fri 1 jul
by Pierce Eldridge
I wake really early and spend most of the morning trying to lounge, as best I can, with the mammoth amount I have (already) swirling on my mind. Today it finally feels, though, I can take a moment having caught up on responsibilities last week missed due to being sick.
I go for a stroll, up to Chatsworth Road to take a coffee and sit in some warming sun. Along the way I stop at a little neighbourly book-share-box, shaped like a home, and see inside a new issue is available from Apple Crumble.
I think this is my 8th edition I’ve collected, the stash of them now deep within a pocket of my suitcase, and I revel in the simple beauty that is a mysterious family producing zines every month.
This edition follows Elsy, Amy and Peter who are delighted with a gift of lego from their parents. They play together, excitedly, sharing as best they can the pieces between themselves; building castles and horses.
On the back it says this adventure is to be continued. As I move house tomorrow, I mourn the loss of this pleasure. I write a note at the cafe, I sign it ‘local neighbour’, and the message reads:
~these zines have been really special to me. Thank you.
When I get home I take another coffee and have (a lot) of butter and marmite (which certainly isn’t Vegemite) on toast.
I do a handful of emails, review Asana, open a spreadsheet called ‘we will find a house’, call a few real-estate agents, mindlessly watch the new Drag Race, read, take a shower, consider cutting the knots from my hair out (but I don’t), take more coffee, brush my teeth, and head out to meet a cat-owner to grab the keys to her place where I will be staying for the next 5 weeks.
Chiara and I have just been to Leyton to view a home and now we are strolling through Stoke Newington to see another on High St. I think both of us are feeling flat, the stress of searching for a home right now renders us non-communicative past conversations on how/where to find a home, and quickly.
We’re early to this viewing and instead of going in we decide to take a stroll, stopping into a local organics to grab raspberries, a cola, and Chiara collects an orange and carrot juice.
We make our way to a little park bench, and there we let each other share, flood, spill emotion. Both of us are like heavily wedged and watered clay, drooping a little. But this interaction lets us reach to the other with helping hands to remould, reshape and reinvigorate.
The homes aren’t exactly what we’d been hoping for. I call a real-estate agent really late who doesn’t answer. She calls back, I can hear she is in her car, I’m thankful on a Friday afternoon she made the time to reach me. I gently plead she make us the priority for a location she herself suggested we apply for. She says she will be back to me tomorrow with more information. I feel thankful for this generosity.
I take the ride home on my bike slowly. Trying to challenge myself by going down streets I haven’t been before, and surprisingly I find my way to my favoured local organics on Chatsworth.
There I buy some spelt tagliolini, a made-fresh pesto, a can of peas, a courgette, and package a handful of mushrooms. They offer me a little slice of cheddar, which I think I can shave over the top of my meal later this-evening.
When I return home I take a beer from the fridge and crack open 4 or 5 small garlic cloves, dicing them finely. I do the same with a bunch of fresh baby tomatoes I have on the bench, the courgette, and the mushrooms. I heat a pan until the garlic is fragrantly caramelising in the olive oil before adding the other items. In a smaller pot I bring water and salt to a boil, the tagliolini doesn’t take long to soften.
I don’t fry the veg for too long, as to avoid completely removing the nutrients. I drain the peas, adding those as I take it off the heat, and stir in some fresh spinach. I drain the tagliolini, adding it to a bigger pot now, as I empty the contents of the fresh pesto over the swirling, heated, strips. I mix in the basil substance, then I take the vegetables and add them to this pot so they are mixed with the sticky residue of the pesto too.
I serve with a very light squeeze of lemon and a shaving of cheddar. I crack some pepper.
I take this to my bed. There, I open my computer and continue to watch ~And Then We Danced~ off Mubi. I’ve watched it in three sittings, this the third, and I feel sentimental for the magic of this love story lingering with me over the last few days.
I think, imagine if all movies were meant to be viewed in the course of snippets.
When I finish, I cry a little at its powerful end. There’s a moment with a phone in a locker room that killed me; and I think, in that moment, how seismic communication is for the heart. As the character cries to hear from their lover, I mourn with them. I giggle, chortle, snort, cough, cry.. again.
The sun is still up outside, I look out into the fading hue of blue turning midnight navy. I read for a moment before feeling my body singing me to sleep.
Before I sleep though, Baldwin calls out to me:
~Let this be my summertime
~Of azure sky and rolling sea,
~And just myself enhanced with thee.
~And children playing in the glory
~Of a carefree, youthful day,
~And sunshine shining from the heavens,
~And tears and sighting fled away.
~Let this be my happiness
~‘Midst the earth’s swift-flowing woe.
~Let this be my only solace–
~Just to know you love me so.
~Just to know that we’ll go winging,
~Far above this earthy clime,
~Hand in hand through laughing meadows.
~Let this be my summertime.