Sunday, December 27, 2009

"What kind of nose?"


On the morrow Wat and the Dog Boy were the firmest of friends. Their common experiences of being stoned by a mob and then sacrificed by cannibals served as a bond and a topic of reminiscence, as they lay among the dogs at night, for the rest of their lives; and, by the morning, they had both pulled of the noses which Merlyn had so kindly given them. They explained that they had got used to having no noses, now, and anyway they preferred to live with the dogs.
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The Sword in the Stone, T.H. White

Monday, December 21, 2009

My Grandmother

She kept an antique shop - or it kept her.
Among Apostle spoons and Bristol glass,
The faded silks, the heavy furniture,
She watched her own reflection in the brass
Salvers and silver bowls, as if to prove
Polish was all, there was no need of love.

And I remember how I once refused
To go out with her, since I was afraid.
It was perhaps a wish not to be used
Like antique objects. Though she never said
That she was hurt, I still could feel the guilt
Of that refusal, guessing how she felt.

Later, too frail to keep a shop, she put
All her best things in one narrow room.
The place smelt old, of things too long kept shut,
The smell of absences where shadows come
That can't be polished. There was nothing then
To give her own reflection back again.

And when she died I felt no grief at all,
Only the guilt of what I once refused.
I walked into her room among the tall
Sideboards and cupboards - things she never used
But needed; and no finger marks were there,
Only the new dust falling through the air.

Elizabeth Jennings

Sunday, December 20, 2009

Pea-Trapping Moustaches

This time as the obsessive clingfilm feeling comes over me, I think of myself as an archaeologist. Very, very slowly unearthing treasures and making progress bit by bit. Using the brush to dust fossils gently. Taking days to restore an underground artefact. It helps in packing my whole room, and not get all dizzy and ganchiong. I even slow down my movements, and remember to breathe deeply (not at dusty areas though). Things I saw today- lynn's note from the end of secondary four on how she will miss her lamb, sushilla's comments for a lit essay, madame butterfly shoved into a box wrongly labelled XJ's Movies, my special pens! (one of them has a radar you can use to eavesdrop on conversations, the other has balls and a hoop for playing miniature basketball), endless paintings the kiddos did on saturday nights, sparkly old jewelly purse i never used, giam3 cai3 fading paper of Starlight that Harris did in class. I was feeling hopeless and wondering why I was keeping everything when I realised why. It's because when I grow old and am a granny I will go back to my childhood and my past and take out all the artefacts and things and put them all around the house, and examine them and look at them everyday. I will be surrounded by all my young things when I get old. Diary pages could line the toilet walls, old purses used, toys displayed, nonsensical paintings that now have no space to be anywhere hung. It would be marvellous, not sad. It wouldn't be to hopelessly nostalgically indulge in old memories, but to...live in another way. Anything can feel different if you change the way you think about it. And now on, I think I can deal with my sentimental habits in a healthy way.

But something my mother said scared me a little. She said that when I get to her age, even a room will not be enough to hold everything that I keep. And that is possibly true. But I think that is ok. I will have a room, all organised, for everything. The walls could all be painted funny colours, and with different areas of the room for different times of my life. It would be like walking into memories. The Room of Memories!

Sunday, December 13, 2009