Food and Funerals

My brother died last night. I really don't know what to say; it was quick and completely unexpected, I don't even really know yet what happened. Terrible, surreal, and I still don't believe it: I expect to wake up any moment now. And there are no words I can think of that find their place in this situation. But being quiet just feels impossible as well.

So let me talk about food. 

I always thought it was just a stereotype that funerals are inevitably linked with food, neighbours bringing casseroles, the German word Leichenschmaus (which, come to think of it, is a really REALLY very weird term), coffee and cake... Despite these things I never thought that they really were inseparably linked. But the first thing I did after talking to my mum was to cook: Automated moves, keeps me busy doing something, enough to shut off my brain for a while, but not too complicated to have to concentrate hard to do it. 

And our main thing left to organise for the funeral is the food for the family gathering. For which we will all prepare something, everyone knows already what they will cook or bake, it seems, ideas spring to mind with surprising ease.

Food is therapeutic somehow, I guess, not just eating it, which we all know can be very soothing. But that preparing or even planning it can be comforting, too, is a new concept for me. However, after running out of words to express what we feel we quickly turned to talking about food, about what we could contribute to help out, to ease things a little bit. It's a safe topic, I guess, productive, useful, practical, it keeps us busy. We consider who will be there and what they will and will not eat, or can and can not. We plan the shopping, the time it takes to prepare, to cool down enough to be ready for transport, the logistics of it, the organising. Again, the word surreal comes to mind, that one is associated with the other. Substituting one topic that is too difficult to put into words with another one, where conversations can be extended indefinitely, if need be. Which may be just why I am writing this at the moment. Substitute one thing that has no words with another that is easy. Surreal. Everything is surreal.

A Little Chat

Is it only me who gets confused by decisions? I mean those decisions that have a bit more impact than what to make for dinner. Like where to live. 

What do you mean, where to live? Shouldn't you know by now? (says my 18-year-old self just to butt into the conversation) I mean, now you are old! Didn't you have everything settled when you hit 30? Like I expect you to?

Ah, those good old years where I thought I would have everything figured out in a few years. Wasn't it cute?

Who're you calling cute? I know I am moving to London to live in a loft or something, Camden way!

Yeah, well, did Camden, not a loft though, but a room without heating, and a neighbour who listened to music in a volume that made my floor shake at 3AM and who got herself hospitalised every week for alcohol poisoning or smashing her hand through her window, which of course meant the ambulance had to wake me up because someone had to open the door downstairs. 3 months without sleep made the decision for me: Camden, great. But I had to move. 

Well alright, but there's gotta be other good places in London! Alternative pubs around the corner, independent coffee shops to go read a book or chat with artistically minded people about, well, art and philosophy.

Mmh, also not quite the way it will work out for you, my young friend, at least not the way you thought. There are those people in your life to philosophise with, and you have found a pub or two that you really like and that started to feel like your local. Problem is, they are up north. And right now the 2-hour commute to work from up there seems like too much.   
So far my new life has brought me to Hounslow, out of convenience. 

Hounslow, now that should be cool, with all that Indian stuff around everywhere!

Well, so far that's the only plus point I can find here: The Quality Foods supermarket around the corner that has all the spices and veggies and pickles I can wish for. Other than that, it is kinda convenient, good to get to work, good to get into town, but as much as I thought I would be able to stand the bathroom from hell by weighing that against the fact that I finally have cats around again and the flatmate is quite nice, I am doubting more and more that I actually can endure this much longer. I shower at work now, which is alright, but only solves part of the problem. And is somewhat annoying in the long run, especially since I still have no hair dryer and going home with wet hair is a bit painful in this cold weather. 

Come on, it can't be that bad!

I remember that flat I shared with those guys at uni. Where your slippers sometimes got stuck on the kitchen floor. Believe you me: That place was cosy! Maybe not the cleanest place on earth, but it was lovely to sit and chat in the kitchen, and the bath with all those fish painted on the wall? That was nice! Here you need a shower as soon as you touch the bathtub! 
So, in short: I want to move sooner rather than later. As soon as I find something I can afford. Difficulty is: Where to? Where will I find a place where I can feel at home?
Right now I am overawed by any place with a clean bathroom. Even though I know that that won't be enough in the long run. Then there is all those pretty places around the west, like Kingston...

Are you serious? That posh place? With all those rich people who have no use for a brain and just spend their time shopping in those boring brand-name shops where all they sell looks exactly the same?

Yes, that posh place with all those boring shops. It DOES have a Wilkinson, too, though! But so far it has yet to convince me that there is more there other than just to stop by on a visit to feel at home. There is Hampton, very pretty villagy feel to it...


Wait wait wait, are you telling me you turned into one of those wanna-be rich girls that wants to move into a posh neighbourhood? Hampton? Really? There's nothing there!!!

True, though it is really pretty, but getting my daily stuff will be a problem, considering I still hate shopping, and despise being forced to shop in the more expensive places such as Waitrose. I need access to my cheap shops! And a good cheap veggie place in the area, too, where I can get my Turkish, Chinese and Indian stuff! 

So, do I take a longer journey to work into account and move somewhere further back into London? Chiswick is pretty...

POSH!

... or Acton has surprised me as being quite nice after all...

Dito! 

... but to get to work from there is gonna take a while. Can't I just move back to North London? What's 2 hours one way anyway... getting up at 5.30 in the morning, spending £200plus on transport each month... I am desperate, but is it THAT desperate?
Decisions decisions... made even more difficult by the fact that right now I would take anything as long as it has a decent bath! The limiting factor is in full swing, and blocks out all other considerations to decide on a place. I've found myself cooing over a picture of a bungalow-type flat with one of those 70s beige numbers that I usually would think dead ugly! Have I been reduced to that?
 Mmh...