This summer L and I have had the good pleasure of hosting two girls from France. Not at the same time and not of the same age.
Visitor un arrived just as the weather began to turn to shit in Edinburgh. Was that July? Can we have a retake? Z wasn’t having any of it and bundles under soany layers of my borrowed clothes that I sometimes could hardly see her amongst the sweaters, cardies and blankets. Unfortunately as well, L spiked high fevers several night and days running. NHS 24 were called so frequently I’m surprised they didn’t say ‘Oh, Ms Harrison, you again?!’ upon hearing my anxious voice.
Highlights from Z’s trip include a drive in the countryside, watching Amelie three times, and chasing after L in the museum on Chambers Street.
Thank goodness the weather pulled its socks up and decided to play along with Summer by the time G arrived. Older than the former and so independent. It’s been lovely having her here to stay.
Obviously we took in some of the Fringe. We saw acrobatic swing dancing, David O’Doherty, and enjoyed walking through the crowds milling around the big tents. Yesterday we toured art venues galore, taking in the Collective’s views from Calton Hill, dipping down to maker space and activity in Gayfield Square then rounding it all off with M.C. Escher.
A word about Escher: Wow. Another word about Escher: Wow. The man had skillz. Very stupidly, I didn’t realise most of his works were made using woodblock prints. Astounding. If you look at the minute detail it blows you away. I liked his lesser known works, the landscapes of southern Italy. Truly beautiful.
And this was summer. Next: A birthday and my holiday to Sintra.
I’ve been a busy bee. Since landing in this part of town I have had the great fantastic coincidence of having shop two of Curiouser&Curiouser open not too many doors away from me. This is great as a) all of my gift buying needs can be so easily done within a short mosey from my flat and b) it looks pretty nestled there beside a cheesecake shop, a frozen yoghurt shop and a cupcake shop and c) dropping off prints is now so very convenient.
So now. What? August is almost over. And with a resounding thud, stuff stops. For a bit. And then there is the Christmas frenzy.
A project is needed to tide me over until then. So what will it be? What shall I do? Thinking, thinking, thinking.
Just like many many recent mornings, I was woken up by a soft ‘Hiya! Hiya!’ coming from L’s bedroom. I should record this and use it as my alarm for when she launches into those teenage years and doesn’t want to emerge until noon. Although, I can’t imagine her being a late riser. Ever. She’s too much like me.
Work has been going incredibly well. So well, in fact, that it’s causing me to be filled with fizzing, bubbling excitement. It’s good to be back. Edinburgh, sorry baby, I shouldn’t have left ya. Well, in many ways I’m thankful I did for those wonderful connections I made in Berwick, but I feel that this place is my true north. My compass points to this beautiful, rain-soaked city.
Work is going well because a shop that stocks my work has opened up a new premises and the locals seem to like what they see. To be honest, it’s possibly the best month I’ve ever had. Jesus. Why don’t I go on about it some more?! Dear reader, this will all flip around and turn into a different story mid-winter. I will be wracked with despair when I see almost nothing trickle into my bank account. The highs and lows of this job. Yet, I prefer nothing else.
L and I have had the good fortune to reconnect with friends and to make new ones. My current life line is the song circle we attend. And the fortune came when I unknowingly nestled us into a corner of two other single, creative mothers. It does matter. Making these connections. I know my story isn’t original; hearing how others are making it work is very uplifting. Or hearing about the struggles that sound like my own.
At the end of all this (All what? Life?!) I want L to have a good life. A great life. A life filled with magic and adventure and the pretty stuff of Wes Anderson’s movies, but without the underlying melancholy and tragedy. I want her life to be defined by possibilities and not by the fact that the beginning was not as ideal as it could have been.