Few things summon my grandmother as reliably as the scent of roasting peppers. The stoop of her on the balcony, her hands hovering above the hotplate, tweaking and turning, sorting through the piles of Raw and Roasted. And then afterwards carefully dividing the roast peeled peppers into bags with twist ties, distributed throughout the freezer, so that there would be good things to eat when winter came.
My fingers sticky with discarded pepper skins, I think of her. Gloss over all the years of accumulated tragedy and aggravation and irritation and remember only small things. The worn fabric of her housedress. The fugitive strands of hair, always fleeing from the pins. The softness of her wrinkled skin. Her slow patient hands, all parchment and knots.
Relationships are rarely simple and this one was more gnarled and complex than most. Sometimes when you subtract the hurt and the words and the things which were never said, then these small shared rituals are what you are left with when you think about love.
August 19, 2009 – 5:04 am
Travelling to Montenegro. Offline until September. Back with proper material after that.
Today we embark on the final leg of the Road Trip (Washington DC to Chicago, via West Virginia, Ohio and Indiana) so proper posting will resume when I’m reunited with the loving arms of London internet on Sunday.
I would apologise for writing about Chicago before writing about Segment 1 of the road trip (Northern Illinois and Iowa) or my 29th birthday which I celebrated on the Mississipi with a boatful of Texan octagenerians, except that my rudementary set-up of phone and keyboard doesn’t let me post any pictures and also I’m thinking of pitching ‘lovable chaos’ as my brand.
Between the pouring lakefront sunlight and my blossoming anxiety, I’ve been up since 6am of Backward American Time despite Sheraton’s attempts to chain me to their incredibly comfortable beds. If the warm-up party last night was anything to go by, then having Z along may be the sanest decision I ever made since he was my one-man stylist/tech advisor/PR officer/Cheerleading band. Essentially Z is what I cling to in the absence of actual drugs/security blankets and when confronted with a roomful of people whom you’ve never met but who seem to know each other, with only a lone drink standing between you and hyperventilating in the bathroom, then having a Z on your side is like finding a mine of solid gold.
Such is the extent of my affection and gratitude that I’ve sworn the next time he drags me all over a foreign city in the Grail-Questlike pursuit of an acceptable resting place or restaurant, I shall follow him gaily and without complaint.
I am in America! It is great fun.
Proper words and pictures coming soon.
London life at its finest, there.
I love colours on walls, and painting the white wallpaper in our tiny spare room was the agreed testing ground for bolder projects. I first sketched out the design of the tree and raven in pencil, and then painted the sky (a combination of deep blue and purple tempera) and then the ground (ochre). Completely easy-peasy painless process , aside from the cramp in the biceps of my paint-applying arm. Originally I was going to add more detail to this – paint the tree and the raven – but now I quite like it the way it is (although I will jazz up the ground at some point).
Next project- painting skeleton leaves on a white duvet cover with fabric paints.
