kaberett: Overlaid Mars & Venus symbols, with Swiss Army knife tools at other positions around the central circle. (Default)
[personal profile] kaberett
I think, at the moment, that I don't: but I hope that this will change as of the first week of January.

But: standing on the concourse at Paddington, hunting the departure boards for trains in the direction of Oxford - this is something I seem to be spending a lot of my time doing at the moment - my heart always-and-without-fail aches when I see the trains that are headed for Penzance. It's a struggle not to abandon my plans; even when I'm safely on board the train I first thought of, I'm yearning to be heading south instead of north, because the line from Paddington to Penzance, with the white horses and the mud flats and the deer park and the red arches and the first precious glimpses of the sea and the castles and cathedrals - and the piece of line that gets washed out every time there's a storm - and the ghosts of origami and colouring books and poetry and conversations with strangers about music--

-- oh, that journey is home. Though these days I take the bus from Redruth, because I'd rather Papa didn't drive; though Mama doesn't any longer emerge from the kitchen to distribute hugs at the front door; though the garden's grown wild and tangled; though the wind through the windows and the mould and the damp are worse than ever -- oh, to see the sun set over Mullion Island, from the ancient armchairs by the shelf a foot deep in old newspapers; oh, to see the rabbits flash across the garden; to smell the gorse and the heather and the salt; to be rocked to sleep by the waves, and to observe the rituals of determining whether the chopper's practising or actually on a mission, to spend three solid days each spring deadheading the hydrangeas and still not be done; the single camellia standing defiant and proud in November; the lichen encroaching on the table on the patio; the cellar and the garage and the strawberry patch that hasn't grown strawberries in years -- oh, I couldn't ever live there, not half a mile down a grass lane with the closest hospital routinely ranked as one of the worst in the country, not when I can't drive, not when I'm this ill, not when the patio is slate that's treacherous in the wet (and it is always wet), but there is the art gallery run by Agnes and the post office that was my mother's school and the faces in the wall, and I've never lived there for more than a week or two at a time, but I have stood in that garden and gazed at stars and birds and a total eclipse; I've cried; I've been christened; I've organised a funeral; it is home.

It is full of the Telegraph and the Times and Radio 4, and a man who loves me fiercely because we carefully don't talk about how I'm not Catholic, how I'm queer, how I'm trans, instead dancing the same old steps, over and over, of how to work a breadmaker and surely I'd relax my rules enough to try just a morsel of the goose, and would I like a snifter of brandy on my way to bed, and still he pulls himself up onto his feet and makes us cocoa and toast for supper, and presses hot water bottles upon us, and - I've so much guilt and shame and so much love tied up in that journey, in that house, that I don't know even where to start.

(My Grossmutti's collection of camellias is stunning: this is because she had grune Dauben, she'd take clandestine cuttings of anything she liked the look of in any formal garden she ever visited, and they always took. The redcurrants are netted in, still, though the brambles and the nettles creep ever on. This, this is why whenever I move the first thing I do is take an inventory of where the rosemary grows, where the thyme grows, because I am not used to cities and I am not used to gardens, and for all I adore Cambridge, for all I am learning to love London, there should be sea-spray in my hair, and my heart belongs to a rockery on a Cornish cliffside, planted to bring a little piece of the Alps to the southern coast of an island a very long way from home.)

(no subject)

Date: 2013-12-26 04:42 am (UTC)
sorrillia: Red and Gold Starship-and-Sun Flag (Default)
From: [personal profile] sorrillia
I'm still sad that I failed to see the Brunel statue in Paddington. Someday.

(no subject)

Date: 2013-12-26 11:56 am (UTC)
shanaqui: Lord Peter leaning down to speak to Harriet Vane, from the Peter Wimsey mysteries, text: you. ((PeterHarriet) You)
From: [personal profile] shanaqui
It is full of the Telegraph and the Times and Radio 4, and a man who loves me fiercely because we carefully don't talk about how I'm not Catholic, how I'm queer, how I'm trans, instead dancing the same old steps, over and over, of how to work a breadmaker and surely I'd relax my rules enough to try just a morsel of the goose, and would I like a snifter of brandy on my way to bed, and still he pulls himself up onto his feet and makes us cocoa and toast for supper, and presses hot water bottles upon us, and - I've so much guilt and shame and so much love tied up in that journey, in that house, that I don't know even where to start.

♥♥♥

(no subject)

Date: 2013-12-26 01:47 pm (UTC)
raze: A man and a rooster. (Default)
From: [personal profile] raze
Oof. This was powerful, thank you for sharing these thoughts. <3

(no subject)

Date: 2013-12-26 01:53 pm (UTC)
forestofglory: E. H. Shepard drawing of Christopher Robin reading a book to Pooh (Default)
From: [personal profile] forestofglory
I've been on that train (like one and a half times, but still) it is gorgeous!

(no subject)

Date: 2013-12-26 07:23 pm (UTC)
forests_of_fire: A woman with shoulder-length black hair. She has a friendly, but serious smile on her face. (Oleander: Default)
From: [personal profile] forests_of_fire
♥ thank you for sharing this.

(no subject)

Date: 2013-12-26 08:52 pm (UTC)
calissa: (Default)
From: [personal profile] calissa
That was beautiful and now I feel a bit teary. Thank you.

(no subject)

Date: 2013-12-26 11:42 pm (UTC)
askygoneonfire: Red and orange sunset over Hove (Default)
From: [personal profile] askygoneonfire
I loved this! Thank you for such a thoughtful and open response to my prompt - and although I'm only replying now, I did read it at the hour you posted it!

(no subject)

Date: 2013-12-27 09:29 am (UTC)
hairyears: (Default)
From: [personal profile] hairyears
You write beautifully.

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kaberett: Overlaid Mars & Venus symbols, with Swiss Army knife tools at other positions around the central circle. (Default)
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