I know it’s only February but I decided it was time for a bit of a clear out this week. Perhaps it was because I dropped Callum off at the airport Monday night that I had a hankering to go through all the boxes of photos he’d dumped in my loft space. Two huge binbags were filled up with out of focus or double prints, why on earth we kept them who knows but I now have a new-found appreciation for mobile phone cameras – you can download and delete. Hundreds of photos of people I don’t remember or of dogs I boarded names are long forgotten were tossed in the trash but then there were those that captured a moment at a wedding or on holiday that instantly take you back to that time. Somehow scrolling through your mobile phone just isn’t the same as looking through an album of slightly faded memories.
Aside from dusting off decades of historical memorabilia, I am slowly tapping the last few years onto the laptop. How do people find the time to get their books finished? As much as I have tried to schedule time for this masterpiece of literature, there always seems to be something else that needs my immediate attention or, I have to be honest, I’m just not in the mind-set to write. As much as looking through old photos can bring a sense of whimsy, recalling those early days as a widow is hard work. It’s not just that the memory side of one’s brain can be a little selective, it’s also because I sometimes feel I’m telling someone else’s story.
Thankfully, the weather has kept everything moving poolside. Denis and I went out and bought an array of bushes, trees and the odd rose to start landscaping. The lovely Lionel has done all the prep work for the terrace and once the concrete is dry, the beautiful wood planks will be laid. I can’t help but think the whole thing looks a bit like a gigantic tombstone at the moment which is not exactly what one wants to look at over coffee on the verandah. I know it’ll all look fabulous once finished and fenced in but it’s hard to picture when it looks like a mausoleum.
Next week I’m back off on the airport run again, only this time I’m driving 7 hours up North to Paris. After 8 months of French life, Salome is about to embark (no pun intended) for New York and her new life. Since her flight is early in the morning (why can’t I ever be at an airport at a halfway decent hour?) and I will have to kip up there overnight, Mumo suggested I take security with me. A girl alone and all that. Although a 36 kilo German Shepherd would be a useful deterrent, Arry isn’t exactly a calm passenger so I’m taking Neo instead who is quite partial to taking a bite or two out of an unsuspecting threat. Darling Denis is staying to look after the rest of the woofers which should keep them excited and him exhausted whilst Mum’s away. I just hope Sherman doesn’t get too upset over his sister’s departure but at least he will be happy I’ve left Arry behind and so will the rest of the drivers….
“What I like about photographs is that they capture a moment that’s gone forever, impossible to reproduce.” (Karl Lagerfeld)
Widow plus woofs 