2008 — 11 November: R.I.P. dearest Christa!
What a difference a year makes, heh?
Intellectually, rationally, there's no earthly reason for any one day to be more (or less!) upsetting than any other since Christa's death. Let's face it: every day can be construed as an anniversary of one thing or another of the 33+ years we spent together. Nonetheless, I'm very glad my friend Gill will be spending part of this anniversary day with me. I've had a lot of time and opportunity to think about the life Christa and I shared, the life we made together in our son Peter ...
... and the new form and shape my life is now inevitably taking on. And although I disagree, fiercely, with a lot of what Freud said, I have little argument with the following snippet that he wrote to his friend Ludwig Binswanger:
We find a place for what we lose. Although we know that after such a loss the acute stage of mourning will subside, we also know that we shall remain inconsolable and will never find a substitute. No matter what may fill the gap, even if it be filled completely, it nevertheless remains something else.
Continuing...
The evidence suggests that Life goes on. So does the shopping! The ingredients for the next crockpot are safely gathered in and the go-juice tank has been topped up. I note the running aground of that large boat named after Brenda — in its home port, too. Tsk, tsk. I'm sure I have a picture or two of Christa and dear Mama by the QE2 in earlier times. Never been on it, of course. Sartre's definition of Hell can be easily extended to encompass a large cruise liner...
It's 10:36, quite sunny, and I have a little lunchtime expotition planned. I trust my Dominatrix in a GPS box will ensure it's not too much of a mystery tour.
Safely back...
... after a sunny trip down to Keyhaven (gateway, as it were, to Hurst Castle) and lunch at The Gun Inn. Gill managed to get some movie footage (not that "footage" is really le mot juste in bits-on-a-hard-drive terms) of an egret doing some fishing and declared the site/sight an excellent choice. We were very lucky with the weather, though it was certainly not hot. When we got back I showed her an episode of Seinfeld ("The implant" with Teri Hatcher, whom she recognised immediately) to try to convince her of the merits of this sublime comedy. She has lent me two versions of "Sweeney Todd" to watch; I shall start tonight with the Tim Burton film, though I need to do something about the inner man first — it's 18:00 already.
Goodness me, what a gorefest! Still, I don't suppose the nightmares will last for more than a couple of weeks. I won't be eating meat pies for a while, though. It's 21:16 and time for a nerve-soothing cuppa.