Seeing the Real You at Last

 
Seeing The Real You At Last
 
today I have a glimpse of the real you at last
“we know a song about that”
(sorry Bob) in my grief
 
today you are present in that way
that dead people have
when they have got into your soul
and I comprehend the hugeness of it all
 
I hear myself reeling off
“my partner died, then Covid struck,
then I broke my shoulder, then …”
as if bereavement was a small thing
(but it is vast)
 
and at last I allow myself to consider
what my therapist would have asked,
(she, the wise woman who questioned ‘accidents’)
 
and I see, really see in that
bone-deep, mind-expanding way
 
that my lack of attention before I tripped,
“doing marvellously” when I had Covid
(the first and second time)
and generally carrying on
stoically
 
yes, stoic(ally), that thing
I never am and wouldn’t do me any good
(and hasn’t)
 
I carried on stoically,
believing I was still doing really well considering
but putting off the day
 
pointlessly, painfully, but somehow
always knowing the day would come
 
when I see the real you at last
(again) and have to grieve

 

 

 

Vulnerability

This poem is dedicated to all those who grieve, some of whom are not able to speak out about how they feel.  This is for you.



Vulnerability



Thin as the best tissue paper

clear, bright colours

salmon, startling red, pink, and white.

The white ones are first -

tiny but perfect circles;

I have never seen geranium petals

attacked like this before.



Late-season butterflies

which always seem so strong

still flutter by early autumn flowers

dodging away at high speed

when I come close;

they have war-wounded wings

with bites taken out.



My Westie thought

he was a mastiff

till he stood on a wasp

amongst windfall pears

and hobbled around

holding his wounded paw aloft,

an uncomprehending puppy again.



All exhibiting their vulnerability

for us to see

and remark on.



Mine is hidden.



We all think I'm a strong person

we all know I am dealing with a lot

we are all impressed with how

I am organising and getting through

my life and its many troubles;

we know it is hard.



But inside I ache

I weep

I grieve

I long

for a comforting cuddle

from my Mum

from my Dad

from my Mike

and actually from anyone

which I'll never have again.



This is my

hidden

hitherto unspoken

vulnerability.

Death and Love

 

Death and Love

 
waiting for his death
which will be any day now
I have been expecting it
and to feel finally defeated
 
a sort of
untouchable
who shouldn’t love again
too many bereavements
 
contaminated
depleted
finally abandoned
undeserving of love.
 
Then
I have a sudden insight
 
I should love more people
not fewer
I should know
and get to know
more
 
anyone
on my wavelength
the same humour
music food
understanding
 
then when there are other
deaths
as there will be
I will still have
 
people to love
who love me.
 

How does time do that?

How does time do that?  It speeds up as we get older.  Time we're looking forward to seems a long way off and similarly wonderful times all too soon seem in the distant past.  Something we are dreading hurtles towards us and grief lingers for ever. 

For those of my generation, a reminder that the seventies is actually fifty years ago, not thirty.  Yes, I know.

This rather fluid way of regarding time can be helpful when we're recovering from something.  This year I have been continuing to suffer from post-viral fatigue, following a nasty bug in April 2019.  It has come and gone over the three years but I still view this as a single episode.  I've had post-viral fatigue in the past, more than ten years ago, and it went altogether, so I remain hopeful this time.

At the beginning of the year I decided that I was self-sabotaging my health as no sooner did one complaint recede another always took its place.  I decided that 2022 was going to be the year I addressed the problem and took various steps to do so, including visiting a new complementary therapist.  

"My goodness, isn't your hair lovely!" she said.  
Thank you, I'll be here all week.  

No, really, she was brilliant, just what I needed because amongst other things she practises kinesiology and that was the treatment which turned a corner for me more than thirty years ago.  I didn't need many treatments from her and I was well on the way.  

Since then ... well, since then I have continued to explain myself to people as to why I am restricted about how much I can do or when I can do it.  But if I think back to the beginning of the year I am doing so much more than I could then.  I can do more than I was doing three months ago, two months ago.  Of course there are still setbacks but life is so much richer than it was at the beginning of the year.

New work

 I have updated my website at last.  clothandclay.co.uk

The composite picture which is on the homepage is not new work, of course, but nevertheless it is a new picture and I hope conveys the several directions in which my work is going.
I have simplified the website greatly to reflect the simpler life I now have; the previous site was written ten years ago and updates were mostly additions rather then reductions.

I do have a mailing list, which these days is by email only.  If you are not on the mailing list and would like to be, please email me and I will add you.  I don't send out mails very often; they are more occasional newsletters, but I do send out to notify you of events such as exhibitions and open studios.  I have been quiet with my work lately, as most of us have with the pandemic, but hope to be a little noisier in future!

I'm taking part in a group exhibition in Lower Slaughter 20th - 26th April so am now busy making some new work.  The updated website was part one of that.  I'll be showing textiles, silver, other jewellery and greetings cards and am now working on new pieces within those categories.  More details will follow, on my website.

In other news, completion on my new house was quicker than expected but the work will take much longer, partly because builders are booked up until next year.  However, the house is still an exciting new project for me.  Planning with the architects, showing friends and relatives round the existing house and getting started on clearing unwanted trees from a boundary wall are the current stages.

I feel energised by needing to make new work to a deadline.  

New

 

My concept of a new year is not "out with the old, in with the new", it's more "build on the valuable old to create anew".  Nothing is wasted, one hopes.  This photograph of new blooms on my white cyclamen is a case in point.  Year after year I've failed to take photos of white flowers which look anything like what one sees.  I have much experience of what doesn't work!  What I had never tried before was allowing the flash to operate if it liked and he presto! that was the answer.

Our bad experiences happened and I don't believe in denying them.  That way they retain their proper place - bad experiences we have to learn to live with.  Burying things really doesn't help us learn anything.  Some experiences take a lot longer than others to learn to live with.

There is much for me to look forward to in 2022 and a great deal of it involves the new.  I have a sense of not just moving forward, but running forward (if only I were capable of running 😉). I hope to move house and as the autumn went on it dawned on me that I am really downsizing quite a bit.  Initially this was rather daunting but having decided to make a start by aiming to fill my grey bin completely every fortnight it has turned into something of a relief and even a pleasure.  By getting rid of stuff I somehow condense what is left so that it generates so many new ideas.

I am no longer a potter.  I don't think I anticipated this, but for the past two years it's been obvious that this is what I want.  I have fired everything, kept most of the last two firings of pots for myself and am selling everything else as usual.  The kit will also be sold, although I will be keeping tools and lustres and a few decorating colours so I can do some handbuilding work if I want.  I look back on my decades of being a potter with great pleasure, it's just that suddenly it was no longer what I wanted to do.  As an artist, I find myself moving into other things - silver jewellery, photography, mixed media work and of course still textiles.  It's a huge step but somehow so very positive.

The last year there have been many changes in my life because of losing both my parents, my entire family unit, within six weeks at the end of 2020.  What I'm experiencing, as well as the loss and change from what was, is those sudden shards of light which are sparks of ideas of new things on the horizon.  They are exciting.  Some of them have become clearer and are now actual plans, others are still waiting to be unpacked.

The new house (still in Stroud, of course) is a plan: we have exchanged contracts and completion is due mid-March.  Then there will be months of development, planning permission, and finally building and rebuilding and alterations.  As time goes on, the plan takes a clearer shape.

Life is good.  There are bad things in it for sure - somewhat ropey health, illness and problems for some of those close to me, the general situation with the pandemic, to mention a few.  But life is good.

Only one question remains - my alter ego has been known as the Purple Potter for decades.  Should I change it for something else?

Autumn has arrived - Memorial

The weather is now definitely autumnal.  I don't expect anything very different from now on: we seem to have settled into a normal weather pattern.

I approach the season of death anniversaries:  16th October last year, my father; 2nd October 2013, my friend Candice;  8th November 2014, Mike3; 28th November last year my mother.

I'm not sure quite what to expect this year!

On 29th September we finally had the memorial service for my mum and dad, in the church where they had been parishioners for many years.  I'm so pleased with how it went: many of my cousins came and several of their friends and fellow-parishioners and I read out a tribute I'd written.  I'm particularly pleased about the tribute.  One friend wrote to me afterwards, "... especially your tribute which was warm, loving and humorous, capturing their essential selves perfectly."  

For those who are interested, here it is in full. 

Thank you all so much for coming to remember Leslie and Anthea.  We had funerals for each of them a short while after they died, of course, but at that point we weren’t allowed to sing and when Dad died, Mum said we should have a memorial service once we were allowed to sing.  I was able to ask her about it when we spoke on the phone for the last time (when she was in hospital) and she said it would be “most suitable” to have one memorial service for both of them together.

Mum had been a dancer when she was young. She got quite far in formal ballet dancing, dancing on points, but had to give up when she suffered an injury.  Dad had always enjoyed dancing too and they met at Scottish country dancing in Catterick.  They always loved to dance together as long as they were able and the slightly comic photo on the back page of the service sheet shows this.  Dad, in particular, loved the New Year’s Day concert from Vienna and the recessional music is some pieces from those concerts. 

The readings I’ve chosen speak of love and friendship and both say so much to me about the sort of people Mum and Dad were and the marriage they had.  Friendship in the wider sense too was so much a part of what made them what they were, and they made many lasting friendships throughout their lives. They were cheerful people, stoical in adversity, and I couldn’t have wished for better, less selfish parents.  I was so pleased that as they grew older they welcomed my gradually making more decisions for them and I was able to make sure they stayed in their own home and were well cared for during the last three years of their lives.  Special thanks go to Lily and Sharlene, who were their main carers during that time.

Mum and Dad were also both known for their sense of humour and I remember many times when the three of us were helpless with laughter.  Mum had started inventing words from the age of about three and by the time they were married, Dad said they should pin a note to the front door saying, “English also spoken”.  When Dad died I was struck by how many people mentioned that he was such good company, particularly because of his funny stories.

Mum came from a background of entertaining large numbers of friends at Christmas and other occasions and since they came to live in Caversham, Dad organised a large group of friends to attend concerts at the Hexagon, followed by a buffet prepared by Mum.  I’ve inherited their love of good company and a love of cooking and eating.  I’ve inherited Dad’s methodical mind and love of organising and making lists but I hope not his hoarding mentality.  Who needs three broken telephones that had been replaced by working models?  Or two boxes full of old 3-pin plugs which “might come in handy” for new appliances, which of course come with their own plugs these days.  Mum did hoard in her way but in her latter years periodically went through things and had a big clearout of all the clothes, shoes and bags she was never going to use again.  Dave and Jean, who took the remaining things to charity shops for me, might be surprised to learn they had already been whittled down so much.  Mum really loved to dress up and in her everyday life took care with colour co-ordination even towards the end of her life.  I have certainly inherited that from her.  She liked my purple hair and even Dad was getting used to it.

I obviously inherited some of my artistic flair from Mum but Dad too could paint.  He rarely did so though and even then had a rather more rule-driven technique about such things as perspective, distance, colour mixing and so on.  But he was a rather good cabinet maker and I was really pleased that the people buying their house want to keep one of the pieces of furniture he made.  Both Mum and Dad were practical people and when Dad was 55 and retiring from the army he qualified to go on a resettlement course.  They both went on a building course and learnt everything from bricklaying to painting.  I think Dad was quite an irritant when their house in Picton Way was being built as he could nip up in his lunch hour and inform them that they were using the bricks the wrong way up.  I’ve always indulged in DIY too and of course both Mum and Dad loved gardening and I’ve inherited that as well.

They were intelligent, interesting and interested people.  They were avid quiz watchers, though they never took part in any.  They watched crime dramas, documentaries and wildlife programmes but never soaps, though amazingly Mum still seemed to know things about the main characters in them.  They loved music, opera and ballet and enjoyed the theatre too.  They also loved animals, though after owning one very wild kitten in Germany and one dog in Malaya, I was never allowed to have either again.  They didn’t want any ties, but both really loved the two dogs I had as an adult and often spoke about Ralph, the West Highland Terrier, years after he had died.

Mum and Dad were married for 69 years, with Dad surviving the anniversary by a couple of weeks and Mum by six more.  They were both very kind people and took care to express gratitude to those who showed kindness to them.  They were also modest and I’m sure would have been pleased to see so many here to remember them today.  

Go well, Leslie and Anthea.