Reflections upon turning 40

On Saturday I turned 40. I had been in two minds about celebrating the occasion. I have never been overly concerned about the number or even getting older. After all, most of the women I admire are older and I admire them for the characteristics that age brings: wisdom, experience, serenity… I am, however, less enamoured with the aching joints, deteriorating eyesight and shrinking range of hearing that seem to come with age!

As it happened, I hardly got a say in whether to celebrate or not. Mr M had kindly organised a weekend away. An attractive hotel on the south coast, a restaurant with a strong seafood focus, just the two of us and… then I was struck down by some virus. Rather than strolling round the old town, making our way down to the harbour or hiking over to Dungeoness (Britain’s only desert) for a squint at the nuclear power station*, I took to bed as Mr M went in search of a hot water bottle for me on the hottest day of the year.

Now the day has been and gone (and the shivers and spasms have subsided), I can celebrate being 40, despite the physical niggles. There were no major revelations of course. Turning 40 just provided an excuse to take stock, have a look at the Great Book of Reciprocity, flip through the Giant Encyclopaedia of Life and scribble some mental notes in the margin.

Here are just some of my scribblings:

• I have a grand family: Mr M (of course!), my siblings, my little niece, a couple of old friends of my parents (a last link to mum and dad) and close friends who travel miles to share the joyous moments and drop everything to support me in the darkest ones. They are all utterly precious, and I need make use of every occasion to catch up with them as life rattles on with all its commitments and distractions.

• Friendship is a blessing but one I never take for granted! I may not see or speak to my friends as often as I should like but I really do believe that we reap what we sow. How else do I explain friendships that have endured across continents and decades…?

• The world needs more random acts of kindness and generosity, and especially towards strangers. Best of all, they offer a win-win. Paying somebody a compliment, sending a thank you note, sharing a meal, seeds, your harvest…, giving a small home-made present… Such ‘gifts’ brighten the day for the giver as well as the receiver.**

• Producing is much more fun than consuming. In many ways, it takes me back to the imaginative, inquisitive child I was. Figuring out that I am perfectly capable of making practical daily objects (whether growing my own food, stitching my own blinds, carving a spoon, throwing a bowl…) is satisfying. It is not just a creative process but also an act of defiance, and yes, I take delight in that too!*

Quirky but perfectly functional, and all my own making

Another practical make: porcelain buttons

• A lifetime is not enough to learn all the languages, musical instruments, skills… I’m interested in! Rather than lament the lack of time, each August I scour the prospectus of local community colleges and sign up for courses, workshops… This year I’m eyeing up more violin lessons, another pottery course and maybe some Gaelic, although I would also love to try my hand at instrument making…

• As much as I love prose, poetry and music, silence is golden! Yes, I am the person who points out the Quiet Carriage notice to noisy passengers on a train and I prefer restaurants where people speak in hushed tones. (And really, how many telephone conversations are so urgent they need to be had in public?)

• Moods, frustration, melancholy… are generally eased by pottering in the garden. Leaving aside the restorative nature of fresh air and natural light, there is so much life in the garden, even on a winter’s day, that it is impossible not to forget oneself for a while.

• Lotions and potions are no substitute for healthy food, plenty of water, sleep and a sun hat! (And there is certainly no need for plastic micro-beads that pollute watercourses and poison fish. Pinhead oatmeal and honey or sea salt and olive oil work just fine.)

• Bodies are designed to move. Although I am not a natural athlete, my body feels a whole lot better for regular exercise.

• As much as I enjoy the occasional meal out, Mr M’s goulash is still one of my top three meals ever!

• I drink far too much tea and always shall but somehow, most of life’s problems, ills and challenges seem more manageable after a cuppa. Throw in a decent night’s sleep and I’m all but invincible…

• At 30 I thought I would end up a batty old cat lady and was okay with that prospect. At forty I know that I am an eccentric cat lady cum urban cottage gardener with a penchant for yarn, home-made preserves, gin and obscure (if not dead) languages as well as a 10K personal best that it is getting slower… and I am revelling in all of it!

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* As an ex-energy lawyer and general energy geek, electricity (as well as water and sewage) plants are interesting sites! Mr M is the same with trains and boats…

** The spirit behind Make Something Month is a lovely way of linking acts of generosity with the joy of making, which is why I embraced it, and continue to do so.

 

 

 

Art miles: environmentally ethical or indulgent?

When I go grocery shopping, I always consider food miles. I am not suggesting I never buy produce from far off places. With my coffee habit and love of home-made cakes, coffee and cocoa from Latin America are regulars on my shopping list. I do, however, make every effort to buy local and in-season produce, and if I want to make an out-of-season treat, I aim to source the ingredients from Spain rather than Mexico or further afield. These considerations are second nature to me as far as food is concerned. Recently, however, I have questioned the environmental ethics of my “consumption” of art.

At the end of May I travelled to Paris to hear two performances by the San Francisco Symphony. It is not the first time I have travelled to the city to enjoy a particular cultural event. Five years ago I also travelled to Paris for a major exhibition – one on Cézanne –  and I have since travelled to Amsterdam, Paris, Prague… on a number of occasions specifically for concerts, plays or exhibitions. I do not mean I take in a concert or wander round a gallery when I happen to be in foreign cities – which of course I also do. Rather, the artistic event is the rationale for my visit.

As I was sitting on the Eurostar I wondered whether carbon footprint considerations should inform my “consumption” of art.

Art, however, has long been associated with travelling and abroad. For centuries artists have been on the move. Composers, painters, sculptors and writers would travel to the court of their benefactors, tour the cultural capitals of the known world or leave their own land to go into exile, whether self-imposed or not. By the nineteenth century artists, writers and composers travelled far and wide for inspiration, to become acquainted with a new trend or style, or simply to reinvigorate their muse. Think of Gaugin, Henry James and Dvořák to name a few.

It is only natural that artists travel. Whether their art reflects the country left behind or their experiences in a new one, creative juices flow intensely when senses are heightened, as is often the case at borderlands or in foreign countries. Somehow home is more clearly visible at a distance and the colours, sounds and smells of unfamiliar territory feed the imagination.

If artists travelling to create or perform is nothing new, is the travelling art lover a product of modern times? Within Europe, Eurostar and budget airlines have certainly made impromptu city trips affordable and quick. For me a one-night trip to attend a play or a concert is no more involved than a visit to catch up with a sibling.

Although the frequency and immediacy of such travel may be new, travelling to soak up art is not. In the nineteenth century affluent and even aspiring classes made the grand tour, taking in key cultural cities between the Channel and the Mediterranean. And since the arrival of summer festivals in the early seventies, many people in the last for decades have thrown a tent in a car or jumped on a train to spend several days in a muddy field miles from their comfortable home.

As I was speeding towards Paris, I rationalised my trip. Forty hours in Paris for two concerts may sound like an indulgence but just like raspberries on an early spring Pavlova, these indulgences are rare treats. Most of the time I consume art at home. (I admit, living in London makes it very easy to “shop locally”.) Also, Mr M and I enjoy short breaks away to hear great orchestras rather than flying off for far-flung holidays, so overall our carbon footprint is no worse than my sister’s with her annual trip to Australia. And in the case of May’s extravaganza, a train to Paris to hear the San Francisco Symphony definitely accounts for less carbon than a return flight to California.

If I had any lingering doubts about art miles, they dissipated as I left the Salle Pleyel quivering after a breathtaking performance. Michael Tilson Thomas and the musicians of the San Francisco Symphony made Mahler’s Second Symphony their own. Mr M and I are still living off the tingle factor a fortnight on! Just like a rare Argentinian steak, the memory of an outstanding performance can keep me going for quite some time.