A part, Apart.

sisters

 

 

I am sitting in a room which has been turned upside out, and wrung inside out. It has wooden laminate floors, wooden bedside tables, a wonderful light polished wood little desk with a solid oak chair, and a pretty white lamp. Two old, crooked beds stand on either side of the room, and there is a large space in the middle for dancing, lying on the floor in a stress-induced coma, sitting intently in front of a chessboard/large jigsaw puzzle… hey, you name it!

There is a round striped red, cream and brown rug in the middle of the empty space, and it smells absolutely heavenly. Like jasmine wreathed in an ethereal perfume. An old Victorian fireplace, still in its original form and therefore slightly crumbling stands in the centre of the east wall, below an old wooden mantle that is slightly rickety. Books that are old and thumbed through scatter shelves about the room. I have removed them all from the floor, there’s a start! There is a large window which lets in exorbitant amounts of sunlight. There is a built-in wardrobe filled with fancy fluttery things I will never wear. On one of the bedside tables there lies an omnibus edition of The Lord of the Rings. The inside of its front cover is inscribed with the words, “To Ellie, from Len”.

I am very proud of this room. It has been through a lot. I sobbed over many things before I extracted myself from them and eventually threw them out. It is clean, it smells fresh. I worked bloody hard on it.

So, I shall desperately want to see my lovely sister’s reaction when she walks in after hours of travel, heavy suitcase in hand. I want to see her tremble with excitement as her eyes rove over the rearranged furniture. I want to see her smile as she realises all the junk that is actually my junk is finally thrown away. I want to see the joyous rapture in her eyes when she sees the new bookshelves on the wall, stacked with all her old loves. I want to hear her tremulous gasp as her eyes finally fall upon the fat slab of a book on her bedside table. Hear the loud thump as her suitcase drops to the ground. See her dash, her pretty scarf trailing like a fluttering swirl of sunshine behind her as she falls upon the treasure she has long awaited. Watch her excitedly thumb through the pages, laughingly read out her favourite parts, her eyes glancing up at me to see if her older sister is listening. And I am, I am laughing, listening, enjoying her voice tumble words out excitedly, not pausing for breath, feverishly sifting through chapters.

Finally, as her pleasure is exhausted, because one cannot rapture over something for so long, the book falls to her lap as her long slender fingers clasp together and she looks up at me with glee. Her arrival is complete.

I miss my sister.

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Of Typing

I moved and now I am living in a one bedroom flat in a little old salt town where they used to mine salt. Now I know salt is a naturally occurring mineral but I still have not gathered enough information about this whole salt mining affair. When I do, I shall be sure to write about it because the way I see it, everywhere one goes is an experience and this is mine!

My home is about two and a half hours away by car, and I really do not know what to think. I am calling it my home even though it is no longer my home; it is my family’s home. This is now my home. This little first floor flat opening out into a little brick-wall enclosed yard. With it’s old fashioned windows which we are not allowed to double glaze on account of its being listed. With it’s little sitting room containing a single sofa, three polka dot cushions, a fluffy purple rug, a round red lampshade, and a mini mosaic dinner table with two round chairs. We have a bedroom with a  bed, teal bedding, a sleek black wardrobe and a little multicoloured cabinet with our toiletries laid out on top, and a surprise typewriter.

Yes, I said a surprise typewriter. Can you believe this? I walked in on Saturday night, late mind, since we had a late start, and I was led by hand into the bedroom where, lo and behold, there stood a REAL TYPEWRITER.

 

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I was speechless for a solid 15 minutes. I have always wanted a typewriter. It is not usable yet, as it is still a work in progress, but I feel so loved. I thought it was a magnificent way to welcome me to our new home. A solid, ages old, black vintage original typewriter, all for me. Nobody has ever done anything so thoughtful for me before. I am a blessed girl!

My brain feels as though it is on a cloud. I feel at home mainly because I am the sort of girl who keeps herself to herself anyway. So living in a new place is not so daunting, given that I am already used to being alone.

It occurred to me this morning that I might possibly have forgotten how to be social. I lay there as the morning sun filtered in through the flowery patterns on the net curtains, on to the pillow next to me and I thought to myself,

Good grief, Lenora. None of your friendships are satisfying. You always feel bored by people. You always cannot wait for the social event to be over. You yearn for the feeling of those old days when you used to feel a shiver of excitement at the prospect of going to school and hanging out with your best friend.

I do I do I do. I haven’t had that feeling in a very long time. I admit, most of my good friends ARE far away, and all the new friends I have acquired just do not hit the mark, you know? I generally feel awkward, or have to force a laugh, or I generally just … fade away.

Perhaps I am friends with the wrong sorts of people? Either way, at this moment in time, it is a genuine blessing to be away from the world and enjoy the peace this little salt mining town, with its daisies and silent canal houses, it’s quaint shops and bustling chippies, its nodding laziness and its Saturday nights echoing with the scanty shouts of one drunkard.

I am in my element. I am where I always wanted to be. And I am learning about salt!