Although I arrived back last Saturday, my full return to
London has been gradual and a little reluctant in my mind. My foot is still
sore and has been keeping in me inside, where I have been working on necessary
stuff to wrap up what was achieved and decided in Timbuktu and Djenne. Darling
Kathy came over with groceries. I have seen people walking below in the street
carrying their Christmas trees, and today I decided to brave it and limped over
to the corner florist and bought myself a big tree.
I then went through the
time honoured traditions which must be re-enacted every year at the decoration
of the Christmas tree. This includes playing the Messiah and drinking Amontillado
while I turn my attention on each little decoration one by one before putting them on the tree. The most venerable of all is the little
green bell that comes from my grandmother’s home which I have been putting on nearly
all the Christmas trees of my life since I was able to walk; then come the red and grey Santas made from yarn with cotton
wool beards that I made with my mother as a child; there is the garland of
flags which I painted for a Christmas in the highlands of Papua New Guinea;
there are the 2 ‘Coeur de Lion’ small heart shaped Camembert lids which served
as nearly our only decorations on the tree that wonderful Christmas a long time
ago in the garret in Cambridge Gardens with Martin;
there is the long red bead
chain I picked from a tree in New Orleans (left over from Mardi Gras). And this
year there are the little angels made from old spray cans from Mali which join
the rest of this flotsam from my life.
Here we are, Keita and I, putting them
up for our last Christmas together in 2015.
Christmas is wonderful of course, but there is no denying that it can be bittersweet now and then for those who have lost someone close. I have lost Keita, I have lost the hotel. The new chapter has only just begun and its unknown course lies before me like the virgin pages of a new sketchbook.
Later: Oh! come on, Sophie, in that you are not so unique. Everybody else's future is made up from blank pages too. It is called the human condition.
Hurrah for the second series of the Crown! Off to J in a minute to blanket- watch the last episodes with wine and TV supper on our laps... Fabulous.
I really enjoyed your ornament tour—ornaments collected over a lifetime are a rich source of memories, aren’t they? We were also both amused by your closing lines, confessing to blanket-watching of The Crown. This appears to be a cross-Atlantic activity, as Josie and I huddled with our dinners before the TV to finish off the last three episodes before coming down to NYC (where our TV is so old and so little watched that we don’t remember how to make it work). Happy holidays to you and to all our mutual friends!
ReplyDeleteHello dear Susan, yes, it is very addictive and excellent- even our J- we know who I mean- who is a confirmed Republican (in the British sense only!)is hooked, and he and I enjoyed every minute of it last night. D is in Leipzig. Wishing you and Josie a very Happy Christmas and New Year!
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