The Judeo-Christian Supper

A guest blog written by my dear friend Martin.

Setting the scene

E and I were invited for dinner at J and M’s last Saturday night, and we were excited to go – meals with J and M are always scintillating.  We arrived in the rain with the Chi in tow, expecting to let the children play upstairs until they fell asleep whilst we lingered on long into the night - only to be met at the door by an exceedingly chilled hosting couple and a babysitter. Dinner, we were informed, was actually taking place a block away in the home of the local Parish Priest.

M had won the first prize draw at a raffle in his church - Winning Raffle Ticket Pink 64: Supper for eight cooked by Father S and KV, and we had been included in the 8.  For the record - the group was made up of two Jews, a Greek Orthodox, a Catholic, a Protestant and three Church of England followers. Our differences were discussed.

The following is an account of the evening, as reviewed by our host for publication in the fortnightly church paper “the Review”. 

When Martin forwarded his review it came with the email exchange between him and the editor of the Review and I think it sets the scene well so have taken the liberty to include it below:

From: JP

To: MK

Subject: Congratulations Date: Mon, 12 Oct 2009 08:46

Hello M

I hear yours was the winning ticket…….  it should be quite a night.

When there are church ‘occasions’, there’s always a sting in the tail from me!  Are you willing to do a write-up of the evening for REVIEW, please?  Unfortunately it will have to be during the few days which follow, as REVIEW will be pretty much ready for printing by then.

All the best & good luck compiling your guest list [is everybody suddenly being very nice to you?]

From: MK  

To: JP                      

Sent: Monday, October 12, 2009 10:16

Thanks J
  I have had some wine offered for the evening.

From: JP

To: MP

Date: Monday, 12 Oct 2009 13:30

What’s the betting you won’t be at choir practice on the morning after the night before?

From: MK

To: JP                      

Sent: Monday, October 12, 2009 17:39

On the contrary, I anticipate a civilised meal, with no over-indulgence, followed by an early night.

From: JP

To: MK

Date: Mon, 12 Oct 2009 18:41

With Fr S in charge?  Not a hope.  For the best possible contribution to REVIEW I envisage an evening of bacchanalian revelry.

From: MK

To: JP                      

Sent: Monday, October 12, 2009 21:14

I suspect the quality of my contribution to the REVIEW will be in inverse proportion to the amount of bacchanalian revelry, I mean, I could imagine a REVIEW entry which simply said, “Oh my head”. 

From: JP

To: MK

Date: 13 Oct 2009 07:47

Around 600 words please!

From: MK

To: JP                      

Sent: 13 October 2009 16:18

Gosh, I’d better start writing now…..Starters: Mozzarella, fresh baby Tomatoes, garnished with Basil. The piquancy of the Tomatoes was unrivalled, save only for the sparkling conversation around the dinner table, and the occasional thump, crash and agitated murmur from the kitchen; I find expletives sound so much more piquant and threatening when uttered from the mouth of your angry local parish priest…. 

And for one night only: The Meal

Saturday 6.45: With minutes to go before our friends are due to arrive, I get a telephone call from one of them, T, informing me that he doesn’t eat Chicken and A is a vegetarian. What’s on the menu?

Chicken.

7.05: Guests assemble at our house, but the house looks a tip and there’s no sign of cooking or a laid table, and Jess and Martin look decidedly relaxed, too relaxed.  What’s going on?

7.15: Troop to Coombe Gardens with twelve bottles of wine, one bottle of Port, two cheeses, a soft drink, and some chocolate, to be met by Father Stuart. L removes her beautiful jeweled shoes and makes herself at home in the sitting room, warming her feet in front of the coal fire. Our twelve bottles of wine disappear.

William, our splendid wine waiter, offers us an aperitif made of blackcurrant and apple. I settle into my seat. William’s back on the scene; oh, go on then, I will have another one.

Starter: Goat’s Cheese, Tomato and Herb Tart

William gives me a glass of white. I wander into the kitchen to try and find wine and retrieve two bottles that are meant as presents. Fr S suggests in no uncertain terms that I leave the kitchen. L wanders into the kitchen after discovering that Kim is a Zimbabwean. After some time in the kitchen L discovers that Kim went to school with her best friend.

Main Course: Coq au Vin

William gives me a glass of red. I suggest, in my best Bristolean accent, that as both M and R live in Wandsworth, A should tell everyone her ‘Wandsworth’ story. I suggest Fr S stays to listen. He says he’ll only stay if it’s dirty. He stays.

E is chuckling a lot.

I tell everyone how I like to ensure that guests who don’t know each other have some kind of connection: R’s sister’s children do a lot of show-jumping and I’ve seen a picture of T show-jumping. T and A have been to Cephallonia, and L comes from there. No, she doesn’t drink the wine when’s she’s there.

Jess tells everyone how on her holidays twenty years ago, she found the Zimbabweans a friendly and proud people. R and M met in Zimbabwe and later R worked there for some time. R and L discuss two books about Zimbabwe: ‘Don’t go down to the dogs tonight’, Alexandra Fuller, and ‘The Voluptuous Delights of Peanut Butter and Jam’ Lauren Liebenberg. T tells us he just finished a Wilbur Smith.

Fr S asks me whether he should serve the cheese now or after the pudding. I prefer the cheese now. Jess challenges my decision. Fr S points out that he wasn’t asking her.

Cheese:

I have the squidgiest cheese. I point out that the cheese knife looks like a fish-gutter. But what do I know? Apparently the holes in the blade stop the cheese from spreading over the board. Fr S doesn’t like cheese spreading over his board.  I have more squidgy cheese.

William brings the Port. Oh no, the Port. Apparently the Port is very good. Jess has several glasses.

Dessert: Classic Crepe Suzette (pancakes in Cointreau and Orange syrup)

M is suffering from dog hairs. As he drinks more Port his nose gets bigger. R points out that not only does he have problems going up and down mountains, but he has problems staying at her sister’s because of all the horse hair. I decide to venture into the kitchen to ask for some anti-histamine. Fr S doesn’t shoo me out of the kitchen.

Around the table we briefly talk religion. I suggest that Catholic priests can now become Anglicans, get married and then become Catholics again. M, who is Catholic, says no they’ve got that covered.

William’s dad arrives to take him home. Amanda and Kim emerge from the kitchen to say goodnight. I tell everyone how Kim has cruelly sacrificed playing area for his kids in the garden for the sake of a smoker. Kim disputes size of smoker.

Coffee and Teas

T and I are the awkward axis of the table who don’t want Coffee. T then changes his mind. R and I have Chamomile; R cools hers down with some Soda water.

We leave. Fr S tells us you can put several different pictures of your animal onto pet passports. I hug him and thank him for the evening.

T gets his car and drives round to pick up A. M and R walk back and head off quickly, baby-sitter beckons. E and L stay for a while and chat. E searches around our house for his daughter’s doll. E and L leave without doll, but with daughter. 

Jess and I go to bed. I can’t stop thinking about squidgy cheese.

Martin K.

End. 

Conclusion:

So is this a true reflection of our evening?  Exact - if very abridged - he had 600 words remember - and he used 668. It was also for the Parish “Review” to be distributed to all church attendees.

Some essential details were sensitively edited out - for example, the bit about how we came up with the word “roger” to be the collective noun for a couple of naturists who like to strut their stuff on Wimbledon Common. This is apparently what the Common is for! 

The wine flowed, the food was good, the company better and it made me itch to do this more.  I think the silly season has begun.

PS - The next day I had lunch with an atheist, a humanist, and two Muslims.  That was also good.

Nothing like a bit of cancer and some prognosis statistics to make me think about life and how important being my daughter’s mother is to me. Being a lover and a partner is important too – but E is an adult and adults survive things differently; they can articulate their pain and have a responsibility to get on with life and parenthood.

I know children survive loosing a parent - but this is not the experience I wish to impose on my daughter - or at least not until she is a healthy independent adult.  Hard to say what I rebel against the most – the idea of her possibly having to navigate the journey to adulthood without me as her staunchest lioness-protector-supporter-cheerleader; or the deep gut churning sadness I feel at the idea of missing out on watching this wonderful young girl blossom to womanhood.  Both in equal measure - and the pain cuts deep. When the dark thoughts begin to mess with my mind it takes me a few days and some secret tears before I return to my normal equilibrium. I have shoulders to cry on. I use them.

In my dark moments I think of my web of woman friends and hope that some of them will become role models to her at different times in her life.  If the only legacy I can leave her is this pool of loving female wisdom to tap into when she needs to - she will be rich.  Perhaps a bit of the energy I share with these women will be passed on to my Chi as she matures and she will get occasional glimpses into the woman I am beyond just being her adoring mother.  I want this process to happen regardless.  I have a pool of female role models in my life that I call on or think of when I am faced with challenges or when I take time to think about the type of woman I wish to be.  These role models do not minimise the role my mother plays in my life, or the strength and love I have learnt from her, but they offer me glimpses into alternative ways of being, and I am given a choice. 

Tomorrow I go in for cycle 10 of 12 of chemo. Tonight I prepare my mind for the blank hard space the chemo takes me too. On Friday I will return.

Feels like I have not been able to stop smiling for two whole days!

Yesterday was glorious - we cycled to Westbourne Grove for a brunch at 202, cycled on to Selfridges for a stroll through the furniture department drooling over potential leather couches we could buy and then cycled home through Hyde Park.

The Chi insisted we go via the Diana Memorial play park - so she could have an adventure in the sandpit.  It was awesome to sit in the late afternoon sun and watch her play in parallel with 30 other kids.  There were so many plots and sub plots going on, and occasionally they intersected seamlessly. Funny how kids play.

Exactly 3 months ago today I went into the London Hospital for for an exploratory endoscopy and came out hours later having done an emergency CT and MRI scan that put my life on hold.  I have not written in detail about the day I howled at the moon after one surgeon looked at me with pity in his eyes said that he could do very little for me.  He was a surgeon. He couldn’t help. Not then. I have a vivid image of myself crouching on his examination couch thinking only that I am a mother and I have a job to do. 

Three months down the line and barley a quarter of the way through a potential treatment plan my wonderful oncologist smiled at me today as he informed me that the results of the scan carried out yesterday could not be more positive. He gave me 10 out of 10 for effort. I gave his team 10 out of 10 for the love and care they have shown me.

Next week we continue with another 6 cycles of chemo. 
In November we reconsider our options and next steps.

I am not out of the woods.
I am not fooling myself into thinking this disease is so easy to beat - I know that this diagnosis is now going to be something that I will be fighting for the rest of my life.  I respect / accept that. 

However this afternoon I felt that :

• I can begin to trust both my body and my feelings again.
• I can trust my body to be strong and heal.
• I can trust myself to listen to the signs and signals of my body and to interpret them.
• I must believe in the power and generosity of the universe and the wonderful power of love and prayer.
• I am surrounded by Grace.

Last weekend we went for tea at Petersham Nursery - one of my all time favourite places in London.  We took a long walk upstream.  On our return the tide had come in so high it had flooded the path. No way over it. No way under it. We took our shoes off and waded through it.

I guess that that is how I need to see this process - no way through it but through it!

And suddenly older women look entirely beautiful.

I want to be one.

Am back in my own head space after cycle 6 and feeling strong and healthy and so normal!  Yay, have over a week to be me.

This week I am going to: 

• Get a hair cut for the Chi and me
• Buy Chi’s school shoes - else she is gonna start big school with red shoes on
• Sew in some name tags
• iron school uniforms - oh joy!
• plant as many bulbs as I can for spring
• yoga, yoga yoga
• go in to the office to prepare for a handover - I am taking back my own role for a week begining 21st Sept while the wonderful woman covering for me has a holiday, quite excited about wearing heels and catching up with office gossip again!

my fabulous hat!

Just as the chemical fug was lifting on Saturday night I got a head cold that turned me into a liquid streaming tissue roll hugging mess that had to sleep at a 45o angle on the couch in order to breath.  That and the fact that E’s Jim Morrison biography kept me up most of Saturday night meant I had a jet lagged Sunday. 

Spent the whole day feeling totally sorry for myself on the couch watching reruns of Jam and Jerusalem, finishing the biography and occasionally completing a row of crochet on my latest project. E took the Chi to his parents for the afternoon and and to friends for the evening so I could wallow in the cushions on the couch amid a damp marsh of tissue in peace. Fcuk head colds!  

Jim was a maverick, the book almost unputdownable, although towards the end I confess to skim reading he musicology lists to get to the the juicier bits while still wanting to spotify almost every musical reference mentioned.

Monday was better - did some space clearing, and went to therapy, and began to feel like me again.

Today my lovely pink yoga mat called and I obeyed, stretching wide, tall, forwards and backwards and I buzzed with the joy of it.  Buzzed with the joy of all the wonderful people I have in my life that have carried me on a wave of love in the last few weeks. Buzzed with the emotion of grace that welled up inside me.

I have so much to be grateful for and I don’t think I express it nearly enough.

• My wonderful E - bestfriendlifepartnerloverrolledintoonefor13yearsandcounting. 
• My Chi, my light, my joy, my laughter, my miniature guru.
• My close and extended family for the love and generosity of time and words they have shown me - not just in the last few weeks but always. 
• My in-laws and out-laws.
• My wonderful wonderful wild women friends whose calls and gifts and mails and texts give me strength and courage daily and whose constancy - and reappearance- in my life is the biggest gift.
• Ditto my wonderful wild man friends for howling at the moon with me from the wildest southern shores.
• my work colleagues, my wonderful boss, and my company for giving me the time and space to go away and heal with love and generosity of spirit.
• my silver cat who is always within stroking distance when I am home - and on my lap when I am sitting for being the silkiest feel good balm a girl could have.
• For the wise women yoga teachers whose feet I have fallen at by pure magic.
• For the wonderful energy I feel today that gives me confidence and strength.
• For my therapist - for his persistence, challenge and space.
• For the fabulous felt hat that travelled far to come to me.
• For my hair.
• For the magic that continues.
• for life, with no regrets and no remorse!

I am in a time warp - my daily has rhythm slowed to a gentle routine of getting up, playing house and mom and going to bed again occasionally interspersed with lunch out, a mini shopping trip for food or a reflexology session, yet weeks have flown by and today I complete Chemo cycle five. Today my head is chemical mush - words flit in and out and I can’t think, can’t remember the things I have to do and can’t get excited about anything. Tomorrow I will feel better. By Saturday I will be me again. The nausea is strong and constant.

I am not sure how I have filled the past few weeks but time has flown and we have juggled family and a week away in the Cotswolds with half the grandparents and getting Chi ready for big school and just the day to day of a simple life in London without formal work. The days are almost endless in their quietness.

The garden blooms with high summer flowers and most days it is warm enough to sit outside. 

Urgh! Chemo three down, and thank the fcuk! Apart from the fact that it make me go a rancid yellow colour it exhausted me. Couldn’t lift my head off my pillow for a straight 24 hours and I slept - not that long wintery lazy sleep of soft duvet and great books and chocolate but the exhausting sleep of illness.  Swallowing water was a strain. I tell myself I will make myself drink more each day but damn it is hard when the water tastes like rancid metal.

I know I need to change my mindset - today I got onto my yoga mat again for the first time in two weeks, and I am determined to try and do so again tomorrow. I need to keep my limbs strong and flexible after two days of no movement, and I need the mental calm it brings.

Today I went out into the garden and tidied and planted and pruned back the summer growth.

Today I felt good again.