Love, Poetry and Revolution - Thursday 29th June 2023

Another start, though today I'm greeted by rain after a rubbish night's sleep, don't know if I was vocalizing. Perhaps not.

The cleaner arrives, hotly followed by the bin men so I have to rush to take the non-fox proof rubbish bag out shortly after which the first carer of the day arrives. At times it seems that there are no hours of the day which aren't interrupted by an arrival or departure of one sort or another.

It's going to be a busy working day, and, luckily, my access has been restored.

This week's poem is rather different. It's not the use of words and the way they are ordered, more the emotional power of someone's memory. I don't think it's a favourite, but equally there is some echo or memory which evoked by the words. It's called 'Handbag' and it's by Ruth Fainlight:

My mother's old leather handbag,

crowded with letters she carried

all through the war. The smell

of my mother's handbag: mints

and lipstick and Coty powder.

The look of those letters, softened

and worn at the edges, opened,

read, and refolded so often.

Letters from my father. Odour

of leather and powder, which ever

since then has meant womanliness,

and love, and anguish, and war.

As days go, today certainly has.

Pasta for dinner tonight after a slight hiccup with the chicken of doom. Chicken fajitas tomorrow night.

After some uncertainty, we all sat down to watch the first episode of 'Black Ops' together. Son #2 and I have seen it before but the others hadn't.

Will I ever finish QOTSA at Glasto?

Off to bed, with tonight's experiment being referred to as project 'Carry On Screaming'.

Sparks / 'This Town Ain't Big Enough For Both Of Us' / 'Kimono My House'

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