“Johnny, the kitchen sink has been clogged for days, some utensil probably fell down there. And the Drano won’t work but smells dangerous, and the crusty dishes have piled up waiting for the plumber I still haven’t called. This is the everyday we spoke of.
It’s winter again: the sky’s a deep, headstrong blue, and the sunlight pours through the open living-room windows because the heat’s on too high in here and I can’t turn it off. For weeks now, driving, or dropping a bag of groceries in the street, the bag breaking, I’ve been thinking: This is what the living do.
And yesterday, hurrying along those wobbly bricks in the Cambridge sidewalk, spilling my coffee down my wrist and sleeve, I thought it again, and again later, when buying a hairbrush: This is it.
Parking. Slamming the car door shut in the cold. What you called that yearning. What you finally gave up. We want the spring to come and the winter to pass. We want whoever to call or not call, a letter, a kiss–we want more and more and then more of it.
But there are moments, walking, when I catch a glimpse of myself in the window glass, say, the window of the corner video store, and I’m gripped by a cherishing so deep for my own blowing hair, chapped face, and unbuttoned coat that I’m speechless:
“Fall, leaves, fall; die, flowers, away; Lengthen night and shorten day; Every leaf speaks bliss to me Fluttering from the autumn tree. I shall smile when wreaths of snow Blossom where the rose should grow; I shall sing when night’s decay Ushers in a drearier day.”
There’s this “pool” in front of the hotel which is actually an art installation called “Silence” (by Tadao Ando). Two trees sit in a raised granite-edged pool while atomisers hidden at the base of the trees create clouds of water vapour for fifteen seconds every fifteen minutes. The glass lenses below the surface of the water contain fibre optics that illuminate the basin by night.
The feature was jointly commissioned by Grosvenor and the Connaught hotel. The street improvements are based on the understanding that the space between buildings is as important as the buildings themselves. Ever-increasing traffic volume, and a mass of unnecessary signage and other ‘clutter’, have diminished the quality of London’s streets. The works aim to enhance the experience for all those who live, work and visit, particularly pedestrians.
I can’t remember the restaurant’s name, except that I was annoyed as they didn’t have a toilet for customers. I wish it was illegal, I’m sure it is, but all I knew for sure at the time was that I wasn’t going to return.
Afternoon enjoying food at Ichiba, the asian market/foodhall at Westfield. Couldn’t finish the Little Moons (frozen rice cakes filled with ice cream), so we took the leftovers home; they started to melt in the car and leaked inside my bag. Tragedy aside, they’re delicious. And I was just made aware that Waitrose stocks them. Uh-oh.