Spacious Solidarity Blog: Day 58

We both wake up early. The sun is shining in a bright blue sky and we’ve got a bit of time before I have to be on Zoom for my morning session, so we decide to take an early walk through Abney Park.

On the way we pass a parked car, the front dashboard littered with blue, latex gloves, a face mask and a packet of digestive cream biscuits. I try and imagine who owns this car. Perhaps an essential worker who takes refuge in their car to eat biscuits during breaks. Disposing of their gloves every time before putting on a new pair and returning to work.

Just as we’re about to get to the park we see a woman in the front garden of her housing estate. She’s standing in her dressing gown smoking a cigarette. She’s looking down at nothing in particular, a blank stare on her face. She is clearly not quite awake and completely lost in thought.

We immediately recognise her. A few weeks ago, on a more spacious walk when we had the time, we had stopped to talk with her. But this morning there’s no time. We pick up the pace, smiling and saying good morning as we walk quickly on by.

She looks up from her stare and apologises for not seeing us sooner. We say no worries and carry on.

At the entrance to the park there is a sign advertising an online event. It’s a talk and Q and A about the history of the park. It’s a free event but they are asking for donations. I remember my intention to give, which I still haven’t gotten around to. I make a mental note.

The park is in full on summer now, the cow parsley growing well above our heads in some parts. We weave our way through the cemetery, going this way and that until we have lost all sense of direction. Even with the sun in the sky it’s hard to know which way to get out, as there is no direct path towards the gates once you’re deep enough in.

We finally spy the chapel at the heart of the park and head towards it, confident we’ll be able to feel our way out from there.

On the path just outside the chapel a duck is waddling around. She’s definitely a female mallard. I ask her what on earth she’s doing in the middle of the park, but she doesn’t answer.

There is no water in this park and she’s all alone, no mate or ducklings. I’m worried she’s lost but not sure what to do about it. We continue walking, it’s time to find our way out of the park and head back home.

On the way out I take a quick snap of a pink primrose in full bloom, stopping to smell it too.

When we’re almost home we pass a particularly well planted box in front of a neighbor’s yard and stop to admire the lavender, flowering fat and bright purple.

I so want to plant lavender but having already killed two lots of it in my window boxes I daren’t try again. We just don’t get enough direct sunlight. So I’ll just have to keep coming back here to enjoy my neighbor’s beauties.

We get home and it’s straight onto Zoom to run the online retreat. This morning I’ve got a friend joining us to teach, so I get a bit of a break.

I’ve been planning to make Spanish tortilla for lunch, but when I go to get the potato I notice it’s grown long sprouts and has gone soft. I decide to take a risk and make the tortilla anyway. It is only after I’ve got it cooking on the stove that I think to google it.

Apparently you can poison yourself eating old, soft potatoes. But the sprouts have to be a lot longer and the potato has to have turned green. I decide I’m safe.

I eat lunch and spend the afternoon writing before it’s time for meditation reviews. I’ve got six in a row between 4-5:30pm. It’s a long stretch but the conversations are so interesting and everyone is engaging so wholeheartedly with practice that the time flies by.

After reviews I have thirty minutes before I need to be back on Zoom to lead a drop-in meditation class. I eat a bowl of crisps while catching up on email.

I am feeling like I need to do some chanting and connect with the energy centres in the body. So that’s what we do in the class and people seem to get a lot out of it. Afterwards I feel more grounded, connected to my emotions and open.

I come out of the front room to find that my partner has gone out, probably to pick up a few extra bits and pieces for dinner. Almost as soon as I notice their absence, I hear their voice out front. They are talking on the phone but I don’t know with whom.

It is only when they are back in the flat that I realise they’re on the phone with their step-dad who is just about to pass the phone to their mom.

I grab the shopping and start unpacking it, careful to wash all the fruit and veg and packaging. Then I start on dinner.

My partner and I rarely make dinner together. This is partly because our kitchen is tiny but also because we both have particular ways of doing things which aren’t always compatible.

But tonight we manage to pull it off without too much trouble. We end up creating a delicious meal of fried onions, mushrooms, tomatoes, broccoli and spinach with pasta in a pesto sauce.

After dinner we watch the fifth episode of Killing Eve. The entire episode is dedicated to Villanelle’s journey to a remote Russian village to find her family of origin.

It’s a tragic, heart-wrenching reunion. Her vulnerability is close to the surface in almost every scene.

She is desperate to re-connect with her mother, who gave her to an orphanage as a young child. You can see her trying hard to believe her mother is a good person but it slowly becomes obvious she is also rotten to the core, just like Villanelle.

In the end Villanelle does the predictable thing, but this time she doesn’t walk away all cool and aloof. She is clearly shaken, more unhinged than we’ve ever seen her before.

I can’t help but wonder why it’s so important that we understand the depth of Villanelle’s core wounding. I can only guess it’s going to come to bear on her relationship with Eve. Will Eve reject her just like her mother did?

And will Villanelle retaliate accordingly? I wait in delicious anticipation.