Act 3, Scene ii: The Great Wall

In London, there's a slight stigma with living above a shop.  So when I decided to purchase a flat above the village boulangerie, I gave myself the other challenge of trying to create a space that would defy such prejudices.  My daughter asked me to create a home, so that we could reside as a family.  I wanted to create a secret; that looking from the outside, you'd never guess, what laid behind the walls.

In Act 1, I was confronted with a newly refurbished, severely disadvantaged, white, white, flat.

Instinctively, I knew what needed to be done.  That poor wall needed art, it needed texture.  It needed to be stripped apart, expose its bricks.

So I started mediating and observing, brick walls.

At the neighbour's...

Along Beaufort Street...

Across the street from our hotel...

 And finally, right outside our hotel.  This idea of a black brick wall took root within me.

I learnt it's not so straightforward to hack out plaster to reveal brick.  So we moved on to my Plan B, which was to just knock out a small portion of the wall to unearth what was beneath.  If we found brick that could be useful, I suggested that we let our imagination run and keep hacking more wall space.   I was then going to paint everything uncovered, black.  Yes, the wall would be uneven, but that was the whole point- to give the flat texture and lift it from banality.

And then my builder chanced upon Plan C. 

Plan C stretched the budget a little.  It also presented us with a mathematical conundrum.

***

Week 18, post-sugery, I got back on my new neighbour, the horse whose ability to handstand, dislocated my elbow, avulsed two ligaments, broke my arm.

I explained to my therapist, that as my arm seems to have plateau-ed in terms of recovery, and my shoulder atrophied, the only way forward to building strength now, is to engage in the very activity that requires such strength.

There was no fanfare getting back on Dumpling.  Instead, I felt the same happiness I feel when dancing- that calm, quiet, grateful joy.

Only from the heart, can you touch the sky- Rumi

***

Meanwhile, my brick wall project became like The Great Wall of.  

It's been slow and tedious.  I extended our hotel stay by a day, by three more days.

Yesterday, the wall was fully covered and grouting work could begin.

After the builders completed cleaning that lower segment of the wall, they told me they would stop for the day.  The day was not over yet, and their task not done.  But, the Polish Football Team was playing, and that, was surely more important.

Absolutely, I said.  I understand.  I hope your team wins!

Act 3, Scene ii-  ah the element of discovery, of cultural differences and surprise.  Waiting for my bus back to Chelsea, along Putney Bridge, I see birds fly across the Thames.

Busy Bruno

You know, it's hard work being me.  I don't just whine and dine.

I have anxiety issues.  Since my Dad left, I can't sleep through the night.

We've moved to the Village.

When she is day-dreaming, Mom thinks of rescuing a cottage as her next project.

But, Mom?  You're not even done with the current project yet...

 Then Mom took me to meet our new neighbours.

But look at the neighbour sneaking into Mom's pockets!

I don't like that he's allowed so close to her!

So I told him off, and he got upset, and then Mom got upset with me, and gave me time out.

I was not allowed to move from this spot for a while.

***

On Sunday, we went to Notting Hill.  Mom needed cushions and candles.

And then we stopped for a bite.

Granger & Co, 175 Westbourne Grove

***

On Monday we went to Parsons Green.

Mom was thinking, flowers for the flat. 

 We found a dog-run.

I hate dog runs.  

Mom?  Let's get out of here.

In the afternoon we returned to Blakes, where we got our favourite room again.

I'm so happy at Blakes, I slept soundly through the night.  In the morning, we went back to the Village. Mom says it's Act 3, Scene 1, and she's choreographing a mathematical equation.

The builder and her got all excited about measurements and density and grouting and bricks.

I don't understand how Mom can stare at a blank wall for an infinite amount of time.

Mom?  I'm hungry.  

Back on the bus, where I am better behaved than most kids riding it.

And finally, back in Chelsea and at Maze Grill where everyone always has a kind word for me.

Mom, please ask for extra bread and order the macaroni and cheese.

Maze Grill, 11 Park Walk

Onwards

His parting words to me were-  I love you very much.  I'll see you soon...Baby?

Baby, please don't sell the flat when I am gone!

***

The door seals shut.  I hear him walking down the street.  Ruinous- is there such a word?  Ruinous is how I feel. 

To friends who ask, the answer is, no.  Goodbyes don't get easier, no matter how often I practise.

All night I wonder, what was it he did or did not do, that made me so upset?  Obviously whatever it was or was not, is of no significance as I can't remember.  Then I wonder, why did I even bother sweating the small stuff when Life gives us such little time together?

He's left a white shirt, his jacket, his toothbrush.  He did that because I need to see traces of him- he was here, he'll be here, soon, soon.

The thing with feeling so deeply is at some point, quite quickly, one then feels, nothingness. I awake this morning in this state, grateful, that after eight months of uncertainty, we now have a clearer direction as to where and how to lay, roots.

I did promise to not sell the flat, but he didn't say anything about not going on a hunt!

In my imagination, I think of taking on a Grade 2-listed cottage by its crumbling horns!

In reality, I take the bus, cross the Thames, press on with my 3-act ballet.

For he's going to need to sit on something to put his shoes on in the hallway.

***

Act 3, Scene1, Choreographer's Notes:

1.  Shabby chic needs fabric to break monotony.  

(Go get cushion tomorrow.)

2.  Large Identical Mirrors lift dismal bathrooms, adding unexpected stature.

(Add plants and candles sometime this week.)

3.  When space is too tight, don't be afraid to remove doors.

(Remember to call curtain contact.)

A 3-Act Ballet

It's a 3-act ballet, The 15th Move.

In my ideal/dream world, I say to my builder, we need to gut this whole flat out, re-do the bathrooms the kitchen, rip out the carpeting, re-wire to hang lights more strategically.

No, says my builder firmly.  If you want to do all that, I'm not taking on this job!

***

 I'm not sleeping much these days.  I'm too fired up.  I'm eating well though.  

I have to keep fortified in production.

***

Last Friday, I called for help.

I felt an immense fatigue, suddenly overwhelming.

What's wrong, Baby?

Nothing.

Don't say, "nothing"… Why are you crying?

Why do you always treat me like I have balls of steel?

Huh?  Baby, how do you want to be treated?  That's the kind of energy you give off!

***

To relax, I visit my new neighbour.

For where there is love, there will always be a way.

***

Act 2 is about tension, suspense, conflict, heightened drama.  Production notes for Act 2 reads like this-

Cue 1: Enter downstage left, wallpaper creeping across storage closets. 

 Go, Cue 2:  Grandfather's scrolls to uncurl upstage.

Standby Cue 3:  Midcentury Obsessions scatter about after 8 months in storage.

 Go, Lights at 80% yellow, because all white light in Act 1 is too jarring for the senses, Go, Sound-  Bach Cello Suites in G.
***

And then he brought his grandfather's paintings...

So when the nuts and bolts for bed-assembling did not arrive on cue, I took one look at the paintings, and thought- scene change!  Improvise!

Throw on a new set of sheets, adopt a Japonaise stance (low to the ground), arrange Grandfather's paintings as a duet.

Voila!  

Life is but a bed of, roses.