Late August
Our family “holiday” this year in Canada had once again taken us to the Wild West and even further North, to 900 miles north of Edmonton. That is North, believe me! Why my brother lives up there beyond all known civilisation is beyond me. But his work is with trees and ecology and believe me there is a lot of trees and ecology up there. But this sacrifice in cultural terms was to help him celebrate his 25th wedding anniversary. And to give moral support as this year his daughter has made him and his wife grandparents. It was not planned. In fact, it was a major trauma in the family’s life as she is not married or living with anybody and has just graduated from high school. He was rather pissed off at it all. The whole extended family came to stay for a week. That included my aunts from my father’s side. the matriarchs of the family. I felt sorry for her boyfriend as they were now living together with my brother and his wife because he lost his job. And there were now forty of the family encamped in and around the homestead. Nearest and dearest said to me that he thought he saw the boyfriend shaking at one point. Just when you think things can get no worse they usually do. The ex to whom I sent the sizzling letter to for air brushing me out of history, drove up with my nephew to meet us all. I am now well and truly over this.
Well, Em is finally married! It had to be the best wedding I have ever been to. And I have been to some.
Nearest & dearest and myself had just got in the door from the
airport when Bet was on the phone enquiring what I was going to wear.
‘Oh that's simple. The outfit that Em was going to get married in
the first place!’
There was for once a loss of words on Bet’s part.
‘WHATTTTTT!’
‘The 1950 strapless dress with matching coat in ivory. I showed
it to you. Remember?’
‘What are your accessories?’ she queried accusingly.
‘I have made a huge black net hat with a black clutch bag and
shoes.’
‘Good. At least something is appropriate!’
‘Don’t be a meany. and don’t spoil her day. I hope you
are not bringing anybody?.’
‘She told me not to as she didn't want to pay to feed somebody
she was never going to see again! Bloody Cheek!’
‘And G is coming on her Own also.’
‘You bet! She hopes to pick up a new sperm donor.’
‘Well, I am glad everything is normal then. What are you giving
her for a present?’
A question which then produced a conversation that wandered into
Surrealist proportions. As I was giving her one of my art works, at her
request I may add, I was up to date on what I needed to do for the
wedding.
‘Look Bet, just give her some gorgeous towels. Two complete sets
from bath sheet down to face cloth. That should set you back a bit.’
‘I have some thing like that set aside at John Lewis. Boring but
practical. From my own experience of setting up home.... I threw in a day
at the Sanctuary for her. She is going to need it when reality sets in.’
But before I could get her off the phone as I was finding it rather hard
to concentrate from Jet lag, she landed her her final punch.
‘Just what is Em wearing to get married in if you have the “old”
outfit?’
‘Oh, a floor length strapless white dress with a gauzy shawl for
her shoulders. Why?’
‘A white dress? Like a bride’s dress?’
‘I think it would be appropriate for the occasion, don’t
you - she being the bride and all that?’
‘Ummmmm?’
As I said to Bet, ‘Don’t ruin her day. I will think nothing
stuffing a champagne bottle down your throat if you so much as begin to
utter a disparaging word - UNDERSTOOD?’
The conversation then took a turn for art gossip and the subject of dress was dropped. I also learned that G had gone all domestic and had sent a huge amount of gift vouchers to Em, intended for Habitat. The next day I got a panicky call from Em to come help her with the arrangements. So off I went and did so every day that week doing all sorts of dumb little chores from finishing the embroidery on bridesmaid’s dresses to filling little bags up with sweets and toys for the dinning tables.
The day before the wedding as we all stood in Em’s kitchen checking
off things that had been done and drinking some white wine. I gaily
enquired where were the wedding photos going to be taken.
‘The Park, of course.’
‘Well, I hope you have checked with the authorities that it’s
okay?’
Stunned looks !
‘Why wouldn't it okay?’
‘Well, there has been a huge outdoor screen erected for an
outdoor cinema for the last three nights and they will be taking it down
on Saturday around the time you are going there.’
Looks of frozen panic set in until Em blurted out ‘You’ll
have to fix it! I am too busy.’
So, off I went to the telephone and blurted out the problem to the parks
manager. He grumbled it was all short notice but as his daughter had got
married last year and he had to sort out last minute hitches he could
understand and would send a dispatch rider down to the office of the
caretaker and all would be sorted out for tomorrow. Phew!!
The Wedding Day in August
Come the day of the wedding it was a brilliant hot august day that
promised to more close in humidity and even more hotter as it developed.
Dearest looked out the bathroom window and warned that we would be melting
before noon.
‘Well, I'll just have to drink lots of liquids then!’
‘Don’t get too drunk! You booed the best man last time and
told him to get his kit off.’
Em had outdone herself in the level of her original planning skills this
time. Her partner and herself hired a London route master bus. You know
the double decker red, “jump on - jump off”
types that are THE tourist symbol of London.
We had all been instructed that if we went to bus stop J beside
Liverpool St station for 9:15 leaving at 9:30 sharp a bus would take us to
the Registry Office at Finsbury Town Hall. N & D was beside himself
with excitement as was every other man at the wedding. I don't think they
could have been more excited if a cement mixer or steam train had been
hired for the event. When I donned my hat and stepped out, two complete
strangers commented on how nice my hat looked.
‘Nice hat lady!’
On the tube I stood out a mile amongst all the Saturday morning casual
dressed passengers going with their kids to lessons and other Saturday
excursions. But the bus was there and we helped Em’s partner
soon-to-be husband load the bus with cooler boxes of champagne and other
boxes of plastic champagne glasses. Dearest and I tied on gas filled
balloons that said JUST MARRIED and put a satin banner across the
side of the bus that said WEDDING SPECIAL. We felt dead chuffed
with ourselves for thinking that one up last night at two in the morning
when we lay in bed too hot to sleep. I had suggested I would make a pot of
tea if he went and got his big felt tip pens so we could we start on some
fabric I had underneath the bed. We were too excited to sleep anyway. It’s
not everyday one of your longest friends finally gets married to her
fourteenth fiancé.
Late September
Life goes on. Of course the issues of life and death are in everyone’s thoughts this month after the tragedy in New York. Dearest and I have been having very long and serious talks about “the meaning of it all” as we sit in bed watching the news flashes and various programs. He had moved one TV into the bedroom and another into the kitchen so we wouldn’t miss anything. We were glued to the television sets for two weeks and then I had enough and moved the TV back to the living room out of the kitchen and banned the one in the bedroom to the study. We needed some space to think and be quiet.
I like my kitchen because it now opens out onto my garden with all my vegetables and plants. I can watch my cats and the birds and the footballs from the kids next door come bouncing over the fence. When that happens we go through the ritual of me throwing it back. The little girl and her friend climb onto the shed roof and call through the kitchen door to me. They like to do this because I always ask if they want a biscuit and then we have great chats about what they are up to and what they are planning to spend their pocket money on this week. It always normalises me talking about such important issues as games, school and sweets and going to the museum and dolls clothes and building little dens in the garden. It puts a perspective on the world that makes you realise what is important and what isn’t.
Then Bet calls and can’t make up her mind over what to buy for some flash art function and has to have my opinion. I have refused to lend her anything after the last time one earring was ground into the floor of Tate Britain at the opening bash, while she oblivious to its fate danced merrily on grinding it into nothing. Enough is enough! Those were really good 1950 earrings. You can’t replace things like that every day.
Went to a really good opening at the Whitechapel Art Gallery. It
surprised all of us. Two American artists who use drawing, each in their
own unique way, were really great. Met my cousin the lawyer there. Hadn't
planned it. But there he was as large as life and that is large these days
with all his wining and dining with rich media clients. He likes to show
me off. So he bought me a drink and then another one and then H. turned up
with his partner and we got into some great gossip, then Sadie Cole from
the Sadie Cole Gallery who represents one of artists came by and on it
went. I learned some amazing things which I promptly forgot. But sort of
remembered several days later. I staggered home later after they kicked us
all out. Bet was not there, neither was G. Cousin commented on that fact.
‘Where's the poisonous pair?’
‘Don't be mean.They are my friends.’
‘Still chasing men are they?’
I didn’t know what to say to that because it’s absolutely true.
Bet is madly in love she tells me with this new man. She thinks because
she has been going out with him for over a year that it is serious. Might
even be LURV !!! When I told H this at the opening he just snorted.
‘Well, it just goes to show you well-grounded she is in reality!’
My Birthday Again
Another birthday comes and is gone. My parents telephoned me to wish me ‘Happy Birthday’ and I must admit I am now getting very worried about my mother. She doesn't pick fights with me any more. Nor does she criticise me.... at all. In fact she complemented me about how talented I was. Which made me think that she is just too ill to be grumpy. Which is really worrying. Another point of worry is how quickly she seems to be fading. Her voice is less strong. There isn't that vibrancy in it any more and she is prone to cry about things but... get her on the subject of her sister and suddenly she rallies. The old acid wit jumps out once more. But it is for less and less time. What use to be a good hour rant about her sister is down to a few minutes and fading. My father runs the house with the home help and manages all right. But as he says, he has to take out his hearing aids so he can’t hear mum’s constant instructions. The home help pretends they can’t read English so as not to have to listen to her instructions. Which prompted my mother to throw Germaine Greer’s book The Female Eunuch at them according to my father with the words ‘Try learning to read by reading something decent!’ So, I now telephone every Sunday evening to just check up on them. My brothers who actually live on the same continent phone less regularly. We have had a few interesting words about this.
October (midish)
The country curator was down with his daughter on mid-term break. He telephoned the night before and asked if it was okay on such short notice. As he had some really good invites to some rather tasty private views, how could I refuse him. Like so many of my conversations these days we talk about the war and how the New York tragedy has affected his daughter. He had stopped her watching the news reports from the first day as he was afraid she couldn’t cope with it. He has had some rather long talks with her about all her fears and anxieties around the attack. That same conversation between parents and children must have been repeated all over the world many many times last month.
We trundle off to the opening at the National Portrait Gallery of an
exhibition called Mirror, Mirror about women and self portraits.
Great wine! Country curator’s daughter at eight years old is really
sharp at spotting pretentiousness and badly curated exhibitions . She was
off to a good start with the Susie Cooper self-portrait in that was meant
to be hung on the wall but was lying flat in a case.
‘Dad, this is really bad. You have to be a big person to see
this. I can't see anything. It's too high.’
And she stood on her tiptoes trying to peer at it.
Fortunately the chief curator of the exhibition was standing beside
her.You could spot her because of her bright red face. The little nipper
enjoyed looking at all the works. When it was time to go and she was asked
what she thought about it by another curator from the education
department. She replied ‘I like the older pictures. The ones by
the artists today aren’t as good.’
Funny, but that was my sentiment as well. Only two works, that of Jo
Spence and Helen Chadwick, stood out amongst the contemporary and
post-1970 works. The rest were very weak and thin. But the women from
before the 1970s shone out. There were some wonderful unknowns and some
which were just really great paintings.
November 15th
Em and her new husband came over for a meal last weekend. It was really
great fun. She brought dessert (from Sainsburys) while dearest and I
cooked a proper roast dinner complete with homemade Yorkshire puddings. G
refused to come as she would just be on her own. It is really bothering
her that Em who she always saw as not successful when compared to her had
gotten married while she is still looking for a suitable sperm donor.
Bet has telephoned. We have not actually seen each other for over two
weeks which is very unusual. She is so busy with her new job and new man
while I am up to my eyes in projects, trying to find paid employment and
trying to go to college for my part time Phd. There just aren’t
enough hours in the day. She just wanted to tell me she put my name down
for the Tate Britain’s artists Xmas party. I wanted to ask why but
thought I better not look a gift horse in the mouth so as to speak.
Decent private views and partys have been a bit thin on the ground
lately. G meanwhile has raided my wardrobe looking for bits and pieces to
complete her Turner Prize Dinner outfit. She was most annoyed that she
couldn’t find anything.
‘There seems to be certain vintage pieces I was looking for that
are missing? Where are they?’
‘I have put them away,’ I replied.
‘Why? I need them.’
‘Because I was not wearing them. Everyone one else but me was
and I was tired of seeing them on TV at the Turner prize and me not in
them that’s why!’ She just looked at me sheepishly and said ‘Welllllllll...
I could get you an invite to a really good big Xmas party......’
I was so disgusted with her at such cheap bribes that I nevertheless
decided to string her along and see what she offered before I finally
refused.
Christmas is coming and there are a few events I want to make.
Copyright © : n.paradoxa, Jan 2002
N.Paradoxa : Issue No. 16, 2002