First - thanks to those of you who have sent me emails asking me what's going on, why no blog.
The answer, it seems, is that I am working through some sort of communication crisis. Is this writer's block?
It is not because there haven't been lots of fun and interesting things happening - there was Edinburgh and Tarifa for changes of scenery; crazy madness at work, 18th birthdays, 17th birthdays (phew, home stretch!), exams. Even found time for some fabulous reads (Homecoming, The Reader, Pride and Prejudice - really only just read it, loved it too). Lots of films - The Young Victoria- so romantic, Wolverine - plotless (but then there's just Hugh!), State of Play, etc.
Van at Albert Hall was 'brill'. He was in good form. OK so what if we were late (who knew the trains were running 1.5 hours behind schedule due to track maintenance). Even though the usher couldn't find our seats, and the grumpy man's middle-aged wife fell asleep next to me - it was a very fun night out!
And Groove Brothers at Green's - girls' night out, with smuggled in Chinese, too much wine and just enough dancing - yes, a good night to remember! Note to Lesley: you must fix that outside light - as the key to the front door is so small, and mad giggling at 1:00 am is sure to upset the neighbours - LOL.
But how much of this is a distraction from things that shouldn't be thought about. Well, you know, sometimes it is just inappropriate to share what's going on: not everything should be said out loud (even if John Mayer says so!). Sometimes it is better to be silent while you let life wash over you like a tidal surge, pushing the boundaries of the sand and rocks that much further away.
Yes, I think quietness is especially essential when part of the entourage is an integral piece of the story, is indeed the reason for the silence, the answer to the 'why' of the self-inflicted exile.
Shockingly, to round off the bizarre, I've discovered gardening. The last month of sunshine have compelled me to tackle the wilds of my heart through the garden. With the help of my very competent horticultural neighbour, together we've exhumed stone-laid paths and meandering stepping stones, liberated the bluebells. There are new borders appearing, flowering cherries being planted, the apple tree is in full bloom, the mock orange is fragrant. At last, some of the former garden's glory is being restored.
But alas, outside the front door the ivy grows out of control. It is indeed taking over the front steps. Next to the creeping ivy and spiky rosemary you would think the smiling pansies struggle for a fair share of light. Both plants are formidable contenders, with their unchecked growth bursting out over the edges of the one terra cotta pot they share with the more delicate viola tricolours.
Surprisingly, despite the overcrowded conditions, my little field pansies have not been dulled one bit. They are in fact quite beautiful, sitting boldly amidst the greenery.
I feel like that sometimes: Entangled in ivy, overwhelmed by the height of the rosemary, yet quietly thriving, undaunted by the wilderness that has become my heart.
Crumbs.
