I have been in a reflective mood: as you have probably been able to tell from my posts. Nothing like a new year, new dreams, a BIG birthday and an imminent wedding to do that, right? It is all fodder for the writer, looking closely at our emotions and the things that shape our lives.
I had a wonderful stay in Southend in a hotel that is a Grade II listed building built in 1857. We were in the Estuary Suite at the Gleneagles Guesthouse and they even put a candle in my hashed browns for breakfast! All overlooked by Queen Victoria’s statue.
We shopped, we walked (I did over 23000 steps that day), we did not frequent fancy restaurants but we did something I never do, something I told him I wanted to do. We bought chips, crispy piping hot chippy chips! And then we sat on a bench near the Cliffs Pavillion and shared them! Perfect. Who needs fancy restaurants, a perfect meal to celebrate turning fifty!
After that, we gave two homeless people money as it was cold and it must be terrible, can’t even imagine. Then we walked some more and ended up in Bobby Jo’s diner just past The Kursaal, drinking Reeses Peanut Buttercup milkshake. Oh my!
It was a perfect kind of day both lavish and understated and above all happy 🙂
The following morning, after our 7 am walk, breakfast (complete with candle of course) I sat here and I composed more of the new story idea.
I felt oddly close to my grandparents who died in 1977, so long ago, and yet there are here and ready to share our wedding. I was also thinking about my other grandparents as if all are drawing close at this magical and long awaited time. So I got to thinking. About life, its transience, the moments we capture. I feel that I am being guided not to tell the story of grandad too closely, of what happened to him in Changi, although it has to be told in part, but of my grandmother, my nan. Mum showed me a photo on my birthday of her in a stylish long black coat with a hat and Mal said how we looked alike. Imagine marrying the love of your life and then being sent off to serve your country just hours later. 1933. Off we went and every time they said they would grant him leave they needed him elsewhere. The final date he had to come home: September 3rd, 1939 (some six years later having never seen his new wife since they married)… but war broke out and it would be another six years before he came home. Imagine. I feel in order to tell his story, I must tell hers. What was she thinking? How do you go on, what pictures do you have in your head to get you through… especially when grandad was captured?
So the story is in there and being teased out at the moment. It has to be a love story, for what else is there?
On a lighter note, my crazy gym buddies will be taking part in our private spin class tonight in tutus and 80’s gear — yes really! Hensanity! No doubt a photo or two might follow!
So have an amazing weekend folks and see you next week for the final countdown… 8 days…