the birds still sing

Last (last) week was pretty rough, and I felt like I spent all my emotion on Sunday night and then went around in a cloud of function for the rest of the week, although I wasn't entirely functional. This is what I remember.

Monday

Feed the birds, tuppence a bag. Tuppence, tuppence, tuppence a bag.

Though her words are simple and few, listen, listen, she's calling to you.

Feed the birds, tuppence a bag. Tuppence, tuppence, tuppence a bag.

Just keep looking up to our savior and our friend
Jesus loves us and will to the end
Keep looking out for another to bring
Under the shade of the soon coming king

I took a run/walk towards Girton, stopping in a field and walking around singing for a while. I went through In His Time, Feed the Birds, Amazing Grace... I leaned against a gate and felt the wind and looked at the clouds which reminded me of Grandma's hair, how soft when I put my cheek against it as she lay in Pinford End.

Later I cycled down to the river, a warm evening, and I sat by the river and meditated despite the creeping damp feeling of moist grass beneath me, and the occasional over curious dog. I wrote a letter to Grandma, the last one since I'd written to her about my internship. I cried some more, and decided not to put the letter in the river which I had thought would be symbolic, because I didn't want to litter.

Tuesday

I cycled to a lecture (which was so full I couldn't get in), met Lucy and Sarah, had falafel with Alex, went to class and fell asleep momentarily, came back, went to the gym.

After the gym I picked up the post from my pigeonhole, and opened a white envelope to find a card from the Just Love committee which made me smile, but very briefly because I had to quickly jump into the shower, get changed and go over to the Dome to collect my tickets for Natalia's birthday formal - all in 10 minutes!

I spoke mostly to Alex and Mikolaj (Natalia's boyfriend) during dinner, and occasionally to Victor (also from Gdansk) who told me that Caius is notoriously bad for its formal food. Dessert was not fruit salad for once, but a vegan pannacotta that was so set my fork could bounce off it.

Before bed I looked at pictures of Grandma and cried.

Wednesday

Mum and Uncle Rog came in the morning, although my plan to walk them down the river was derailed by heavy rain.

I met Tim for lunch and we talked about body image and how much we want to do something about it.

Choir practice, CCHP volunteering and

Rain began, rain rain rain, and

I lost my phone. And anxiety overwhelmed me when I realised I wouldn't be able to contact Emily, and also I mourned again because all my voice recordings were gone with it - Grandma's stories, the alleluias in the Lyon Cathedral, the my thoughts on my first 17km run. Gone.

Thursday

I began freaking out about work. Oh help.

One Art
Elizabeth Bishop

The art of losing isn’t hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother’s watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster.

—Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan’t have lied. It’s evident
the art of losing’s not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

Friday

I had my first ever whole half glass of white wine. I didn't like it much, but I did like sitting around the fire with other Cambridge Christian English Students reading Rossetti.

I have no wit, no words, no tears;

My heart within me like a stone

Is numbed too much for hopes or fears.

Look right, look left, I dwell alone;

I lift mine eyes, but dimmed with grief

No everlasting hills I see;

My life is in the falling leaf:

O Jesus, quicken me.

Although my favourite poem by her is still The Convent Threshold

After the dinner/poetry, my bike lock was so stuck that despite my mental pleas (not voiced because Jacob and the-girl-i-keep-bumping-into-in-the-UL were there) it would not budge. The two of them were really lovely and walked with me as I half-rolled, half-lifted my bike away, and Jacob then helped me move it all the way up castle hill and back to college. Although I told him he didn't need to I was glad he insisted because castle hill at 10pm isn't the safest place, and that bike wasn't easy to carry.

Saturday

I cannot express how much relief I felt throwing that problematic bike lock away. So many tears shed and so much worry felt over that piece of stuck metal.

Sunday 

What is it about evensong that lifts my spirit so? The Magnificat was just so full of joy. Although I had a little cry on the way to choir, realising that it has been a week today since Grandma left this earth, this evensong was probably the first one where I felt like bursting into laughter and song simultaneously. (I did the latter, just in case you were wondering)

Alex and I booked out tickets for the garden party, and then our tickets for Portugal. She also reminded me that life is meant to be celebrated, something that I think I lost momentarily this week, and perhaps something I'd been in the process of losing for a while as the stress of work and needless pressure rubbed away at the meaning behind it. It was so good to remember that simple truth - that Jesus came that we may have and have it to the full, not so we could work without learning, sing without feeling, or plan without living in each moment as it passes.