Getting Older . Nostalgia . Public Library . Tales from the Public Library
In Praise of Older Women
On May 28, 2016 by Speranza I’ve always quite liked older people and I must say that usually, they quite like me as well; maybe it’s because I am an old soul myself or simply because when I address them I don’t use a slower, LOUDER, special voice and I also like to avoid cyclical conversations about weather, Sudoku, or
Cooking . Gardening . My Mother . Nostalgia . Spring
Rhubarb Crowns!
On April 15, 2016 by Speranza
Finally! There is hope for spring! Today the air was soft and warm again and I scampered outside to assess the progress of my garden before work and noticed that all the rhubarb crowns (I love calling them this) are pushing through the frozen ground, stretching up their tiny garnet arms and tightly compressed buds for anyone who cares to see them. (I always think of ‘Little Shop of Horrors’ and Audrey II when I first see these …)
But this is the first genuine sign of spring and I am greatly heartened.
I understand (well actually, I don’t really understand ) but I hear, that there are those who are completely indifferent to rhubarb but to me, it’s a delicious taste that is easily overlooked and available for such a short season; and the colour alone! That clear, deep, jeweled pink unlike no other, is so beautiful, particularly when combined with strawberries.
And, speaking of strawberries, I have seen many confirmed rhubarb-haters change their minds rather quickly over a piece of lattice-topped rhubarb-strawberry pie with a scoop of ginger infused ice-cream or some English custard. (Or both, let’s be honest here!)
Being A Girl . My Mother . Nostalgia . Poetry
Piano – D.H.Lawrence
On April 10, 2016 by Speranza
As the snows swirls sideways across my window, I re-read this poem and fall in love with D.H.Lawrence all over again. I feel as though his poetry is not celebrated as much as his so-called “dirty books” but to me, the poems are heady scraps of wisdom and depth, showing what a sensitive, insightful and thoughtful person he really was.
This poem is especially poignant to me because as a very young child, I remember crouching at the top of the stairs, hours after I had been sent to bed and straining my ears to catch what my parents and their friends (probably slightly tipsy) were singing as my mother played our stylin’, state-of-the-art Sixties organ and everyone sang along.
Introspection . Nostalgia . Writers . Writing
The Other Martha
On January 3, 2016 by Speranza
I just finished listening to an archived interview with hard-boiled wartime writer and activist Martha Gellhorn on the radio and hearing her cultured, richly intellectual way of speaking casually expand on the exciting yet pugilistic life she led has made me feel equal parts impressed, intrigued and unsettled.
Impressed and intrigued because she led such a fascinating, unpredictable and often dangerous life and unsettled because this is a heady cocktail of everything I am not.
I have none of her wanderlust, her confidence or that driving need to be combative (most recently I couldn’t even play a competitive board game at Christmas lest I offend the land occupiers who were good friends!) yet I continue to pretend that had my life turned out differently, I might have been a kick-arse journalist.
Really. Really? I need to shut this fantasy down and resolve to confine myself to writing at least half-way regularly at my middle-class desk where I can safely blog to an audience that rarely exceeds 2 digits … what the heck would Martha say about that …?
I cannot bear to think of it.
Strangely, it’s a truism about myself that I’m often extremely attracted to clever outspokenness as a trait in other people – Noel Gallagher, Denis Leary, Richard Dawkins, The General – but I abhor it in myself; of course, I should also clarify that boorish, uncalled for outspokenness can veer very closely to let’s just say something else, and I have never found someone being a complete asshole even remotely attractive.
Being A Mum . Frasier and Niles . Nostalgia
The Stomach Knows: Part II
On September 3, 2015 by Speranza
Fast forward to Frasier’s first day at school which was preempted by much psychological preparation including nightly readings about what that first day would entail ( I seem to recall the protagonist was a young raccoon) the purchase of a special, fancy knapsack and a lunch that included sliced grapes (no choking hazard) and sandwiches that were cut into the shape of a duck. His teacher, a kind and vivacious woman who was all flowy skirts and paisleys (think: Ms.Frizzle) actually came to the house to introduce herself over the summer and had already made quite an impression.