القصة والدي

والدي اسمه ايان من  لندن ولكن ولد في مدينة بلجراد عام ١٩٣٧. 

في الحرب العالم ٢ ذحب ابي وجدتي على مدينة نيو يورك, لان عمتها او خالتها تريد ان الاستقبل في شقتها.

ابي يحب البحر والتصوير والطابخ والتجارة والسياسة والمسافرة.

درس التاريخ في الجامعة اكسفورد, وبعد ذلك عمل في بنك ناتيونال وستمنستر في ثو سيتي في الوسط لندن.

...

There, that's the story about my father. I think I will email a couple of people and ask them to add their own bits of text in the comments boxes down there. 

I could move onto my 4 grandparents next, one at a time.

My father's Italian photos

Well, there are ghostly bits of the pictures on the wall opposite, so these photos show more than I planned. Never mind. I am waiting for the other 2 pictures to arrive by email from my phone/camera.

There, all done. Slightly off centre and with glare from the ceiling lights. The actual photos on my wall are peaceful to have around, a permanent background to this house. Portable though: 'Picture and book remain' as Yeats wrote. I'd include 'rugs' or 'carpets' because they mean a lot to me too.

Between a film and a poetry workshop..

..I was able to phone my brother, father and mother. I leaned over a stone bridge in the sunshine, sat on a bench, sat on a wall, found a quiet street with another low wall to sit on. So lots f chatting and catching up until my phone ran out of power. I was probably speaking rather loudly but who cares, the traffic was doing its best to drown me out. My brother sounded as if he were underwater so w were repeating everything to eachother several times. I did say it would be better if we texted eachother.

My brother was on the Strand in London on his way to meeting a friend, my parents had just got back from a day of travel and excitement including lunch at The River Cottage. I asked my fatherctontell me exactly what they had eaten. The soup was celery with some little gooseberries included. My mother was on the sofa with her legs stretched out. I was with her when the phone died on me. I am sure she understood.

London - 3 - Driving home

After the big family dinner we eventually said all our goodbyes and I got into the back of the car. My mother always sits in the front passenger seat and my father in the driving seat on the right. I always used to sit on the left in the back.

As we drove back to Pimlico I could hear my parents discussing some plans for another dinner. They were almost arguing, one being bossy to the other, familiar uncomfortable frictions.

I just sat in the back uninvolved, able to look at the huge white facades of these London houses which we have driven past so very many times. It is like being in an endless rerun of the past with tiny variations.

The huge houses mean nothing to me though. We don't know who lives there, never will. They get cleaner in the boom times and may revert to the sad, dusty state they used to be in for years when they were just too big for anyone to maintain properly.

London morphs each time I go back, but I can barely see it in this area. The street lights are the same, so are the trees in the squares, the nearly empty pavements, the traffic lights and restaurants at the junctions.

Sofa time

My parents are watching tv. I can hear the little clinking noises my mother is making as she eats from a china plate. I am just surfing on their sofa and resting after a busy day.

My mother said that a family home ceases to be so once the parents are dead. Hmm, so spending time just being here on their sofa in their drawing room is the best thing I could do. I sat in their bed earlier and had a heart to heart with my mother. She gave me a jumper to wear and a fleece to have over me too.

Earlier I pinched my father's sheepskin coat to go out in, so that has seen loads of short films at the new Tate with me.

On the Millenium Bridge over to St Paul's I could see the Nat West tower, close to where my father, S and I used to work, and the fairy tale turrets of St James's, 2 tube stops from this house. Every way I looked I could see buildings from different parts of my life. Going by bus was the same, here where I joined a demonstration, there where the wedding reception was.

Christmas Pudding on Easter Day?

I am at my parents' house. We had a very important discussion this evening over dinner: the menu for Easter Day Lunch. My father has it all sorted out, but wanted to know whether Christmas Pudding might be too much or not. He is already preparing a delicious strawberry ice-cream.

We decided it would be way too much and not right for guests from outside our immediate family! But having it in the evening would be fantastic. We laughed so much as we said to each other that it is clearly an old French custom to have such a thing for dinner. My mother's ancestry comes in very handy.

Shifting gears

It is a huge switch to drive back from a weekend of being with a large group. We were working together, chatting and eating together. Pruning, planting potatoes, doing things with wheelbarrows...

I found myself just sitting at home, half there and half elsewhere. I was by the phone, so after a bit I collected myself enough to call my parents and speak to them both.

I pay so much attention to their voices, listening for any changes, the slightest hint of something. Does this come from the years of working at Standard Life, hearing endless tales of woe from brokers and clients?

T is still out of the house. Being up here is no help as I need to be by the phone to get the call to go to the station to collect him.

Doing the same things - 3 line paragraphs

There is a reason for doing the same things. It is because it is slightly different each time. Just walking up and down stairs, opening and shutting the doors into different rooms is about doing it while I can. Every door makes a different sound. Some things only have a meaning later.

Walking around my parents' house waiting for my father to be ready to go somewhere. Really this meant looking at the tiles on the roof garden, thinking how my brother and I used to play there in the hot summers. We'd use the water hose and flood it! We let the pet rat explore there too.

Let's do a series of 3 line paragraphs:

My mother ran out of energy before lunch on Saturday, so we made the trip up the stairs to their bedroom. I had the privilege of taking off her surgical sandal and of putting the fleece blanket right over her. I pulled it up to her chin and wrapped it around her feet as she asked. Sweet moments.

My father is suffering with a horrible cough. He also flaked out in bed instead of having lunch. Even though they have such fancy food normally, they were grateful for half a banana each, bread and home made jam, plus tea. I hope they liked the spinach and garlic soup I made later.

My brother and I had such a laugh. I asked him for advice and told him more than I should have done. No more the wise older sister! We found a tapas bar and shared sardines and wine. The more we get to know each other the more there is to know.

I finally fall asleep properly after dawn. When my mother knocked on the door and tried to wake me up it was like all those times she'd tried to wake me when I was 19 or so. I was so asleep, but could hear her and felt vaguely guilty for not moving. She said later she'd just been able to see my hair!

Even though I have children and have adored the hopeless task of trying to wake them, I can't quite imagine that my mother also feels this. Yet why else would she, who can barely walk up the stairs, go right to the top of the house to find me, just to see my head while I am semi-conscious and motionless?

I tried making a cheese thing out of yoghurt overnight. They were game to try this and scoffed the lot for breakfast, asking me exactly how I'd made it. We tried to make up a name to give it. We put lots of pepper and pink Himalayan salt on it. I wasn't expecting them to be so enthusiastic.

After I said my goodbyes on the doorstep my mother started to go to the cafe across the road, so I wound up walking her over the road. Then I sat at a table in the sun to reserve it for her. Then when she asked, I gave her a big smile, 'Yes, of course I'd like a cappucino with you!!!' So much for leaving.

We have a new family phrase: 'We have got to get there before the Gloria.' My father said this as they finally climbed into the car to go to church. I like being able to reach around and pull the seat belt out for my mother. She slots it in herself, but at least I have helped a bit.

All those photographs, listening and watching over 49 years

It takes a life
time's blindness to
see one's father.

from Cahoots
by Cid Corman

Moby - Why does my heart?

Recovery

My father I is doing very well. He is back home from hospital. He went to his favourite cafe this morning and was planning to go to the local library. My mother A sounds happy when I call her.

Books, glorious books!

To help my father recover I have been scouring his bookshelves to find easy and fun things for him. So far he has been broadening his mind with:

Memoirs of a foxhunting man - Sassoon
39 steps - Buchan
Wodehouse
Hornblower - Forrester
As I walked out one midsummer morning - Lee
(the one about living in Paris) - Hemingway

Hospital

My father I is in the Chelsea and Westminster hospital after an emergency appendix operation. I have come to stay with my mother A to help out. We make food in the morning, go over what symptoms we are concerned about and take food with us in the afternoon. We see the cycles of alertness and tiredness and are getting to know the staff and other patients.

As always happens there are other family events causing all sorts of emotions at exactly the same time. Also big plans for an event in Scotland which is *very important* and requires family members to wear special formal clothing.

And, as also always happens, awkward questions about why this? and why that? to do with my children T and H. So my energy levels slump further. Mind you reading other people's blogs is such a treat, those beautiful photos, those glimpses of loveliness and order and experimentation. Familiar voices in words.

Graciousness has deserted me, I do a nodding dog impression to stave off critical conversations and still land up in fearsome rows. Yesterday's was about suggesting to a relative that she wear a seat belt in the back seat of a car.

Without the reassurance and good humour from my children T and H family life becomes more threatening and alarming.

This is where a pet cat comes in handy, they purr, eat food and walk by themselves. Best of all they have no unrealistic expectations at all. And there is no cat here or at home either. We watered the tomato plants on the balcony, next best thing I suppose.

I'm sure living in a convent/monastery is like this all the time, constant waves of those parts of life you just can't escape.

Anyway my father's tired smile is bright and lovely.

All kind comments gratefully received.

My parents came to visit

My father I is smiling, I had asked him to look serious, so he immediately started to laugh!
My mother A, also looking very smart as they had just been to a funeral of an old friend.
My mother A, flicking through a book of beautiful Caspar David Friedrich reproductions. There are some lovely drawings of boats at moorings, half the sails stowed away, the tender floating behind.

I introduced my mother to Facebook too. Now I need to introduce her to herself on this blog. Busy day! Lol!