Life

eavan boland: the lost art of letter writing

Image by Bruno /Germany from Pixabay 

Image by Bruno /Germany from Pixabay 

THE LOST ART OF LETTER WRITING

The ratio of daylight to handwriting
Was the same as lacemaking to eyesight.
The paper was so thin it skinned air.

The hand was fire and the page tinder.
Everything burned away except the one
Place they singled out between fingers

Held over a letter pad they set aside
For the long evenings of their leave-takings,
Always asking after what they kept losing,

Always performing—even when a shadow
Fell across the page and they knew the answer
Was not forthcoming—the same action:

First the leaning down, the pen becoming
A staff to walk fields with as they vanished
Underfoot into memory. Then the letting up,

The lighter stroke, which brought back
Cranesbill and thistle, a bicycle wheel
Rusting: an iron circle hurting the grass

Again and the hedges veiled in hawthorn
Again just in time for the May Novenas
Recited in sweet air on a road leading

To another road, then another one, widening
To a motorway with four lanes, ending in
A new town on the edge of a city

They will never see. And if we say
An art is lost when it no longer knows
How to teach a sorrow to speak, come, see

The way we lost it: stacking letters in the attic,
Going downstairs so as not to listen to
The fields stirring at night as they became

Memory and in the morning as they became
Ink; what we did so as not to hear them
Whispering the only question they knew

By heart, the only one they learned from all
Those epistles of air and unreachable distance,
How to ask: is it still there?

- Eavan Boland

14 comfort reads for isolation or a long weekend

comfort-reads-for-iso-philippa-moore

With everything that’s going on in the world, and everyone either in lockdown or being urged to stay home, I think we need the comfort and escape of reading more than ever.

Here are some of my favourite reads when I want to shut the world out for a while.

Stephanie’s Journal by Stephanie Alexander

This is one of my favourite books (it’s one of my mate Veggie Mama’s too!) - it is the diary Stephanie Alexander kept in the year 1997, which turned out to be a momentous one for her. She closed her famous restaurant in Melbourne, opened the Richmond Hill Cafe and Larder, and held three residential cooking schools in Tuscany with her friend Maggie Beer. I have read this countless times - at least once a year since I bought it in 2001 sometime. It’s just wonderful. I particularly love reading about the cooking school in the magical Tuscan countryside, and all the mouthwatering food they cooked. It’s also a retreat back to a simpler age, where Stephanie’s mention of fax machines and “the internet” are very charming indeed.

My Life in France by Julia Child 

This is one of my favourite books. It is just pure joy, from start to finish. Julia finds herself in a foreign country, not speaking the language, knowing very few people and wanting to discover her purpose in life. "At age thirty-seven, I was still discovering who I was," she writes. I feel very similarly! Her delight in discovering the pleasures of food and cooking, and her incredible work ethic and refusal to give up on a project she believed in wholeheartedly, is a balm for the soul for anyone feeling a little cynical or dejected. Never give up! 

Mariana by Monica Dickens

This book is a real delight. Persephone Books refer to it as a “hot water bottle novel” and that’s exactly what it is - a book you can curl up with on the sofa and escape into. Mostly set in England between the world wars, it’s the coming-of-age story of Mary, whom we follow from childhood right through to the early years of the Second World War where she is desperately waiting to hear whether her husband has survived the bombing of his ship. We see Mary’s idyllic childhood summers at her grandparents’ country home, her school days and life at home in a London flat with her widowed bohemian dressmaker mother and actor uncle, her hilarious adventures at drama school and eventually travels to Paris, and all the misguided decisions, in love and all else, she makes along the way. It is a very funny, poignant and heartwarming book all at once.

84 Charing Cross Road / The Duchess of Bloomsbury Street by Helene Hanff

“I used to go to English movies just to look at the streets. I remember years ago a guy I knew told me that people going to England find exactly what they go looking for. I said I'd go looking for the England of English Literature, and he nodded and said: ‘It's there.’” Oh, this glorious book. What a treat. If you love London and books, I highly recommend it. It’s as charming and delightful as everyone says.

A Basket by The Door by Sophie Hansen

This book has barely left my side since I bought it last month. Full of gorgeous photos that capture the beauty and abundance of each season in country mainland Australia, Sophie’s words and recipes are a true delight. It’s a stunning book, beautifully styled and put together. I have made so many dishes from it (a rare thing for me, despite adoring cookbooks and having perhaps a thousand of them) and everything I’ve made, from the sumptuous apple butter to the nutty wholesome oatcakes, has been sublime. As the title suggests, leaving “a basket by the door” for a friend, neighbour or family member when they might be in need of help or nourishment is a beautiful thing to do at any time, but particularly in these times, it is a wonderfully kind and thoughtful gesture. A lovely cookbook to escape into to help you make the most of the abundant autumn (fresh food-wise) we’re currently enjoying in Australia.

The Cazalet Chronicles by Elizabeth Jane Howard (five books in total, this is the first)

Anyone who hasn’t read this series is in for a marvellous treat - and now would be the perfect time. I discovered the series in 2015 - I snapped up the first in the series at the local charity bookshop, and the next day I bought all the rest!  The series follows the fortunes of an upper middle-class family, the Cazalets, before and after the Second World War, with five books in all. It’s utterly enthralling, like ‘Enid Blyton for grownups’ as one of my friends put it. If you want a series to get lost in, I highly recommend them. 

Under The Tuscan Sun by Frances Mayes

This has been a great escapist read for me since the first time I read it, borrowed from the Glenorchy library when I was about 21, desperate to travel, live abroad and see Italy with my own eyes. It’s so evocative and poetic, filled with affection for Italy and food, and reading it now is like sitting down for a coffee or limoncello with a friend you haven’t seen for 10 years or so but who is just as vibrant and thoughtful as they ever were. There are lines in this book that I often think of (“may summer last a thousand years” for example) and images that are so poignantly brought to life - like the man eating Christmas Eve dinner alone in a trattoria, cracking each fresh walnut one by one - that they have never left me. Armchair travel at its best, this wonderful book always makes me feel hopeful about the future and reminds me that beauty and joy can be found everywhere, and that it’s never too late to do something magical, whether it’s planting a garden or chucking it all in to buy a house in Italy.

The Tea Chest by Josephine Moon

This is a lovely curl-up-with-a-cup-of-tea read (fittingly!). The Tea Chest follows the journey of an Australian woman who moves to London to open a tea shop (like T2 or Whittard’s but with a magical element!) and the lives of various other women she encounters to help her make this dream a reality. All of the women have their own demons to battle and the story ultimately is about resilience, following your dreams and trusting yourself.

White Heart by Heather Rose

This is a book I reread every year - this is why. It’s a novel about a woman named Farley who grows up in Tasmania and who, in the face of a devastating loss (though we don’t realise exactly what this loss was until near the end), goes searching elsewhere - overseas and mainland Australia - for meaning, wholeness and love. When I first read it, aged 19, I thought it was one of the most beautifully written books I’d ever read. I still do.

The Christmas Chronicles and The Kitchen Diaries by Nigel Slater

I have said many times over the years, and almost certainly on this blog before, that Nigel Slater could write a book about paint drying and I would buy it. If you love food and find reading about it relaxing and fun, then you will be delighted with either, or both, of these two of his, which are probably my favourites of all his books. Both are written in a diary format - The Kitchen Diaries covers a whole year of eating and The Christmas Chronicles covers only November to mid-January - and are magnificently evocative and poetic in true Nigel style. In Kitchen Diaries he shares what he cooks each day, making the most of what’s in season, but occasionally there’s takeaway or something simple eaten with a beer in front of the TV (reassuring!). CC is a celebration of his favourite time of year - Christmas, and winter in general. A cold Christmas is something I wholeheartedly embraced while I lived in the UK and this wonderful book made me look forward to winter for the first time in my life. As winter is approaching in Australia, I think I’ll have to read it again! Either way, if you want to escape from life for a while, Nigel is an ideal companion.

The Fortnight in September by R.C Sheriff

Also one of my beloved Persephone books and one of the most accomplished, most finely observed novels I have ever read. The premise is so simple - we follow the Stevens family on their annual two week holiday to the seaside in Bognor Regis. They are a typical middle-class 1930s family and have been going to the same B&B run by the same people for a very long time. Their holiday is as well-planned and thought out as their daily lives in South London, Mr Stevens has thought of everything down to the packing of the suitcases, the timings of the trains and which beach hut to hire for the best perspective. The B&B isn’t quite as comfortable as it used to be - slightly shabby, the landlady a little older and dottier - but the Stevens family do what they’ve always done and make the best of things. It’s an absolutely fascinating novel and so finely and accurately observed. Like I said, such a simple premise but the novel manages to capture all the big concerns of life within it - love, hope, disappointment, home, family, the passing of the years. I also loved how the very feeling of being on holiday is captured in this book - how the arrival at one’s destination is so anticipated and exciting, and then the days begin to roll by faster and faster and before you know it, the holiday is over and it’s time to go back home, to normal life. Wonderful. Simply wonderful.

Miss Buncle’s Book by D.E Stevenson

Also mentioned in my Persephone post and one of my favourites of theirs. Written in 1934 and hence reflecting the concerns of women at the time, without the financial security of marriage, Miss Barbara Buncle finds herself needing to supplement her already meagre income. She does what many people think will bring certain fame and fortune - write and publish a book! She writes a novel based on her village and all the people who live in it, thinking that changing names and writing it under a pseudonym will be sufficient to hide their true identities. To her huge surprise, her book (or John Smith’s book!) is a huge bestseller and her publisher wants a sequel, but lo and behold, all the villagers have read it, recognise themselves and their village immediately (which says it all, as some of it isn’t flattering!), are outraged and determined to find out who ‘John Smith’ is and make ‘him’ pay. No one suspects the dowdy and quiet Miss Buncle for a second, which is where all the hilarity ensues - but also makes an interesting observation that people often do have hidden lives and assumptions we make about others can so very often be wrong. It’s absorbing, intelligent and very charming.

Love and Hunger by Charlotte Wood

From one of my favourite novelists, this is a wonderful collection of essays about food, cooking, sharing meals with friends and family, the psychology of eating, and how food can soothe and comfort. Wood’s observations are warm and witty, and the recipes are fantastic too (I have made Jane’s Citrus Couscous several times). Part memoir, part cookbook, this is a food lover's delight.

I hope this has given you some inspiration for delightful books to escape into and curl up with over the next little while. If you read any of them, or have any comfort reads of your own to suggest, let me know!

when the bottle breaks

Image by Steve Buissinne from Pixabay

Image by Steve Buissinne from Pixabay

“Everything that needs to be said has already been said. But since no one was listening, everything must be said again.” - Andre Gide

I think we are getting a very clear message from the Universe that we need to get better at living in the moment.

When I started a daily meditation practice nearly three years ago, my aim was to get better at living in the present and meeting life on its own terms. To relinquish my need for control and simply be here now in my life instead of creating an identity out of stories, whether they were past dramas and traumas, or worries about a future that hadn’t happened yet.

I can’t say I’ve mastered it. I still get lost in drama and stories every now and then. But right now, with everything the world is facing, I am grateful for my meditation practice. For the past three years, I have been training my mind to accept every thought it has, including my deepest fears, and to listen to them with mindfulness and compassion.

And yet, until the recent pandemic crisis unfolded, I was still just as guilty as the next person of putting things off until X happens or when I’m fit enough to run a half-marathon again or when I’ve had my hair cut/brows waxed or whatever feeble excuse it might have been.

I still did this, despite having learned the lesson long ago that the present moment is all we have. A lesson which current circumstances are really hammering home.

Let me tell you a story.

A few years ago now, I was living in a tiny flat in the centre of London and I had a bottle of expensive body lotion on my dressing table. It was a Christmas gift and I'd been saving it - but for what, I'm not sure.  I would occasionally put a tiny daube of it on my hands when they felt dry and I wanted them to smell nice.  That's what I was doing one morning as I was about to leave the house for work, just picking up the bottle to put a tiny bit on my hands and be on my way. 

I must have squeezed the bottle too tightly because the next thing I knew, the bottle had broken, with jagged pieces of sharp plastic now sticking out of the thick lotion, and it had also sprayed lotion on to the floor and the wall. Just what you want when you’re running for a train, right?

Luckily, once I had wiped up the mess and got rid of the shards, I realised that if I lay the bottle on its side, with the broken side up, I could still use what was left of the lotion.  But it couldn’t be "saved" any more.  I would have to use it. So I did and, for the few weeks it lasted, I smelled lovely.

Why am I telling you this? you might ask. Because, like many epiphanies, it was a very small thing that held a much larger lesson.

Once my bottle was broken, that was it.  I couldn't save the body lotion for another day or once we move to the new house or whatever reason I wasn't allowing myself to just use it.  I had to use it now.  I had to just get on with it. The choice had been taken away from me. As it has with many far more basic everyday essentials, things we used to take for granted, now.

I don't think there is anything wrong with saving things for "best" or for a special treat. When you do indulgent things all the time, they stop becoming special and just become the norm.  So I think it's important to have a balance and definitely have some things that you do save for special times to add to that sense of occasion, and truly savour them when you do. 

But I'm not talking about buying a bottle of Pol Roger every weekend (though that would be amazing) and indulging in all kinds of extravagances as a distraction, although we all need those occasionally.  I’m also not talking about blowing your rent money on things you don’t need or can’t afford when you need to prioritise other things at this time.

What I'm talking about are the small things that you deny yourself, or put off, or only let yourself have when you’ve “earned” them, when actually those things would add so much joy and contentment to your life right now.

It could be a mug of that gorgeous, vanilla-scented loose leaf tea you love. The expensive shower gel that makes you think of ripe pears and spring flowers. New bath towels. Using the ‘good’ wine glasses, or the pretty dinner plates that your Mum gave you once a week, not just once a year.

It might not even be a thing. It could be allowing yourself to plant a garden. Get a puppy or a kitten. Learning to knit or play the piano.

Why, before everything changed, were you denying yourself these things? Why would you not have wanted to be the happiest and most fulfilled that you could possibly be? And are those reasons still valid now? It’s worth thinking about.

You never know when the choice is going to be taken away from you or when the illusion of control will be shattered. When you realise that even the ability to put something off for another time, an undefined moment in the future, was a privilege in itself.

When we save things for "later" or "for when X happens", we’re convincing ourselves that the future is going to be somehow better than what we're experiencing right now, in the present.  The truth is, the future is an illusion - it doesn't exist yet.  And the past is gone.  All we have is now.

So don’t put off your big dreams and your tiny joyful indulgences for another day, for a far off time where you envision you might be happier, more deserving, more accomplished, more worthy.

You are worthy of your dreams and your desires in life, right now. Just as you are.  

I realise that some things you want to do or treat yourself to may not be advisable or particularly do-able right now. You’re probably prioritising the basics like food and medicine and making sure your loved ones are OK over fancy hand cream, as I am.

But things won’t always be this way.

When all of this is over, I hope you will go and do all those things you’ve put off. And in the meantime, let yourself have the small moments of happiness and pleasure in your every day, whatever they might be for you. Don't wait until the bottle breaks. Or until you’re forced to stay at home.

Tell me, how are you going to look after yourself and live in the moment today?

interview with balance the grind

Image by Jeanine Stewart

Thank you to Balance the Grind for featuring me in their Conversations about Work, Life and Balance series.

It was great talking to them about my (not quite) typical working days, long and winding career paths, juggling freelance life with PhD life, writing, courage, self-compassion and changing your narrative.

“It has taken a while to untangle my sense of self-worth from my productivity and achievements but ultimately it has resulted in getting what I always wanted – being able to do work I love, having more control over my time and the freedom to follow the deepest, truest yearnings of my creative soul. That is the engine that drives me now.”

You can read the interview here.

are you going to behave today?

cake-philippa-moore

I was in a cafe today, with a new friend. We ordered our drinks - a chai for me, a peppermint tea for her. The server asked us breezily, “any of the sweets? Or are you going to behave today?”

Those words rang in my ears all day.

Not because I was angry. Or confused. Or sad. Maybe I was all those things. But I think I was more curious than anything. Why is that an acceptable thing to say? My friend didn’t even seem to notice the question. We just said no and continued our conversation. But if I had ordered a cake, would that have meant I was MIS-behaving?

It got me thinking about the belief system - that is so ingrained in our (white Western privileged) culture - that assigns moral value to food and food behaviour. Where some foods are “good” and others are “bad”. Where if you make a healthy choice you’re “being good”. Where if you’re slim it is assumed you have self control and if you’re overweight, you do not.

I have spent the past decade actively trying to free myself from that system.

And in the process, I have realised how much our (white Western privileged) society rewards people for conforming to the idea that you have to be slim to be successful and happy (I was one of them!) and shames and punishes those who don’t.

I have done a lot of untangling of the diet culture these past few years, and pondered my own role in it. While I know that I never actually said the words “losing weight is the answer to all your problems”, I can see why people thought I was because I didn’t have to. For a time, my very existence was a walking advertisement for the lie we are sold. Lose weight and hey presto, you’ll get to live the life you’ve always wanted! You’ll be popular, people will like you! Everything will be great!

And yes, that was my life, for a while. But like everything, it only appeared perfect on the surface, and it came with a price.

I know this all must sound strange coming from someone who started a weight loss blog 15 years ago and who revelled in the loose jeans, in getting to goal, in being admitted to that secret world where nothing tasted as good as being slim felt (which is bullshit - a fuck load of things taste that good!). It was only once I achieved it that I realised how dangerous it was.

Staying in that world depending on me following those rules. The confidence that came with the achievement was so incredibly flimsy, still so heavily reliant on external validation. All it would take was one card to be pulled out for the whole house to come falling down, which is exactly what happened.

But I’m now living beyond the after photo. The after photo was a golden time, and in many ways I’d have been happy if life could have carried on like that forever, because the highs were so high, so unforgettably wonderful. But the lows….well, if you’ve read The Latte Years, you’ll know all about those.

Nothing lasts. Change is the only constant in this crazy life. You cannot freeze time. I’d much rather be here, now, where I feel less concerned about what I look like and more about what kind of good I’m doing in the world and what sort of legacy I will leave behind.

A life where I know that eating a piece of cake is, in every sense of the word, good.