Three Questions
On November 22, 2020 by Speranza
As November lurches to a close and we remain in Covid-19 lockdown mode, The General and I still marvel daily at how lucky and privileged we are to be able to hunker down without the added responsibility of entertaining (and educating) young children and maintaining a job. We also never lose sight of the luxury that is called having a door that opens into a back garden. I remain fascinated too by how long this has been going on and how we have been able to adjust to restrictions that would have been considered unfathomable only a year ago.
A New November
On November 10, 2020 by Speranza
Each year I dread November. As well as unconsciously shuffling through tightly compressed memories of my mother’s death (43 years ago) and all the associated bleakness both outside and within, I can hardly bear the early darkness that creeps in after a five o’clock sky, flecked with pink. I am flooded with memories of living in Britain and that particular deep reaching dampness that can only really be remedied with a large Scotch in a steaming bath. (And at seventeen, as now, I don’t even drink Scotch …)
Kitschy, Kitschy, Eeuw …
On July 19, 2020 by Speranza
I was recalling the 1960s “rec room” from my early childhood today and feeling a pang of empathy for that small girl, who was so proud of the questionable family touches that I felt sure elevated our home to another plateau of grooviness …
First, there was the purchase of a new Naugahyde couch, (“but what is a Nauga,” I questioned repeatedly, wondering what this unknown animal could be like.) The colour alone – a startling shade of Flaming Apricot – should have been the tip-off here and its slippery, unyielding cushions were as cold and rigid as a cemetery bench. But I loved it nonetheless and any rogue Cheeto dust remained undetected.
Panic without the Disco
On July 8, 2020 by Speranza
Once more a long time has passed since my last posting here but we are still in Covid mode, still trying to adjust to whatever the “new normal” (hate that phrase) brings. Not sure why there has been such a gap, but rather than using this pandemic time to learn a new language, or restore my body to its former Olympian glory (ha) I just don’t seem to have it in me to take on a project of any kind and writing has seemed futile and meaningless.
Sciatica City
On April 24, 2020 by Speranza
So, sciatica is a pain in the arse (literally) but when I first felt that familiar current of pain, like a key in a lock, exactly twelve hours after I had smugly completed an online fitness class (only Level 2, which was basically designed for a lazy octogenarian – I exaggerate, but not much) – I was feeling very sorry for myself indeed. What is it about back pain that can bring you to your emotional knees so quickly? Firstly, all those jokes that circulate about knowing you are middle aged when “you can put your back out reaching for a slice of pizza” are no longer remotely funny but instead, spirit crushingly depressing. The pain and tightness was so severe that I could not put my socks on – I was crying with the effort. My usual go-to’s all help -a bit- such as putting an ice pack down the back of my pants; taking Advil till the hour is more seemly for a glass of wine; stretching like a slow-motion Georgia O’Keefe every hour, on the hour; supporting myself against the shower wall like an upright Sphinx while blasts of scalding water hit my spine; and best of all, leaning deeply into a tiny tennis ball till the bright, exquisite pain/relief that comes from dissolving a pressure point kicks in. Then, for seven minutes, I can dance, leap and yes, put socks on.
But then repeat all of the above again and again.
