Sandra

The long dark teatime of the soul

Published on May 7, 2012Leave a comment

Half a year. Six months. Twentysix weeks. It feels like forever; it also feels like yesterday that Sandra died. It’s just not something I can get used to: it still feels like she should be there, she’s just gone out of the room for a bit. Every day I want to call her on my lunch break, every time when I watch a tv show or listen to a radio programme we used to follow together I want to ask her what she thinks about it, every time I read a book that I think she would like, I want to tell her she shouldn’t read it, as she hated having books recommended to her.

The weekends are the worst; during the week work can be busy enough that I don’t really think about her, but in the weekends there’s too much time and space for the memories and grief to come back. It’s not so much that I spent my weekends staring and sighing, more that literally everything in the house and garden reminds me of Sand. Worse, even the local supermarket makes me think of her as I try to remember her advice on cooking and such. Pathetic, I know.

What I also miss is the structure in my life, a goal. Living alone after having spent the better part of a decade living together with somebody you love deeply is so different from just living on your own. When you’re a couple you live for each other as much as for yourself, at least if you it properly, but now what do I have: my job? My hobbies? The cats? All very nice, for sure, but it doesn’t fill my life like Sandra did. And that’s what I miss the most, having somebody there who makes you feel like what Ella sings about and who you can do the same to.

Plymouth loot

Published on April 28, 20121 Comment

Books bought in Plymouth

Like me, Sandra was a ferocious reader, one of the few people I’ve known who actually read more and faster than me. Where we differed was in our attitude towards books, as she was far more ruthless in discarding books than I could ever be. For example, before we moved in together she had gotten rid (unasked) of at least a third of her books, while I, well, had not. She always kept trying to limit the spread of books and bookcases through the house somewhat, even though she was aware it was largely a lost battle. Not that she disapproved of buying more books, just that we should be discerning in which books we’d actually keep.

So she might’ve been just a tiny bit disappointed if she’d seen the pile of books I’ve brought home from Plymouth. Not much, just a bit and only because she’d known our bookcases are full to overflowing already and more books won’t help there. But I can’t help it, there was just too much good stuff. What I’ve always liked about going to Plymouth was browsing the charity shops up in Mannamead, near where Sandra lived, as back then you could be certain to pick up a lot of good books for cheap. These days many of the bigger charity chains have long since discovered that it’s easier to put the good stuff up on Ebay, so there’s less gold amongst the dross, but roughly half that pile still came from charity shops anyway.

The rest all comes from one great bookshop right in the middle of the Barbican/harbour, the tourist area of Plymouth, three floors of bookshelves heaving with secondhand gems. Not all that cheap, but I know that if I lived in Plymouth full time I would’ve spent quite a lot of my disposable income there — I found a lot of books there already on my own shelves, which is always a sign of a good shop. If you’re ever in Plymouth and in need of something good to read, the Book Cupboard is your best bet.

What I found there: a pile of Giles annuals, several Nicholas Freeling van der Valk mysteries, several hard to find sf novels (Vance’s Showboat World, Ian Watson’s The Book of the River, Diane Duane’s The Door into Shadow) as well as two history books, of which The Saxon Shore: a Handbook is the most interesting, something I had to buy as I wasn’t sure I’d ever see it again. In general I would’ve liked to spent a day or so browsing the history shelves, but we had other things to do…

Pictures from Plymouth

Published on April 25, 2012Leave a comment

Sandra's last resting place

I got some of my pictures up from our visit to Plymouth last weekend. The picture above is the most important of the lot: that’s where my parents and I scattered part of Sandra’s ashes, into the Plymouth Sound, to become part of the ecosystem again — the only sort of reincarnation or life after death she believed in.

Her sons weren’t there, as they didn’t feel up to it yet, quite understandably. We’ve left the urn behind for safekeeping so that at a later date, when they are ready, they can scattered the rest of her ashes somewhere nice. Meanwhile a final part of Sandra’s remains will be laid to rest in our own garden, helping feed the plants she herself planted.

Plymouth: closure

Published on April 22, 20121 Comment

So the scattering of ashes didn’t quite go to plan, as Sandra’s sons weren’t quite up for it yet. Too recent, too raw. Instead I’ve left the urn and all with them, so they can do it when they’re ready. In the meantime i’ve had my own private ceremony, scattering some of the ashes into Plymouth Sound, giving Sandra back to nature.

It’s a sort of closure though the mourning will continue.

Plymouth (2)

Published on April 21, 2012Leave a comment

Today we did the touristy thing, going around some of the places Sandra loved in Plymouth: the Elizabethan house and garden in the Barbican, the Aquarium, having a cream tea in one of the tearooms. Then I went and showed my parents around where she used to live, all around the not so touristy bits of Mannamead.

I took a shedload of pictures, but the barebones linux system on the minilaptop I’ve got with me can’t really do much with them, so I’ll put them up when I’m back home.

Tomorrow we’re going to scatter the ashes.

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