I Cannot Sing

There is so much I don't understand about my children. I wonder if my mother felt the same way. My daughter, for instance,  sometimes writes about her unhappy childhood and I am puzzled, even a little hurt. I pause here. This unhappiness could have nothing to do with me. Or it could. I think of her as a happy child.  We had such fun together. My happiest memories of my daughter are from our travels. We once took off just the two of us to meet friends in Italy. They left early and so we decided to have our own adventure. I let her decide on the destination. She wanted to go to Verona and visit Juliet's balcony. I remember her pulling her little suitcase behind, talking laughing sharing meals and beds. 

I think of my middle son as a little boy. He woke one day and told his dad about a dream he'd had. He was in a dark pit and all around him were screens showing the "bad" things he'd done. Rob laughed and asked what were these bad things and he said, "You don't expect me to tell you."

We all keep secrets.

My eldest son was especially reticent unless provoked. Once on a family vacation when we were trying to find activities that all three of our children would enjoy (difficult as they were four years apart), he said, "I do not appreciate your feeble attempts to make me happy."

Being a parent is the hardest job in the world.

I read this poem today by Edward Nathaniel Harleston and it reminded me of my mother and me.

I cannot sing, because when a child,  
   My mother often hushed me.  
The others she allowed to sing,  
   No matter what their melody. 

And since I’ve grown to manhood 
   All music I applaud,  
But have no voice for singing,  
   So I write my songs to God. 

I have ears and know the measures,  
   And I’ll write a song for you,  
But the world must do the singing  
   Of my sonnets old and new. 

Now tell me, world of music,  
   Why I cannot sing one song?  
Is it because my mother hushed me 
   And laughed when I was wrong?

Although I can write music,  
   And tell when harmony’s right,  
I will never sing better than when  
   My song was hushed one night. 

Fond mothers, always be careful;  
   Let the songs be poorly sung.  
To hush the child is cruel;  
   Let it sing while it is young.

I cannot say that I agree with this poem or that I even like it but it did evoke that time in my youth when I blamed my mother for everything. I didn't like her. I began an essay about her with a quote by Françoise Sagan:

"I continued to reflect that she was dangerous...she
prevented me from liking myself. I, who was so naturally
meant for happiness and gaiety, had been forced into
a world of self-criticism and guilty conscience... "

I spent thee years writing that essay about my mother. It was unbelievably painful but in the end, I understood where she was coming from and loved her. This turnabout still astonishes me.



           

Paris Adventure

(This was written for LeslieJane so if it sounds like an advertisement, it is.)

PARIS STRIKES

France has been hit by strikes and protests for the past six weeks, driven by anger over government plans to streamline the country’s complex pension system.

Getting around the city to view the collections for this fall and winter was difficult due to the strikes but thanks to Chris, the talented young photographer who joined the LESLIEJANE team for this adventure, we didn’t miss an appointment. 

Unfortunately our first appointment with Apuntab, was cancelled as their collection had not arrived from Italy so we walked to the “Pret Pour Partir” showroom where Xavier showed us his new urban rainwear. Several styles like the one shown here are made in his new “contrecolle coton jersey” that has an elegant twill finish.

With time to spare, I visited Tatiana at Manuelle Guibal’s Galerie Vivienne store and then caught the metro (one of the few running) to view Barbara Lang’s  fall collection. As elusive as ever, this wonderful designer will not allow pictures on the internet so you’ll have to wait until fall to see what’s new and exciting. 

The next day we had to take an Uber to Porte de Versailles.  Thank the heavens or rather Chris and his Citymapper app for always knowing which metro was working when (or not at all).

At La Fee Parisienne,  Lara the creator and designer of the most beautiful cashmere in the world (in our estimation) told us that she had spend over 1000 euros on taxis since the strike began. 

Soon we forgot our transit issues and were lost in her sumptuous cashmere. I even got Chris to try on one of her new scarves - rich colour on one side and muted on the other. Lara and I then did our usual cheesy shot and we were off to see Epice. 

Every season, this company that designs in Denmark and weaves in India, have a new theme. This falls, they celebrate their 40th anniversary, the circus and some very feminine florals. 

I must admit I have a special affection for Le Beret Francais: Nathalie (in the picture with me) loves to explain that every beret is hand-shaped using old-world methods. They come in an array of colours and are even made pint size for little folk. The company welcomed in the new year with a picture of my sweet grandson, Sebastian. 

Speaking of sweet (and more), Masa of Majestic Filatures was a great help in showing us Majestic’s  cotton cashmere and French terry collection. This company, begun in 1989, took the casual t-shirt and turned it into something extraordinary. Today, they make so much more than tees!

Our final appointment of the day was with Elemente Clemente who I’ve always admired for their great designs and ecological bent. I recently learnt that this German line has aligned itself with Jane Goodall so I spoke to Clemens Dörr, founder of Elemente Clemente about this alliance. He explained that his company has created a capsule collection  dedicated to Goodall’s environmental efforts. 

What can I tell you about the fall/winter collection? It’s a winner with many boiled wools (especially liked by our customers) and some of the colours are strong and vibrant - exactly what we need to brighten dreary winter days.

We finished just before 5:30 and raced for the metro as we knew the last train would depart at any minute. We made it just in time!

The next morning, we had a 8:30 appointment in the Marais so Chris picked me up in an Uber. Paris was quiet, only the street cleaners were about and so we made excellent time. 

We were lucky too in that the showroom was quiet and so we were able to view C.T. Plage, a Japanese knitwear design house without the usual crush. Severine lead us through the collection, more extensive and varied than I’ve ever seen. The artistry is pure Japanese, the construction superb and each unique style somehow works on all body types. 

Campomaggi from Italy is a collection of unique artisan bags with a worn look. It appeals to those who love a kind of beauty that is not standardized and is timeless. Every time I view these, there are surprises! I love the look!

Last but not least, we visited another showroom in the Marais to finally view Apuntab - or most of its new collection - one box had still not arrived.

As usual, the collection features the most beautiful fabrics in easy-to-wear styles that are flawless and timeless. And if you love colour as I do, this tomato orange is glorious. 

After, we walked and walked and finally caught a taxi to the airport. This trip wasn’t easy but it was rewarding.

Home for the Holidays

This Christmas was rather special. We had two of our three children home for Christmas. I cannot remember the last time this happened. And with Brendan came Jane and Seb, and with Gill came Derek. We did miss Michael, Kenzie and Isaac but for a family of five who choose to live in four different countries, "two out of three ain't bad". (I did have to remind myself that life is not perfect and one should be grateful even joyous with the gifts one is given and not be unhappy for what is missing.)

From the moment Gill and Derek arrived, I felt happy. It felt like a true Christmas. We wandered the Gaillac market buying last minute gifts and a feast for Brendan, Jane, and Seb who would be arriving the next day.

I must say that our little elf added an extra measure of joy. We had a wonderful feast of oysters and salmon when Jane and Brendan arrived with their precious boy and an easy Christmas eve day the next day preparing for yet another feast. Rob was up early to collect the turkey. Seb had several rides on his favourite tractor and a spin in the playground. As is our family's tradition, we watched "A Christmas Carol" in the evening.

Christmas day was pure gluttony. Omelettes and sausages for breakfast, turkey and stuffing, mushy peas, fresh cranberries, mashed potatoes and gravy, and courgettes for dinner, washed down with a glass or two of bubbly and red wine.

Our holiday continued in a similar vein - eating and wining well, a visit to Susan in the hospital, a romp through Albi, puzzle-solving, game-playing, movie-watching, and cavorting with the youngest member of our family.

Oh I forgot to mention that on Boxing Day, all seven of us when into Gaillac for the Christmas market and then onto the Chinese Lantern Festival which was quite spectacular. Sebastian especially was mesmerized by the coloured lights and the larger than life dinosaurs.

We had one more day with Brendan, Jane, and Seb and then they returned to London  too early and the house was very quiet indeed without the pitter-patter of little feet.

After they left, Gill and Derek moved in and these two put Rob and me to shame with their endless activity. One moment Gill is on the second landing doing yoga, the next she is off with Derek for a long country walk and the next, they are cycling down long country roads.

Gill and I even found time to do some proprioceptive writing and in-depth conversations. I loved every moment of my Christmas.

My children are so different and yet each brings me so much joy. All three work hard. All are kind people married to kind people. While I have been worrying about growing old and losing my dignity if not my mind, my beautiful children are struggling with careers, finances, and several with raising children - no small feat. They do not have a lot of time for contemplation and introspection.

My wish for 2020 is this:

I want time to reflect on this past year when I turned 70 and experienced one of my happiest moments and one of my most miserable. Japan and Fanny. How strange that they are tied together with an “and”. I lived a dream and lost one.  “No more deaths,” I cry but this is hopeless, impossible… like the death of our beloved Rosemary. We get old if we are lucky. We die. I wish to live at least another year to sort myself out although I have been attempting this all my life.

The poem “Red Brocade” by Naomi Shihab Nye seems a good place for me to start.

The Arabs used to say,
When a stranger appears at your door,
feed him for three days
before asking who he is,
where he’s come from,
where he’s headed.
That way, he’ll have strength
enough to answer.
Or, by then you’ll be
such good friends
you don’t care.

Let’s go back to that.
Rice? Pine nuts?
Here, take the red brocade pillow.
My child will serve water
to your horse.

No, I was not busy when you came!
I was not preparing to be busy.
That’s the armor everyone put on
to pretend they had a purpose
in the world.

I refuse to be claimed.
Your plate is waiting.
We will snip fresh mint
into your tea.

The poem speaks to me of being open and kind and non-judgemental even to strangers, of giving the best I have to others like the beautiful red brocade pillow, of listening and not asking questions too soon, of not thinking of chores and inconsequential things when someone lands on my doorstep.

I am no longer young but I no longer have to struggle like my children working and building a financial base. I no longer have the difficult decisions that raising children involve. I am free. In 2020, I want to use my freedom, take lots of time to reflect, and listen more closely, and enjoy the moment.