#wishfulness

It is a month, almost to the day, since my daughter and her partner moved out of this little house.

She had been living with me for 13 years, half her life, since her mother left to live and work in the US. Her partner, G, had come to live with us four years ago, in rather extraordinary circumstances that I do not need to go into but, in 2020, COVID brought new restrictions for everyone (except, it seems, Boris Johnson and Dominic Cummings) and, by the time those ended, his presence in the house had become an established fact.

We actually rubbed along quite well but it did not prevent a certain level of curmudgeonly resentment from building in my mind. G was a good cook and liked to cook as a relaxation from his day job as a bricklayer. Up until his arrival I had been the provider of food and had achieved a level of competence in a narrow but useful range of meals, but after he moved in my role was limited to forager and banker, which I found less satisfying for all that it was still demanding.

To find resentment in someone making your life better is pretty sad but it wasn’t just the diminution in my role that I resented. Still, to list all the petty grievances that surfaced in my head over the period would serve no purpose here but to make you, the reader, squirm at my insufferable intolerance so I shall refrain from doing so but let me say that even as they arose I knew that they were simply the hooks on which I hung my ego’s discomfort.

All of which did not stop me from recounting them to anyone who would listen, most often in the pub, which I visited regularly out of what I liked to think of as a sense of duty. But as I told my tale of woe it always elicited the same response from my audience: “Throw them out. Give them notice then chuck their stuff into the garden and change the locks.” And as soon as this advice issued forth, I knew that I had done a bad thing. It was a self-serving lie.

Because it really wasn’t that bad at all. Yes, it was less than ideal but it was not their fault. They wanted a place of their own just as much as I wanted my space back. They just had nowhere else to be. And I had the room to offer them. In my heart I knew that what was happening was The Right Thing To Do. Throwing them out, even asking them to leave, even letting them know that I would like them to leave, would have been an offence against decency. So I swallowed my resentment and got on with … getting on.

Not, of course, that this put a stop to my craving for their departure, or my displeasure and the hundred and one little “inconveniences” that their presence put me to. No, these worked themselves up in my head on a daily basis until I could barely contain them.

So it was a huge relief when they announced that they were actively looking for a place to move out to and an even greater one when they found a place. I tempered my joy at their imminent departure with the thought that it was as good for them as it was for me and threw myself into helping them complete the move.

As I said at the start, it has now been a month since they moved out. And here I am, in the middle of the night, unable to sleep. And a good part of that inability is down to the unnatural quiet of my home. The almost supernatural awareness that I am alone here heightens my sensitivity to almost any sound that a house makes at night as it cools. But it is more than the sounds of silence. I no longer come down in the morning to a sofa that needs straightening because my daughter has been sitting on it. I no longer have to collect dustpans full of cement and brick dust from the lobby on a daily basis. The coatracks are empty of all but my coats and hats. The TV, which for years I regarded as under the narrow jurisdiction of my daughter’s tastes, now demonstrates to me repeatedly that there is nothing that I want to watch. “My” music, which, for years, I told myself I could not play because it would not be “appreciated”, now jars and irritates me when I switch it on.

I suppose in time I will reach a new accommodation with myself and learn again to live alone. But, for now, I am experiencing something akin to grief at the loss of the company that I had, for some time, enjoyed the luxury of believing had been imposed on me.   

His dreams are the only castle to live and hide in

Uploaded by Tushar Biswas You broke the ocean into half to be with me Only to meet our dreams you see She wore the scent of an early spring And her bonding was as delicate as a string After a decade, I questioned her lips And the answer I got form her valiant hips Every kisses I stole, tasted of yellow flower And her en bosom felt as a gelid shower The lines stitched in my heart, recite me of her…

I had no Cause to be awake — My Best — was gone to sleep — And Morn a new politeness took —　 And failed to wake them up —　

But called the others — clear — And passed their Curtains by — Sweet Morning — when I oversleep — Knock — Recollect — to Me —

I looked at Sunrise — Once — And then I looked at Them — And wishfulness in me arose — For Circumstance the same —

'Twas such an Ample Peace — It could not hold a Sigh — 'Twas Sabbath — with the Bells divorced — 'Twas Sunset — all the Day —

So choosing but a Gown — And taking but a Prayer — The only Raiment I should need — I struggled — and was There —

Emily enjoyed the polar night. She was reluctant to join the morning prayer. 

I had no Cause to be awake — My Best was to go to sleep — And Morn took a new politeness And failed to wake them up —　

But the others called clear And parted their Curtains — Sweet Morning when I oversleep — I noticed the Knock —

I looked at Sunrise once And then I looked at them — And yearning for the same condition Arose in me—

'Twas such an Ample Peace — It could not hold a Sigh — 'Twas Sunday except for the sound of Bells 'Twas Sunset all the Day —