Forty One

Wednesday, 9 January 2013

So here I am, sitting in the big grey lazyboy on the 10th floor with a tube plugged into my chest. I'm having my first I dose of dosetaxil which will make up the next three doses of chemotherapy. I am hoping that it will be easier on my stomach but unfortunately the trade off is severe body pain in bones and joints for the next week. I will still be confined to my bed but with a whole different set of reasons. They say a change is as good as a rest.

A Footsbarn baby is a very special thing. My sister was one, she is very special. I was born before my parents were involved so whilst I will always be a Footsbarn kid I was never a Footsbarn baby. In the five years we were travelling with Footsbarn when I was a kid only two babies were born. The first, a little girl came early, a whole country early! She was booked into the hospital at the next tour destination.

It was the middle of the night and someone was banging on the door of our bus. It was one of her big sisters shouting "Come quick, Mums having the baby" when my parents got there minutes later the baby girl was curled up on her Mummy's tummy in bed in the lovely warm bus. My parents boiled the costume scissors and helped the new Daddy cut the cord.

The second baby was born only a few months later, giving them both a close friend for life. He came on the way to Australia, just in time for our mega two year tour. He wasn't actually born on the plane but a matter of days before the journey. The rest of us kids, all at least 6 years older than these two newbies, plus one who had arrived a year before, dragged them up with the help of their parents. We carried them about with us, took them on bike rides sat on our cross bars, caught them when they escaped and loved them to pieces.

The baby girl has grown into a beautiful and talented young woman just like her big sisters. I saw her the summer before last and spent an evening catching up in the middle of France where she was preparing to tour with a marionette show. She is also an actress and above all a fantastic musician.

The boy, I'm delighted to say, I get to see quite a lot. He lives in London and works at the Globe Theatre, building stages and props in their extensive workshops. He has a grown up daughter of 10 who I'm sure grows at least two years between our yearly meetings, she lives with her mother in czech and speaks three languages. She will be a heartbreaker, that much is a given. He now has a little boy of his own too and a wonderful, beautiful patient woman who works with Tim Burton, painting life into his puppets and reality onto his sets.

The reason I'm telling you all this, apart from taking a welcome distraction from the poison being pumped into my chest, is that I spent New Years eve and New Year's Day (both the birthday of the boy Footsbarn baby and my grandmother who is going to out live us all) with the boy baby and his family who include some of my closest childhood friends.

This was the pro of all my appointments having been moved about. We drove up to London and camped in my Sister's Love's flat which had recently been vacated. We attended a party in one of my favourite houses. It flanks Kensington Gardens and is huge. It's filled with the most beautiful paintings and musical instruments and furniture. It belongs to a Footsbarn Grandmother who was once married to Lord Hardwood and is a wonderful place to be invited to visit. Quite apart from the fascinating surroundings, this house is filled with family love. Every time I have been there I have been hosted by four generations. There is always delicious food, flowing drink and laughs and hugs and memories in abundance. I wish that every visit had been an entirely happy one but even in times of grief this extended family have made me feel welcome, at home and most importantly a part of the family myself.

We ate and drank, I was mixed virgin margaritas and piña coladas, we rock and rolled, sang, toasted and hooted with laughter. By 1am I was exhausted and we retired to our little holiday flat with our flagging but happy children. The next day we rejoined the party at the boy's flat (silly to keep calling him the boy, he is a man and a father of two but somehow it still suits) we ate, drank, rock and rolled, sang, toasted and hooted once more before heading home with our exhausted but beaming children, finally tucking them up in bed in Kent just before midnight on New Year's Day.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!
I've just been sent this picture from Amsterdam of me and my little sister with the baby girl and boy in Maclaren Vale Australia 1985/86......perfect!