Heave Awa' Celebration

Barbie Ann with Pink Flamingo

Having seen Oppenheimer, this week was the turn for Barbie, with Edwin's insistence. He treated us to the tickets then led us in, to a sea of women in pink with fancy cowboy hats. It was surprisingly good, and certainly thought-provoking. I can well see why it gets so many rave reviews. It remains an interesting conjecture, why they are so often bracketed and seen together as BarbyHeim. One is so thought-triggering as we recall mayhem unleased, the other a light, frivolous bit of nonsense; but Barbie too contains some surprising depth, with a serious approach to women's lack of full equality in the US, and a nod towards death and imperminance. 

The accepted wisdom states that "There is nothing so certain as death and taxes." But last week, we received a miracle: a hefty tax rebate! Such things never happen to us, and it was totally unexpected, but it brought into focus the corollary that perhaps I will get an extension before my death sentence. It will be recalled that, on 16th of September of last year, the oncologists told me the cancer had spread widely, and they could do nothing further for me. Consequently, they didn't want to see me again and signed me off their books, with the cheerful parting aside, "you only have twelve months." It is not yet twelve months, but we hope to celebrate the occasion with a "Heave Awa' Party", to which all are invited. This is named after the occasion when an ancient tenement building collapsed in 1856, killing 35 people. As workmen were clearing the rubble, a voice called out to them, "Heave awa' lads, I'm no deid yet!" and they successfully pulled a young lad clear, the only survivor. We hope we are not tempting fate or retribution too much by planning this celebration too soon, but I've told Ann that if either of us don't make it, the survivor should turn it into a wake, as everyone will already have made preparations to come.

I have managed to cook another dish. This time, I prepared a tomato and cheese bake with fusilli pasta, and it wasn't bad. I had originally planned it for Ann's birthday six weeks ago, but on the day she said she'd rather go out so we ended up at the Swan as usual. I still had the ingredients though, so didn't have to buy anything new. The mozzarella cheese was well past its sell-by date but still looked pure white and didn't smell bad, so we risked it with no obvious ill-effect.

You are still here...

Just for a moment
you are still here.
Maybe next month
maybe next year
we will mourn
a salt-flavoured tear
for one who gave more
than most people dare.

Annie Elliott