for sex.

Grandma’s grandma’s kitchen was something to behold when you came in. There were bottles on the kitchen table, bottles for this and bottles for that with yellow liquids or brown, essence of nettles and nettles in bunches, lavender and syrup of figs that she had made, jars of honey and pickles and herbs and dried ginger. Grandma’s grandma always knew what to do for what and anyone ailing or sad or sick would pay her a visit and leave a gift for her on the table before leaving for home, refreshed and nurtured, Grandma’s grandma had time for all who came to her door.

When Grandma’s grandma sat Grandma on her lap she talked to her about cures and whispered all her secrets in her ear. The walked hand-in-hand together when chores were completed. She looked out for Grandma when her mum was out working. They walked in the garden, picked daisies and made daisy chains and hung them about their necks, made daisy earrings and looked for herbs to dry to put in the basket made of young willow by my Great-great Granddad.

He’d coppice the willow and used the thick rods for the fencing to keep the wind off the garden where he grew cabbage and carrots, the thinner ones to make baskets for the Manor and others to sell to put a bit by.

He’d died far too young, got the fever and Grandma’s Grandma could not help him and had watched him die. They starved him and they purged him and they cut his vein with a knife to bleed him till his lips went pale….and then they burnt all that was still in the cottage as was the practice with the fever and Grandma’s grandma had to build her life anew to help with sickness and with health, to help the old, to help the young, to birth or not to birth, to cure the cough and constipation, itchy scalps and fungus under toenails, toes and fingers plagued by chilblains… she had saved the jar with what Great-great Granddad had put by and she remembered what her mum had said to her…

Grandma’s grandma’s mum had said..
just pee on it…
Grandma’s grandma told her that.
my Grandma said…
pee on it…

when I was eight

when I was eight

there was a prison in our town
with
iron bars on the windows…

there was a man behind a window
and
he smiled.

He looked down from a height and he smiled. Sheer terror of the man behind the bars made me run across the cobbles, through the castle gate and along to the canal where I sat on the grass, caught my breath…how could a criminal smile! He was supposed to sit there in his cell, have only bread and water and be sorry. That’s what we were told…but smile? How could a bad man smile?

What had he done, I wondered then and could not imagine what he might have done that was so bad he had to be locked up.

there was a graveyard in our town
with
gravestones and with concrete angels…

there was a man behind a gravestone
and
he smiled.

He looked at me two graves away and smiled. Sheer terror of the man behind the gravestone made me run along the sandy paths. He wore a long grey coat. His smile slit his face, big teeth and his chin was black. My knees turned to jelly but I ran, I ran as fast as I could and a couple tending their grave with a rake and a bucket for weeds looked up as I ran and I ran through the cemetery arch where black plumed horses stopped to let a coffin out, ran along to the old moat of the town, through an alley and into the courtyard, through the back door of aunt’s summer kitchen where I was safe. He followed at first but I was too quick, I knew the way to safety and he had been seen. My chest was aching and my breathing hard, heart pounding… how could a bad man smile?

What had I done, I wondered, that he would smile and want to chase me?

there was a chaffinch in a tree
below
the prison window

there were bars in the window
and
we could hear the bird sing
and
the man
behind the window
smiled…

Not yet spring

I saw a lapwing today
I saw curlews
and
gulls
and
oystercatchers

The walk along the estuary did us good. It warmed us and lifted our spirits. The sun warm on our faces warmed our souls as well and we felt good. It felt as though we had been together forever, that we were an old couple and we were…at 70 we were an old couple…it’s just that we felt as young as we were when we first met…only we knew each other now….

We walked along and my hips ached a bit, I kicked at the last of the snow and made the catkins on the hazel wiggle…he walked beside me, held my arm linked under his very tight…he wore gloves…he was silent…and after a while we sat in the sun for a while…could not say whether to rest him or me or both of us…I leaned my head on his shoulder and we both clung to this moment as if to preserve it forever…and then we turned back, past the hide to a bench that was taken on our way out…. we sat there a moment or two.. the bench fairly new, well preserved and freshly painted. It was Pat Walter’s bench. Pat Walter who loved this place. That’s what it said on the little brass plaque…in memory of Pat Walter who loved this place and who died in 2008.

I wonder who she was.

She loved this place and she shared it with us and we could see why she did…love it.

That’s what we want too, when we are no more. The one who was left would erect a bench to sit on…in memory and in love and remembrance…in a place we both loved…

We walked on then, no longer in silence…we talked and we laughed and we dreamed like the youngsters we once were…a long time ago.

We saw oystercatchers
and
the curlews called
a wren flitted into the hedgerow
the sun warm on our faces
not yet spring…
we were happy,
he and I

Silence

I never knew that silence could be loud…
I never knew that it could speak…
I never knew it felt so good…

It was still very early and a gentle rain fell, clung to the thickening buds on the trees and began to lie in the dips of the pavement I was walking.

There was a sun rising above the grey and there the grey would be pinks and vibrant reds. The tarmac under my feet was grey too and patchy and I thought that deep beneath the grey that had been boiling tar and steamy, laid and rollered from man’s dream lay the soft earth and then the rock, glowing crystal and the molten centre of our earth, pulsing, living. I saw a meadow underneath the tarmac, lush where once a gentle rain had fallen as it did today, where buttercups had grown and a mole had lived and dug his tunnels, where butterflies had dried their wings in the sun after the rain.

I sat, quiet when I was home again and listened to the rain falling on the roof, heard it running and gurgling like a distant brook. Crows called in the distance, a robin sang its plaintive song. The wind changed its tune when it touched my window and my soul became one with the wind and the bird and the rain and the earth. There was silence and I was happy in it.

I know now just how good it feels…
I know now how it talks…
I know now how to listen…

and


…to…
…be…
…the…
…silence…