Your maternal grandmother, Julia and I are gardeners. I’m using the simplest meaning of the word as neither of us owns a garden. But we’d love to. We always talk about our love of earth and ground, having it in between our fingers…
Growing up through boarding school, we were assigned plots of farmland. I had ten farm beds and worked using a short handle hoe, the type that requires you to really break your back. It took time to appreciate the land, nature, life and survival. it took time to find peace and enjoyment in outdoor solitude. I would love to own a farm I don’t necessarily have to live off of, a farmhouse.
Today, however, Julia and I garden without a garden. They have a well-lit top-floor flat in Riga which welcomes pot plants, unlike our ground and lower-ground duplex where plants forcefully come to retire and die. It’s a cemetery. Many have come, but very few are left. And it saddens me. So I stopped buying them.
The last time she visited, I got a bay tree delivered not long after she left. Its leaves are still green on the prison-cell size patio. It’s pretty low maintenance and I haven’t had to do as much as I would with other flowery plants. I’m pretty happy looking at it every day though.
In general, I love craftsmanship and using my hands. I’ve imagined myself living in Japan, under the tutelage of a shoemaker, tailor or carpenter. Every time I look into who I am, and the things I like, I rekindle a fondness for solitary crafts (and activities) that require as few people as possible. I’m a loner.
Ah! That’s how! I remember why she bought a bay tree. I was slow cooking some oxtail – it’s a staple in this house – and didn’t have my usual dried bay leaves to toss in. This was her answer to it. An endless supply of bay leaves.
Just a sec, the door just buzzed. I should get that. I think the Crosstown doughnuts are here.
You’ll meet Rozalia soon. She’s best friends with your mother. She’s organising a baby shower today at the house. In fact, she’s in a cab on her way here. I’m speed typing so I can get ready. She needs my help… To be honest, I am unsure what needs doing. There are guests coming so I’m anticipating some light catering.
So this morning around eight – I don’t sleep much – I saw, for the very first time, a fox snoozing on the fake grass astroturf next to the bay tree. For reasons currently unknown to me, it’d dug up a hole in the pot housing the bay tree, emptying the ground on the turf in a neat pile. So odd. Even weirder it did it today. I also have no evidence the fox is the culprit, just piecing 1 and 2 together. Anyway, gotta go.
PS – Is that a little human nature artfully drew on the bottom centre of the bay tree pot? I’m seeing things.
I woke up at about six this morning, and couldn’t get back to sleep. Nothing new. So I decided to start the Sunday early.
Work on the kitchen was completed Thursday. We spent that evening and bits of Friday putting things back into new homes. Good thing we’d boxed everything properly in the first place with clear labels etc. So the job was easy enough. They’ll install the worktop in a fortnight. For now, we have (temporary) thin boards across the kitchen top. But it renders the kitchen functional which we longed for. So we won’t be pernickety about it. (I learned that word from your mother. She’ll probably laugh if she gets to read this someday). The fitter left a pile of trash in the “garden” which should be collected tomorrow.
I spent most of yesterday filling in the holes the previous kitchen shelf left in the wall. Once done, I painted off most of the stains in and around that area, especially around light switches. They had dirty fingers all over them. My last thought as I went off to bed was how visibly bumpy the filling had been. Annoying mini mountains on the wall. They’ll need a thorough sanding down.
So this morning, I bought a Bosch sander which should be delivered by ten this evening, as promised by Amazon. I love a Bosch product, got a couple already. (Your mother is obsessed with the TV series). I’ll work that wall till it’s smooth and unnoticeable.
We got to the Farmer’s Market around one. Late for a Saturday. Most of the stalls were closing and packing away. So there really wasn’t much to see beyond folding tables and things being thrown into vans. We got some a shit tonne of cheese and left. From home, we drove to Moat Farm to get Simon’s eggs and catch some air. While at it, we bought some grass-like plants to replace the dying ones at home. (Contrary to my advice, your grandmother bought a bunch of plants which have now died. Lavender, thyme, some flowery plants… RIP)
“Packing a hospital bag” was also on yesterday’s checklist. A couple of T-shirts, some underwear, a pair of shorts and chinos. Done. I also tossed in the Nintendo I never play. I bought it under the illusion I could fabricate some time or use it on long-haul flights. Or flights of any kind. Neither has happened. It’s more of a knick-knack now if I’m being truthful. But the dream lives on. Maybe I’ll get lucky when your mother’s giving birth. Even writing it now sounds absurd.
I just heard the curtains draw open. Liza’s up. And walking down the stairs. Time to hide this screen. I just kissed her bump you good morning. She requested some coffee which I just made. So now she’s trying to figure out her breakfast. Same as always I imagine –granola, yoghurt… I brought some honey back from Cameroon which she can’t part ways with. It goes into everything. It does taste great to be fair.
Last night, Liza complained about the fake contractions and the discomfort they bring. Unfortunately, the physical part of pregnancy is a solo ride. The rest of us can just observe and be present. It’s a silent, passive but equally important role in itself.
Summer creature that she is, this heat is fatiguing for her to be or walk in. The other day, the strap in her sandals snapped from her feet swelling so much. But we both agree to sunshine over Winter any day of the week.
Last week Dr Erskine repeated you’re nowhere near coming out. Friday gone made you 38 weeks.
Ah yeah, I bought a Dyson – the V11 Absolute Plus, brand new on eBay. A cordless vacuum cleaner, easy on the wrist and manoeuvrable. It’s by contrast something that doesn’t require you dragging out a hoover to clean small messes (like the ones created by babies). As is the case with most Dyson products, it’s multifunctional and extremely versatile.
However, it came with the wrong wall mount. So I spent more time than I would’ve liked to, trying to figure out why it didn’t fit before coming to that conclusion. This is after tinkering with the stand we bought for it and googling around helplessly for whys. Right after emailing the seller, I bought a replacement which should arrive Monday. Hopefully, he – could be she – refunds me enough to cover the replacement purchase. At least some of it.
Side note, I wonder what happened to the person we had to make an emergency landing for. I hope they’re OK.
Oh man, I’m really sorry this has taken this long. That’s how long I’ve been in my own head; spending more time worrying about what format works best for these updates than the updates themselves. Since the last post, I wanted to only do video. But that requires time away from everyone (since this is still a secret even you don’t know about). As a family bound at the hip, that sort of time is about as easy to come by as milk from a ferry’s tits – I was going to say “as gold dust” but where’s the imagination in that? And then there’s work, active on two fronts. All frivolities to you I’m sure. Today however, and in the days after it, I’ll simply write. Back to basics. When I can sit in front of a camera, I will.
I put this clip together last Christmas. “The Sledge” I called it. It’s release stalled until now because I wanted to edit in the fireworks that brightened the sky that night on New Year’s eve. I won’t bother with any of that now. We are where we are.
Liza took you out earlier to see Rozalia. You’ve since been back and currently sitting on the bean bag in my office watching Charlie and Lola. I’m just typing away.
Before we go any further, there is some sad news to share. Uncle Andrew – you called him Andriii – died a few weeks ago. It’s been coming. Centuries chain-smoking, failing health, met with a persistent (borderline stubborn) reluctance to seek medical attention…
He was a fine man, one of principle, the same ones that kept him alive and probably the same ones that killed him. I describe him as the one person who understood me fully without having to share a common language. I miss how vintage he was. His non-legally-married wife Sveta asked if I wanted to inherit his vinyls and record player, to which I wholeheartedly agreed. It’s going to travel from Riga to London at some point.
Your grandparents are dealing with his loss in their own way, distressingly of course. He’s been friends with your grandad since Valerie was about nine; your babushka has known him over four decades. Uncle Andrew taught Liza how to swim. We spend New Year’s eve together every year. And so on and so on… There’s a picture somewhere on here of you both on the beach. You’re cycling ahead and he’s just behind ya. R.I.P. Sir.
Last year, you were the rocket man. This year’s obsession started with dinosaurs and progressed to pirates. We’re now knee-deep pirating, so much so that Liza had one dress up to entertain at your birthday. Your cake was sea and battle ready. Great thing we were at the beach already.
Your birthday had the usual faces, except for one new addition, eight year old Nika. Pre-Summer, we took you to the playground in Dzintari Forest Park (Dzintari mežaparks). You were swinging away when this mix-raced girl came up to me and engaged in active conversation. Like most Latvians, her English was fluent, but very British. And moments later, I found out she lived in or around Croydon. (I don’t remember which precisely but Croydon was mentioned. I went to Croydon college.) Then we met her mother and grandmother who were close by on a bench. Liza got talking to Nika’s mother and the rest is history. Next thing you know, she’s on the trampoline at your birthday. I’m told her Russian is also near impeccable.
Julia and Valerie left Riga a week before us, not long after your fourth birthday. And we were three. In our last days, we drove out to Kuldīga, a small town two and a bit hours away. The drive was flat and the roads were smooth (for most of it). I especially enjoyed the emptiness. I’ve become accustomed to how clean the country is. We stayed at an old joint called Noliktava No 5. The room was to a taste I’ve acquired, aged and full of texture. The furniture was soviet and the colours were autumnal. The only June in there was the linen curtain tracing the angular walls into a window overlooking a shallow canal. The roof above it was lined with pigeons taking shade. Quite the picture.
Music is still very much a thing for you. So last Christmas we got you a Yoto player. (Your bestie at nursery, Kier, also has one apparently). Your first few interactions with it were hilarious. The break dancing alone was something to cherish.
Then we went to Amsterdam for your mother’s fortieth. What’s with all the bicycles cotdamnit!? They come from everywhere. Footing is very exhausting, not for distance covered, but for the attention required, especially with a young child. Walking has never been so tedious. I don’t think you enjoyed it either. But we appreciate the privilege of having the experience, especially if you’re staying at the Okura hotel. Half the sweets in their lobbies are missing thanks to you. Liza won’t forget the meal at Teppanyaki any time soon.
Once a year, for the last three or four years, your mother and I spend a few days at the Grand Park hotel in Rovinj, Croatia. (It’s possible I’m repeating myself here.) This year though, we took you with us, to the Amarin hotel. It was a working trip for me but you spent almost the entirety of it in the pool, with a life jacket giving you a false sense of confidence on how good a swimmer you are. You now believe yourself a fish and aren’t scarred of jumping into bodies of water. We need to give you swimming lessons as soon as possible.
The resort didn’t give us much reason to venture out, with everything neatly packaged in-house. We did however take you into town on what you called the “wobbly boat”, visited some of our favourite restaurants and got you to experience (with little enthusiasm) what your mother and I seek year in, year out.
France. Right. France. That couldn’t, didn’t happen. Instead, we bought a house down the road.
The house is everything we hoped for. It was a total nightmare trying to buy it. Everything that could go wrong, went wrong. From trying to track down the lease to our apartment so we could sell it, to our lawyers going under in bankruptcy midway, trying to find another, babysitting the sellers who made their divorce our problem, the fucking endless amount of paperwork and checks that had to be done and completed… Christ, I’d love to do it all over again. With pleasure. It was that exhilarating.
The grand news is, we’re here now. Another phase. Currently, I am in what seems like a permanent state of unboxing and trying to rid of boxes. Dinner table chairs arrived yesterday. The oven died last week and a new one is on its way Thursday. But the end is near. Just a dresser left and we’re done, for now, forever, hopefully.
The house comes with a room to yourself where you are spending the least amount of time at the moment. Interestingly, when we moved in, you slept the entire night in the new bed we put in there. It must have been the novelty of it all. That happened then, and hasn’t since. There have been half nights but not another full one. In time my friend, in time. No pressure.
When we got the place, I had the entire garden cleared out, except for a Japanese maple tree and a flower your grandmother liked. It raised eyebrows but it was important to me that we start our own story. I wanted every planting to be intentional, not inherited. And that story has started. There’ll be something to tell many seasons from now, beginning with the cherry tree you and I put into the ground.
I’m not entirely surprised by your interest in gardening. I grew up with dirt between my fingers. The mango hasn’t fallen far from the tree trunk. You often ask if you can help when I’m out in the heat and I make sure to welcome you, knowing nothing fruitful will come from your participation, rathe opposite. You love a tool, and my box has plenty of them. I got you your own gloves and lately your own watering can. But it’s a chance for us to share time, and that’s most important.
So far you’ve eaten a raspberry and tomatoes from the garden. The future promises a variety of currants, strawberries, blueberries (hopefully), peaches, kiwis, plums, cherries, cranberries, figs, and plenty of herbs – parsley, chives, oregano, rosemary, and thyme. I want you to very quickly grasp that produce doesn’t come from supermarkets. They come from the ground and how you treat the ground is how you treat yourself. For the nth time, the nursery has given you a cough. Your immediate remedy is going to be a tea with lemongrass harvested from the back, some lemon juice and raw honey. That’s the case in point.
Sticking to health, those rings that make you look like a ninety year old surfaced again around your eyes. Even stronger this time. You’d pass for an old dwarf if you hunched over and slowly paced about with a cane. We did another investigative run at your allergies and confirmed dust mites and egg remain highly triggering and problematic.
I’m not entirely sure how we handle the former. There’s dust everywhere. We had to source special washable carpets for the house to control how much of it you’re exposed to, buy special bed covers, a dedicated hoover for sheets… It’s not a battle I think we win. As far as eggs, we’re back at square one slowly re-introducing it into your diet. Zyrtec is also back on the menu, along with Epaderm to push back the eczema. Not too long ago you also came down with what the doctor called viral tonsillitis. Fun, fun, fun.
In the behaviour department, there’s plenty of role play going on, wild imaginative scenes you create to play with your toys. Budget is no issue for the movies or figurines you’re currently directing. I’m just lucky to have front row seats.
We’ve also found ourselves striking deals with you. Today, it’s a handshake agreement to exchange Charlie & Lola episodes for a shower afterwards, tomorrow it’s negotiating finishing your meal to get ice cream. You’re coming up with contracts of your own now. “Papa, if I do (this thing I don’t actually want to do), can I get or do (this thing you don’t want me to have or do)?” And guess who sometimes – a lot of the time – doesn’t hold their end of the bargain… Yeah. Tears ensue, yelling, and your new thing, “STOP IT”. Liza doesn’t love that last bit. No idea where it comes from either.
I’m going to leave you with some more pictures and this which I heard from a Joe Rogan episode when interviewing Ethan Hawke on the subject of social media and external validation.
If you can make best friends with yourself, then your best friend is with you all the time.
