Archive for family

The Incomprehensible!

Posted in Autobiography, Biography, Stories and reviews by Kathy Da Silva, writing with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on September 10, 2017 by kathydasilva

I have it is true a fascination for learning about computing, but, so far, the more I have delved, the worse, the old software/ computer, becomes and now I have found most of my files, sitting on my USB software files, as if it is a memory stick! Not actually on the stick part, but, inside the software on the computer? Well, update time, is due, and perhaps a change of machine. I am thinking, now, that not much is safe these days if held somewhere in transit on the internet either. Oh hail the old typewriter, for it was only the business of words to worry about, and I completely understand Will Self, for treating the whole business of internet as a thoroughly annoying distraction too.

I seem drowned in fear of ‘invasion’, however, and whatever, form, it might take, for my thoughts are precious , even if others, may think they are not. Privacy became an issue in all the debate about state surveillance, and the machine, the main culprit being the computer and its software, the main net, literally.  Glenn  Greenwald is about to come and talk in England, hooray! It took some time, and probably a vat full of courage, to tread on our soil again. I hope, we all are there, and overflowing with some appreciation for his wonderful efforts and writing. The new book, idea I had a week ago for publishing my blog pages, the ones I had to take off, are nearly ready to upload, but, I want to add some other pieces, and illustrate, the cover, maybe with some cartoon art. And progressively, I have been moving toward, some more art and essay work.

Sundays for me now are about keeping my sanity over, the whole thing of change, and adjustment. My sister, Alison, died two years ago, from motor neurons, and it is only now, that the absence of her calls, letters, and family moments, at Christmas, has begun to sink in. I had a tearful moment last Christmas, but, I have progressed through this year, surprisingly more focused than, the year in which she passed. And am about ready to get back to the main chunk of Storm.  Autumn is my favorite time, and we the ‘English’ can get back to our classrooms and are educative processes. The rigor of all that is ‘usual’.  It is like a gift the way I am feeling now. When I went to art school in Winchester, there were earlier memories, accompanying me, and the historical element of the buildings, and the earthy nature, almost suggested within the  building fabric especially the churches, and the courtyard flagstones. The town, is a true scale of what a person, can endure, without feeling lost. Such happy memories of sitting eating tea with my father as Alison tried for entrance for St Swithun’s School. Had she passed, both myself and Alison would have probably been boarders. I drew the high street on my foundation course, with people flowing up and down, abstracting the lines until they all merge, or cross over each other. My au plein air effort catching the eye of someone, who said I could sell it. The dreams and love of books, were just beginning to emerge. Even just holding an old style book with yellowed pages, and words perhaps belonging to another century, unfolding as a person reads down revealing, the nature of a previous generation who perhaps had better manners, more sense, who knows! Catherine Cookson, often talked of an earlier period of history in her novels. John Fowles also has used history to illustrate a certain mood, or feeling perhaps a loss of moral interest. If humans do not have boundaries, to live by, perhaps, we all become less grace filled. There is much to note that a good education and upbringing, can be so much better, than, young people, not really emerging knowing their own mind’s worth. The cathedral at Winchester has a tall steeple, and a long history.  The center of town, is mainly pedestrianized, and has a Tudor feel in the beams, and small windows. I took a walk to the top of the highest point in the autumn, with my aging mother trailing beside, me, with my medium format borrow from the college. King Alfred, is said to be one of England’s first real kings. His statue is erect in the lower part of the high road, which is open to traffic, and the small black lanes, are visible from the distance. I like to think of this moment, as perhaps, one of the last times, my mother had a sensible conversation with me, with all her lucidity intact. There a lifetime, there something lost too. The climb up the hill took us both along a winding path of glorious orange/brown leave litter. And at the top, I was still this uneasy person who had tried for a life of expression, and visual art. I had longed for something, still uncertain of the end. Erecting the camera, on a tripod, and trying to pick the view, that might pass as an idea for a ‘Rough Guide to Britain’. This was an assignment, for a course I had started to refresh some of my lost art career. The Rough Guide’s was a real competition. I have files now, that need to be digitized, at some point, but, it too shows, me sometimes that although the new cameras are quick to process images, the film backs, have a slightly more natural appeal to the end product. My mother had lived through, two marriages, and had ended up, realizing, that she had regrets. We had had a drink in a local pub, and something to eat, it was one of those habits of our teens, that our working mother, a landlady, chose to on occasions eat out. It had become a habit. The best part of my life, had been the times, when life trotted past, the windows of restaurants. And sometimes, food, the very thing that sustains a person, the warmth of which had a  heartening element. Overwhelmingly, today’s society, is splitting into the haves and have not, groups and it is uncomfortable to realize, this. I have since that time, born a child into the world, and suffered his loss, and my mother, then had got ill, possibly from the shock. She had had strokes, and still wonderfully, for as long as she could, she had been a counselor, and a solid friend.

I have been typing this, and repeatedly the sign saying Windows Synchronization has stopped, kept bleeping and appearing, and I have to stop and close the window in which it appears. I take this as an intrusion. A form of harassment, and it simply could be, just the software. Or the back door elements. It is totally unsettling, that cached data, can be removed without a person knowing, and yet too, this is going to be published, so why the need? I am Jane Austen, I am Charlotte Bronte, I am Katherine Da Silva. I am concerned, people, think it is OK to hack.

 

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Random Day

Posted in Autobiography, Biography, health, Stories and reviews by Kathy Da Silva, writing with tags , , , , , , , on March 16, 2017 by kathydasilva

If walking through the park was something of a regular need for the daily constitutional, well, that is, I think,  something I should be doing. And for better or worse now the weather is improving, I must make some sort of effort to get my body moving and my health will follow. It is I am sure something writers and artists always struggle with the whole isolation element of writing or making art only to find, that the whole goal is to communicate, and yes, the isolation is only good for the purpose of concentration on the finer details of what you make. I am glad that within the four walls of my apartment stroll two adorable cats, with their own idea of what enjoyment is. And they both individually select their place of repose, sometimes on a window sill, and sometimes snug up against the heater, balanced on the back cushion of the sofa. In my humble, and rather small reception room or lounge, I have the best sofa, as yet, having  only purchased second hand furniture mostly, but, one sofa bed was indeed new. The burned orange colour of the cushions, is enough to make a person feel the warmth of summer sun. I am glad, now, that the ‘bargain’ in the heart shop, came to be mine, one drissly winter’s day, back in the autumn of I think 2012. I was lucky to have acquired it. Anything of true value will always be at least over the £400 mark, this one only a fractional cost at £40. I am all up for the recycle if you can, and especially if it’s for charity. And the heart shop holds a unique place in my own life history for my son, had caught some bug, as a baby, and his heart had suffered the distortions of cardiomyopathy. Enlarged left ventrical. The anti biotics and meds, ensured the heart functioned as good as near new. And I believed he would live a whole life, alongside me some of the way. And as we head toward a weekend of rapturous celebration of motherhood, I find myself left with a horrid sense of loss.  When my sister and I were kids, we made presents for our mother, made her the first cup of tea of the morning, and raced through to her bedside, in a wholly excited mood, to see what she would say and the delight of her face lighting up with a smile, and the inevitable ‘Thank You!’ And why not? Why not celebrate everything, to do with the whole act of making a family. I am glad there is still some humanity in our culture. There is still some wonderful thing ahead, but, I am going to have to make it happen. And if remembering what is wholly good about life through my memories of  childhood, revisiting places that do just that will be just where you will find me this summer. Sand in my shoes…