Before I go to bed

Pam's things..

2012-02-10T09:46:00.000-08:00

Pam had this cat picture in her living room. I found it in a box last week. I brought it back here after we had to sort through her things. I've put it on my dressing table. She loved cats, so do I. Her cat Ellie who she called Ellie Maypoles was adopted by her neighbour Alan, who Ellie had pretty much gone to live with anyway. Ellie is still having her love affair with Alan according to a friend here in Santa Fe who told me she'd met him by chance in Newport on her last visit there. We met this guy called Alan with a cat called Ellie who knew Pam! She said he never stopped talking about Ellie. Wow he loves that cat! Pam saw Alan get tazered by the police right outside his house not long before she died.

Do it perfectly..

2012-01-30T11:39:00.000-08:00

Yesterday after telling my dad that I'm in pain again because of this orrid TMJ he said what he always says, "Oh no not again! My daughters are supposed to be perfect!" Perhaps that's where this drive comes from to grieve perfectly, to do everything perfectly. This week I was saying to a woman, "But I can't accept this, I can't! I've read the books and the stages they describe and they all say you have to come to a place of acceptance. That there is denial, and anger and bargaining and depression and then acceptance, well I'm sorry but I can't do it perfectly. I can't accept it,"

She said, "Well maybe you don't have to accept it and maybe you can throw out all those terms, maybe you will never accept it." I was about to start talking on and on again when I did a kind of delayed double take.

The books don't say that. Maybe I'll throw the books out as well and stop searching for the perfect way to do it.

music to help stare at the ground..

2012-01-24T09:31:00.000-08:00

;

Smile

2012-01-18T10:30:00.000-08:00

Frying an egg this morning this face was smiling up at me ... is something trying to tell me to lighten up?

Permission for Depression

2012-01-10T10:58:00.000-08:00

Duino Elegies

We wasters of sorrows!
How we stare away into sad endurance beyond them
trying to foresee their end! Whereas they are nothing else
than our winter foliage, our somber evergreen, one
of the seasons of our interior year, - not only
season-they're also place, settlement, camp, soil, dwelling.

Rilke.

Still whacked out by the holidays.

2012-01-02T14:08:00.000-08:00

I forgot that I have this file full of handouts on grief that I got from the hospice. I'm so exhausted emotionally. I've been so full of rage and hatred and sadness. Anyway in this file the majority of handouts are on dealing with the holidays. Here's one quote, 'Unfortunately American cultural mores place a virtual embargo on sadness during the holiday season and the consequent mandate to be jolly and cheerful makes the depressed person feel worse.' And another, 'Much holiday depression stems from the almost inevitable disappointment that follows the grandiose expectations people carry over from childhood based either on real memories or unfulfilled fantasies.'

I'm putting this post up so that next year I can look at it to a. remind me to read the handouts and b. read the handouts!

One more thing I just read, it's a bit cheesy but it just helped me to not feel alone.

The mother of a dead child
will always weep
at Christmas time
on that you can depend.

No matter how many people
or how many presents
the pulsating void that seems too large
for her heart to hold
keeps on drawing her attention
back to the child who's missing.

As others laugh and play
her thoughts fly away
to Christmases past
or a lonely cemetery.

To a face her heart aches to be kissing

The face of the child who's missing.

by Fay Harden.

Tomorrow it will be three and a half years..

Note to self read this next December.

Happy New Year

2011-12-31T11:04:00.000-08:00

This has been the worst Christmas since Pam died. Last night I cried until my bones ached then I went to bed and dreamed that the world was ending and Pam and I were trying to find a place to be for the final end.

This is proving to be an awful time of year for me. Last night I came to the conclusion that perhaps the best thing would be not to do it anymore. Just try to shut Christmas and New Year out. It's too painful. Pam was my family. This is a family time. Let's all gather and be that happy family that we are supposed to be. Let's make it all nice. Let's make the table nice, the food nice, let's put glitter on everything and make it nice. Cover it with gloss. Now all that gloss makes me feel even worse. I've looked at blogs with photos of happy, shiny families all about to tuck into hills of tasty looking food. Gifts wrapped creatively and cosy scenes of bliss. Everyone getting what they want. I wish someone would put some photos up of the after effects. The bloated bellies and screaming rows. No this whole Christmas business only makes me feel the loss even more acutely. When the pain hits like this I feel like I've been thrown into a void. Like I don't belong anywhere. Like I've lost my place in the world.

Right now I feel like I'm going to end up in a home a lonely old woman who no one gives a shit about.

What I wouldn't give right now to be in a cafe with my sister having a good old chin wag and laughing our heads off.

Yes you are damn right I'm feeling sorry for myself.

Perhaps I'll delete this soon... sorry.

Happy Christmas

2011-12-23T12:44:00.000-08:00

Duino Elegies

2011-12-16T10:44:00.000-08:00

But listen to the voice of the wind and the ceaseless message that forms itself out of silence.
It is murmuring toward you now from those who died young.
Didn’t their fate, whenever you stepped into a church in Naples or Rome,
quietly come to address you?
Or high up, some eulogy entrusted you with a mission,
as, last year, on the plaque in Santa Maria Formosa.
What they want of me is that I gently remove the appearance of injustice about their death—
which at times slightly hinders their souls from proceeding onward.

Of course, it is strange to inhabit the earth no longer,
to give up customs one barely had time to learn,
not to see roses and other promising Things in terms of a human future;
no longer to be what one was in infinitely anxious hands;
to leave even one’s own first name behind,
forgetting it as easily as a child abandons a broken toy.
Strange to no longer desire one’s desires.
Strange to see meanings that clung together once, floating away in every direction.
And being dead is hard work and full of retrieval before one can gradually feel a trace of eternity.
Though the living are wrong to believe in the too-sharp distinctions which
they themselves have created.
Angels (they say) don’t know whether it is the living they are moving among, or the dead.

What a Giddy Kipper! As Pam would say..

2011-12-12T11:33:00.000-08:00

Tonight I am performing 15 minutes of my one woman play with 5 others at a venue in Santa Fe. This play has been in the works for many moons and Pam was very much in the mix. I would call her at all hours and read the things I'd written and as always she would be a huge support. Well I hope I can embody the phrase Pam invented and be a true Giddy Kipper tonight in her honour. I'm doing the full play here in March.

I thought I'd share a few photos of the family members I'll be playing tonight, the 'stars of the show' as per usual!

Star No. 1 Nana. The big dresser upper..here she is as Madonna..

And Boy George!

Star No. 2 Mum. In the Mikado

Mum and Dad on their way to be audience members of The Good Old Days TV show..

Star No. 3 Dad. Being daft with friend Diane..

Here he is behind his bar which is mentioned in the show..

Sitting in the bath just now, where we get all our best ideas, I thought of doing this post. League of Gentlemen also came to mind. This is an English TV show that Pam and I watched together one summer at her Inn in Newport. We bloody loved it for its similarity, be it a rather dark, twisted version to our family and to people from the north of England. The clip below reminds me of all the times I went to audition for commercials in the UK. Zany, Giddy Kipper humour..and she's called Pamela!

Winter in the sixties in Manchester..

2011-12-09T21:24:00.000-08:00

Jimmy, Pete and an Ugly Duckling..

2011-12-02T15:34:00.000-08:00

Mum, Pam, me and some guinea pigs Jimmy and Pete. Dad had a way with these guinea pigs. He would shout,'come one Pete, woo woo woo' making loud guinea pig sounds and they, Pete in particular, would run and jump in the air from one end of the cage to the other. Like a bucking bronco. I don't know if this is common practice. Pete's the one on the right, no surprise there.

Well one fine Clayton day(and there weren't many of those)a mad local dog broke into the cage and killed them. The police said we weren't the only ones in the neighborhood. Dad actually caught the dog with it's head in the cage and chased it with Jimmy in it's mouth. He saved Jimmy, who was mine, but then the bastard dog came back another day and killed him.

Dad reported Jimmy's murder and a policeman came to our house and wanted to talk to me, Jimmy's owner. When dad called me and I saw the policeman I noticed myself adopt a very theatrical gait as I walked towards him, my head down, my pace slow, sighing deeply so as to show him that I was in mourning. This was the first time the thought struck me that the stage might be a good destination for me..

Notice, I'm sure you already have, that I am deeply into my ugly duckling phase in this photo. I think the smile on my face is a large indicator that I was well aware of this fact. Love mum's 70's eyebrows. And as for Pam, all I can say is I do hope those guinea pigs have already been to the toilet!

photo c/o cousin Sally, thanks Sal!

Pam and Keith entertain sometime near the Millenium..

2011-11-30T12:35:00.000-08:00

An Interview with Vibeke of A Butterfly in my Hair blog..

2011-11-28T17:43:00.000-08:00

It all started with Automatism. Then that led to English Muse, that led to Via and that led to A Butterfly in my Hair. I can't help wondering if Pam was leading me. Pam loved beautiful things. She single-handedly transformed a huge house in Newport RI into the cosiest B&B. She was very depressed at the time and the prospect of decorating this big house was daunting. She said someone told her to do two things a day. So she did and you should see what she accomplished. Alone and again without much drama.

She had an eye for beauty. She told me that she would stare at beautiful women said sometimes she couldn't take her eyes off them. This takes me back to when she was age 3. I'd watch her staring blankly at herself for hours in the bathroom mirror pushing her lips forward like Brigitte Bardot. In the little red dress that she loved so much. How enchanting. She also loved knitting.

So how come I am now spending hours looking at beautiful, homey blogs with lots of glorious knitting. Hmm..

Then last week Vibeke saw that I was following her blog and she seemed to fall in love back. She asked me if I would consider doing an interview for her lovely blog! Well as you can imagine I thought this was bloody marvellous. I've put the start of the interview below, click on the link for the rest of the conversation. She's from Norway. I love the blogosphere!

conversation with jane

i LOVE doing these conversation posts with different women that inspire me in their own special way; it can be everything from what they create, their interior style to their view on life. if you want to read the previuos conversation posts you can click at the label at the end of this post.

my conversation this time is with the beautiful Jane Lancaster who has a blog dedicated to her sister Pam. Pam was killed in a plane crash at the age of 43 ,July 3rd 2008, along with the flying instructor Charlie and her husband Keith. there is so many things about Jane that inspires me and i am deeply honored to share her and her sisters story at my blog.
thank you dear Jane for allowing me!

http://abutterflyinmyhair.blogspot.com/2011/11/conversation-with-jane.html

Things Pam Knitted...

2011-11-27T21:46:00.000-08:00

Pam was a natural at knitting. She started knitting around 2002 after she'd been to visit me here in Santa Fe. While she was here I took her to see a psychic. Well of course, this is woo woo town. Amongst other things the woman said that Pam was a weaver and had been a Hopi Indian. Well of course. The following Christmas I went to stay with Pam in Long Island where she was living alone in a rented apartment. She was very depressed having broken up with her boyfriend Keith. She was feeling stuck and lost and lonely. We went shopping to Port Jefferson and walked past a knitting shop. 'Come on,' I said, 'Go in there and get some wool.' The answer was a weary sigh and a no.'Come on. Remember that woman said you are a weaver? This could be just the thing to cheer you up.' The answer was still no so I dragged her into the shop and forced her to buy some wool and knitting needles. Back in Santa Fe when I spoke to her on the phone she was so excited,'Jane! Jane! I love knitting, I just love it!' So she went on to knit and knit and knit. She never stopped knitting until the day she died.

Recently after scouring lots of blogs where women knit gorgeously I felt the urge to knit. My friend from madrigal group Barbara an addicted knitter told me of Looking Glass Yarns on Luisa Street. A few weeks ago I had just finished guzzling coffee and working on my play at Santa Fe Baking Co just round the corner from Luisa Street aha I thought I'll go in. The shop is run by two sisters which sent a pang through my heart. I signed up there and then for a fingerless glove class. My mum had already taught us to knit when we were teens but I never stuck it out and never followed a pattern. Last week I asked mum who taught her to knit. 'No one, I taught myself. Well I had to do something as an only child left alone night after night while my parents went out drinking!'

Pam knitted some things for me the pink, the blue and the pale green below. All the other sweaters were at her house when we went to clear it out. After her death. I've been meaning to do a post on this for ages. Now we've got our fabulous new camera we had a lovely time at our cabin taking these photos.

Funny how everything is a drama for me. The whole time knitting the gloves there was a running commentary from me about every problem and mistake. Loud screams and expletives. Pam never said a word. Just quietly got on with it. Now I look at these pieces that she made I'm amazed at what she accomplished. So quietly and undramatically she was so talented. I'm so proud of her.

And now for my fingerless gloves..... Pam as usual you were right when you kept telling me to knit and I dismissed you... I love it!!!!

Pam's Birthday..a desire to merge..

2011-11-10T18:51:00.000-08:00

Pam would have been 47 today

2011-11-10T07:14:00.000-08:00

Autumn

2011-10-30T12:17:00.001-07:00

Party

2011-10-27T11:38:00.000-07:00

So True

2011-10-26T16:40:00.000-07:00

I pray thee, cease thy counsel,

Which falls into mine ears as profitless

As water in a sieve: give not me counsel;

Nor let no comforter delight mine ear

But such a one whose wrongs do suit with mine.

Bring me a father that so loved his child,

Whose joy of her is overwhelm'd like mine,

And bid him speak of patience;

Measure his woe the length and breadth of mine

And let it answer every strain for strain,

As thus for thus and such a grief for such,

In every lineament, branch, shape, and form:

If such a one will smile and stroke his beard,

Bid sorrow wag, cry 'hem!' when he should groan,

Patch grief with proverbs, make misfortune drunk

With candle-wasters; bring him yet to me,

And I of him will gather patience.

But there is no such man: for, brother, men

Can counsel and speak comfort to that grief

Which they themselves not feel; but, tasting it,

Their counsel turns to passion, which before

Would give preceptial medicine to rage,

Fetter strong madness in a silken thread,

Charm ache with air and agony with words:

No, no; 'tis all men's office to speak patience

To those that wring under the load of sorrow,

But no man's virtue nor sufficiency

To be so moral when he shall endure

The like himself. Therefore give me no counsel:

My griefs cry louder than advertisement.

The Door Marked Summer

2011-10-14T10:58:00.000-07:00

Photos care of Lorna McLauchlan, Pam's schoolfriend.

This is an excerpt from The Door Marked Summer by Michael Bentine a member of The Goon Show speaking about his son who was killed in a plane crash.

By noon, the airfield at Lashham admitted that one of their aircraft was missing. As I stood in the garden of our home, I prayed to the forces of light to guide me and - suddenly, my door marked summer swung open. There beside me was Gus. I felt his touch on my shoulder and heard his anxious voice in my ear: "Daddy! I'm terribly sorry - so sorry!" Then the words came clearly: "It wasn't Andy's fault! The bloody machine went wrong in the air."

Birthday Party

2011-10-10T10:17:00.000-07:00

I sang two songs at my party on Saturday night, The Very Thought of You and Autumn Leaves a song Pam used to sing. I broke down at the end of it. I might have known. Then I sat down and glanced to the side of me where Ron's two-year-old granddaughter was sitting on her mum's lap. On her t-shirt were two words..Big Sister.

50 today.

2011-10-05T08:21:00.000-07:00

Can't believe I'm 50 for one thing...and that Pam isn't here with me for another... life is weird.

Monsters from the Id

2011-09-15T15:43:00.000-07:00

Pam on a trip to Redcar in a red coat.

Dad's parents, mum and Pam.

Opera

2011-09-02T10:03:00.000-07:00

Pam loved opera. I don't sing opera anymore. But here I am singing Puccini in 2003. I know Pam would want me to still be singing opera but I don't because it makes me cry. A year ago Ron happened upon a madrigal group on Craigslist and he forced me to join. Thank God he did, it brings me such joy to sing with them. I'm sure it was Pam who brought it really.

I love how I sound here..... and it makes me cry..

Pam in Taos

2011-08-29T09:02:00.000-07:00

Pam visited me about five times here in New Mexico. I think these photos were her first visit. Here I took her to Taos Pueblo. This is her just outside the Pueblo calling the horses..

Mum and Dad came for the wedding this June and I took them to Taos. I got them to stand in all the places that I took photos of Pam...

And always some silly ones.. Pam then wearing a scarf that she knitted herself...

And me this year..

So now let me share with you Pam's trip out here at the end of 2003. We bought wool in Taos and she knitted a lovely scarf for me. She got her plane times mixed up so ended up staying an extra few days. We watched the film 28 Days Later and giggled like kids chasing each other round the room like the infected flesh eaters. Pam was particularly good at it and had me quite convinced a time or two! I don't think I've laughed so much since.. And of course she got her dog fix..

God these photos make me cry... sorry it's been so long getting this together.. You can probably imagine why..

It's been a tough month..

2011-07-29T14:06:00.000-07:00

Manchester Sisters

2011-07-13T17:54:00.000-07:00

that's what they called us. we were singing in a bar in Long Island, NY. we are very young and they called us Manchester sisters..because that's where we're from.. just look at us..

3 years

2011-07-03T07:34:00.000-07:00

Today is 3 years since Pam was killed. As usual (as usual?) I would have gone up the Sandia Peak and put flowers at the foot of a tree. But it's closed as fire danger is extreme. So we will go to the cabin and I'll sprinkle some flowers into the river. These family photos were taken a year before her death. Doesn't she look beautiful? She is wearing the cardigan that I clung onto the weeks following while my heart was breaking. I keep it in a plastic bag as suggested so as to try to preserve her smell. This weekend I feel like all the life has gone out of me.... again..

My parents were just over for the wedding. I asked dad to bring some old journals of mine. I found this entry..

Jan 4 1994

How protective I was today when Pam left to go to the station. I couldn't resist saying, "Don't ask a strange, horrible man for directions." Pam said, "I'll find a man and say to him, 'Are you horrible?' and he'll say, 'Yes,' evilly. Then I'll say, 'Can you direct me to the station?' and he'll say, 'Yes and let me stab you horribly.'" I must stop being so protective it makes Pam have no confidence in her own abilities. Nice to see her so fun-filled and excited last night. She has been so irritable and snappy of late.

There is a sadness in Pam's face in these shots I think. Like so many photos of her, a sadness, a suffering. She was unhappy so much in life. Sometimes I would say to her, "You wouldn't DO anything would you?" I meant to end it. She would say, "No Jane, I would never do that to you lot." But look what happened, her life did end early. Perhaps on some level I sensed something coming..

Got married

2011-06-16T14:35:00.000-07:00

Wish Pam could have been there...

Reading this made me cry this morning..

2011-06-03T08:02:00.000-07:00

A loss of this magnitude - psychologically, it is a loss of the heroic defense - draws the psyche into liminality, which may be coloured most heavily by feelings of grief for a lost past. Liminality is created whenever the ego is unable any longer to identify fully with a former self-image, which it had formed by selective attachments to specific internal imagos and embodied in certain roles accepted and performed. It had been embedded in a context created and supported by an archetypal pattern of self-organisation, and now, since this matrix has dissolved or broken down, there is a sense of amputated past and a vague future. Yet while this ego hangs there in suspension, still it remembers the ghost of a former self, whose home had been furnished with the presence of persons and objects now absent and had been placed in a psychological landscape now bare and uninhabitable without them. There is memory, too, perhaps, of status, of secured supremacy amidst a host of valiant defenders of the realm. But now all is different.

Murray Stein, In Midlife

Night Flight

2011-05-19T16:13:00.000-07:00

The Christmas before the plane crash. Look what I bought Pam's husband Keith. I wish I'd known how dangerous it was. I see in the news nearly ever week a small plane crash. I didn't know. I would never have noticed this before. This was his last Christmas.

The Royal We

2011-04-30T17:01:00.000-07:00

My very own royal wedding 1993. Hats, hats, hats everybody! Gotta have hats in England. These hats are the toned down version ofcourse but our mum goes the whole hog at weddings, full royal regalia for her always. Everyone in these photos except my parents are gone from my life now. There is only one person that I miss and I miss her awfully, awfully, in fact she was so much a part of me that it doesn't really compute that she's gone ... doesn't she look gorgeous in this photo? I know this post is a bit light-hearted but I'm sure Pam would approve.

I met the Queen a few years before my royal wedding you know...oh go on then if you don't believe me I'll show you!

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!

Thanks to Rebecca the Great for the post idea! .. xo

Pam and Matt

2011-04-27T17:23:00.000-07:00

It is not for me to saywhether Pam should have married Matt or he she for that matter.

Matt pursued Pam for 7 years. Always showing up on her doorstep when she lived at PrimroseLane. Knocking on her door nomatter how many times she told him not to. Pam wasn’t interested in Matt, not in THAT way. But well his persistence paid off andthey became friends. Not much elsewas going on for Pam in the men department, nothing much was ever going on forPam in the men department. Notreally.

One thing in his favour was the fact that he had a goodsense of humour in his shy way and Pam was funny. Bloody funny. They giggled together a lot. Catchphrases developed, funny voices and nicknames for pets and each other. Both of them big animal lovers. They called each other 'Corky' a lot, I don't know why. I'll have to ask him.

Matt is a dairy farmer and lives on a farm in a cottage nextto the big house where his long-widowed mother lives. In a nutshell this was the problem for Pam when they married. Oh she loved living on a farm but NOT WITH THE MOTHER this was too literally 'in a nutshell'. Pam didn’t do‘family in close proximity’ very well particularly not mothers. In fact Pam could have done without in-laws altogether. So for this and perhaps other reasons she stuck itout for a year and then she left the farm and the marriage.

During Pam and Matt's friendship the TV show Wallace and Gromitwas very much on the scene. One day I was walking down Glossop High Street when Ispotted a life-sized cardboard cut out of Wallace and Gromit in the window ofthe local building society. BlimeyI thought, he’s the spitting image of Matt! I couldn’t wait to tell Pam and when I did she was tickledpink. Even Matt saw it to ourdelight and as we pondered on this likeness we realized that Matt was likeWallace in every way. He not onlylooked like Wallace, he even had the big hands, he talked like him and had very similar habits. Yes Matt too was particularly partialto a spot of Wensleydale cheese.

So from then on they talked of themselves as Wallace and Wendolene and even named their two bantam hens the same names. Pam could often be heard shouting,"Wallace!" and the hen would come running.

Pam and Matt had a lovely connection regardless of theirdisastrous marriage. I asked Matta few weeks ago for some memories and he sent me this email,

“Hi Jane,

Two little memories both in April. When Pam lived on Primrose Lane I picked her a huge bunch offresh yellow daffodils, she told me it was as if the sun had come to rest inher room. In April I start tospread fertilizer on the fields. In one field near the reservoir she came with me, we were both crampedin the tractor cab, the sun was shining, and we both started to hum the themetune to Wallace and Gromit! We often laughed about that. Whenever I spread inthat field I always smile and think of Pam.

Take care Matt xx”

Mona Lisa

2011-04-21T14:49:00.000-07:00

When Pam had this photo taken her new name was Mona Lisa in our house.

Click below to hear me sing this song.

Sweets

2011-04-05T13:59:00.000-07:00

When we were children Pam looked up to me like I was a superstar and she was just a lowly fan. She would stare at me at everything I did like she wanted to be me and it drove me mad. Every Sunday afternoon mum gave us money to go and buy sweets from Chuddies which we called Stacey's. Us three girls would walk up Seymour Road to the shop. Angie was on her own time but me I'd have Pam's eyes glued to me. In the shop Pam eyed me carefully. Mr Chuddy or Stacey would serve us kindly. But he knew the score between me and Pam. He always served me first, well I was the oldest. My order was always the same. An orange ice cream with a chocolate flake in it and a quarter of American cream soda. 'And what can I get for you Pam?' But Mr Chuddy or Stacey knew exactly what her order was that's why he was always smiling to himself. An orange ice cream with a flake and a quarter of American cream soda please. I would sigh helplessly no use saying stop copying me, Mr Chuddy or Stacey would just laugh.

As we walked back down Seymour Road Pam would watch me eating my ice cream always making dead sure that she ate hers much slower than me. She wanted me to finish before her. Once I had no sweets left Pam looked at me carefully with a glint of real satisfaction as she slowly dipped her finger in her sherbet licking it off so so slowly, her finger stained red.

When Pam started junior school she often sent a friend over to me at playtime to tell me Pam was in the girls toilets crying and she wanted me. This new development to school life was cramping my style. But I would go reluctantly to sort out the trouble. One time I had this friend called Deborah. I didn't really want her as a friend but she wanted me. She was a bit rough in my book but I hadn't quite managed to shake her off yet. So one day Pam's friend came to get me and when Deborah heard the news that Pam was crying she linked my arm severely hard and said, 'Come on Jane!' She dragged me over to the troubled spot and thumped some young kid in the arm making them cry. Not my style at all I was more of a reason with both parties involved type. The next day I got hauled into Pam's classroom by her teacher Mrs Cook who humiliated me in front of all the younger kids. Mrs Cook had disliked me ever since I'd been in her class 3 years earlier when I was 8 like Pam was now. One time she shouted at me,'Jane Lancaster all you're interested in is rings!' I wore a ring on every finger, well it was the sixties. One of them was a big navy blue flower, I loved that ring. Mrs Cook was orrible with her long straight blonde hair, her mini skirt and American tan tights. I wonder what sweets Angie is sucking in this photo? I bet they're Opal fruits.

Slip Away

2011-03-28T09:40:00.000-07:00

Dissolver of sugar, dissolve me,

if this is the time.

Do it gently with a touch of a hand, or a look.

Every morning I wait at dawn. That's when it's happened before. Or do it suddenly

like an execution. How else

can I get ready for death?

You breathe without a body like a spark.

You grieve, and I begin to feel lighter.

You keep me away with your arm,

but the keeping away is pulling me in.

Pale sunlight,

pale the wall.

Love moves away.

The light changes.

I need more grace

than I thought. Rumi

When we were all gathered in Pam's house just before her funeral I plied her friend Sue with questions. Sue told me that a week before this moment, Pam's death, they sat together here. In this Pam's living room we sat with our grey faces where my sister spent many hours knitting and reading and watching television. With it's pea green walls, it's glass doors and it's gossamer curtains covered in bees. Sitting in her little white armchair she said to Sue a week before this awful shock, 'Sue, don't you sometimes wish you could just slip away?' Like she might have wished to do at one of mum's parties, slip out of a side door into the night, unnoticed. Like she used to do as a child, everyone talking up a storm when suddenly someone would say,'Where's Pam?'

Punch-Drunk Singer

2011-03-06T11:12:00.000-08:00

Me on the left and Pam at a cabaret she arranged at The Slipper Room, New York

Singing has been a big issue in my family. From as earlyas I can remember I was forced to sing. Oh come, come Jane 'forced' is a strong word isn't it? Not in my book I say, twitching nervously. I have been blessed (or cursed?) with a robust singing voice, and since mymother passed it on to me she thinks she gets a say in what I do with it. Singing was the be all and end all to my mum. For God's sake don't tell her about this bloody post. Look mum if you do happen to read this, I love you it's just some of your hopes and wishes for me that were hard to take OK? Anyway the pressure was on from the start. I am the eldest of three girls andsince Pam came in last she kind of got overlooked in the singing department notto mention everything else. Amemory that encapsulates this for me is Pam as a baby in a baby bouncer. They’d just come in fashion so Pam gotto test-drive one. She would droop over in this contraption as she fell asleep and just well hang there. A little baby hanging by a thread. Anyway being gentle by nature Pam didn't have a loud screaming voice so she mostly wasn't heard in our family.

I’ve got to the point in life whereI’ve stopped singing. It has lostall its joy for me. I got all the praise and the pressure around it. I had a panic attack when I was seven whilst singing my first solo at Sunday school. It resulted in me singing the same line over and over as I watched the expectant grin on my dad's face turn into a look of horror. Then a teacher kindly led me away. This event may well have been a pivotal moment regarding my future as a singer. Anyway I’ve beenpushed too much and now singing sticks in my throat. I’ve lostthe will to sing. If I hear my parents complain one more time because I am not on the X Factor (English version of American Idol) I think I'll have to be locked away in a padded cell. This is how I feel at the mention of the S word now...

I did join amadrigal group last summer and this I enjoy, no overtones of Frank Sinatra here. Instead a welcome hey diddle diddle of country fayre a far cry from the crooning that now makes me feel like throwing up. The whole sorry business wassummed up for me after Pam’s memorial service when we gathered at mum’s golf club. About six friends of my parents were left chatting with us when dad suddenly said, “Jane are you giving a song?” You know like it was any old party. When I declined a woman friend of theirs who runs a night club, grew up in the fifties and has severely latent and blatant 'Rat Pack' tendancies said, ‘Well I’ll say this much Jane, what a waste oftalent!” I should have said, 'Ohsorry Norma you are quite right,' grabbed my top hat and cane and startedsinging ‘Give me the moonlight give me the girl and leave the rest to me!’ That would have been so fitting don't you think?

Pam on the other hand didn’t realize she could singuntil she was in her thirties. Shedidn’t even try to sing before that, well it wasn’t her place, she was theflute and piano girl. So onenight at our parent's house mum was watching the Three Tenors on TV, her then favourite. Pam started to sing along in the nextroom and proceeded to surprise herself by how good she sounded. Mum shouted out, 'Is that our Jane singing?' To which Pam replied, 'No it’s me!' That was the start of Pam singing and she didn’t stop. I wasalready well on my way to my current dried up singer on the shelf self so asfar as I was concerned she could have it. You see there was also the small matter of us being a highly competitivefamily so this could have been a problem. But since it took the pressure off me I was delighted. Although it was becoming increasinglydifficult for me to muster enthusiasm for the business of singing no matter whowas doing it. I had to snicker tomyself at parties during Pam’s coming out years though. ‘Friends’ of the family would stronglyimply in my general direction that Pam was by far the better singer. That old competitive spirit rearing its uglyhead again. Who was competing? Not me, I’d had a belly full. Still it was nice of them to remindme what a precocious, big-headed singer I used to be thanks to the grandiosepraise that had been lavished on me by my parents in their hope that I live outtheir dreams and become the next Barbra Streisand. Funny thing, it turns out Barbrasuffers from nerves singing on stage too. Have youseen the film Shine? Let’s justsay I relate. Not that I am in any way as gifted as this you understand...just the film is about too much pressure on him from his father..

Anyway Pam sang and she sang and she sang after that. Like a bird. She could sing like a coloratura and go much higher andfaster on the trills than I could. This might have had something to do with the fact that she could make her eyes go very fast from side to side too. Quite amazing to see, like a nature spirit. She made lots of opportunities for herselfto sing. She joined a band for a while in New York, sang in church every week and in the last year before shedied she joined a dinner theatre cabaret in Newport. She could always be heard singing and whistling in the housesomething I never did. She couldsing opera and even got into a prestigious music college in Leeds, which she decided not to pursue but that’s another story. She loved to sing that’s the top and bottom of it. She loved it, she wanted it and she didit. I’m so glad about that now.

I have been transferring DVD tapes onto my computer, the ones that aren't getting chewed up by my stupid old camera that is. Oh I have to save them! There is a lot of footage of Pam that I can't transfer for fear of ruining it all completely. I do have some though like the Christmas I spent with her at her place in Long Island in 2002. Watching this film is heart-breaking. It is like she's just walked into the room, as I watch I feel how totally and utterly whacko it is that she is, you know... dead. WTF? Honestly I can watch it for a minute and then I have to turn it off because it is so freaky. That Christmas, just the two of us, I spotted an old Jackson Five Cd so I put it on and started singing along loudly, 'Whoooo's lovin you..' I was in the Jackson Five fan club when I was a kid and used to sing my heart out to them. So off I bellowed somewhat territorially, well I had been in the fan club! Pam became furious, her eyes flashed. She went into her 'I'm the youngest and I'm always last in line' stuff. Like I said at the beginning of this story, singing is an issue in my family.

Below is a hilarious recording of me singing along to the Jackson Five just like I used to when I was a girl. I taped it last week because I figure Pam would want me to sing. So I'm singing when I remember to. Every time I listen to this it makes me giggle I hope it makes you smile too! You never know I might rekindle a desire to have singing be a part of my life again..

Want to hear something lovely?

Click below to hear Pam singing Somewhere Over the Rainbow, 2008

Valentine's Day

2011-02-14T07:52:00.000-08:00

Red roses from Ron to me to you Pam..

with love as always..

But to be frank, and give it thee again.
And yet I wish but for the thing I have:
My bounty is as boundless as the sea,
My love as deep; the more I give to thee,
The more I have, for both are infinite.

Singing the same tune..

2011-02-09T15:20:00.000-08:00

Day 5 of being sick. Not up to writing stories for the blog, been reading other blogs and finished reading a book. I've been grieving pretty hard this past week, maybe it's because I'm ill and feel weak. I read a couple of pages of one of Pam's journals yesterday, after mum mentioned that she wouldn't mind taking a look at them. I didn't advise it. It was painful to read as usual, tears left me exhausted but then I felt a sense of calm after the storm. Later in the evening I read the same pages to Ron, he was reassuring saying that Pam's writing about her difficulties with me was positive. That she was individuating. I wonder if you could describe her death as individuating?

Ron said she sounds so like me. We were very similar women. Often I would call her or she me and we'd both been thinking the same thing or had bought the same clothes or had the same kind of dream. Our sister Angie says we had a special bond because we were so alike. It feels like part of me has died. I'm glad I've got her journals even though they are so upsetting to read. I said maybe I shouldn't be reading them and Ron replied maybe you are meant to. Maybe I am. Maybe in time they can be my guide? To remind me of the path that we were on together. And perhaps I can let it keep me on track even though I'm on that path alone now.

These lines from Rumi seem appropriate...

Friend, I've shrunk to a hair trying to say your story.

Would you tell mine?

I've made up so many love stories.

Now I feel fictional.

Tell me!

The truth is, you are speaking, not me.

I am Sinai, and you are Moses walking there.

This poetry is an echo of what you say.

A Pamopolitan!

2011-02-03T09:10:00.000-08:00

Ron and I are having dinner at Pranzo’s. After we order I pick up a little tablemenu as we wait, glance at it and put it down. A little while later a waiter brings two red-colouredcocktails to the young romantic couple on the next table. I call him over and ask, ‘What are theyhaving?” ‘They’re Pamopolitan’s.’he says. Blinking I say,‘What?’ He repeats ‘Pamopolitan’s.’ ‘Are they on the menu?’ I ask. ‘Yes, call me over if you want one.’ And he darts away busily. I grab the little cocktail menu andscan it quickly, there at the bottom is a cinnamonPamopolitan! Well I never. The reason for said nameis the ‘pama’ pomegranate liqueur. Well of course I had to have one, in Pam’s honour. I often imagine her now when we are outhaving dinner saying, ‘Go on, have a drink!’ And this was one of those moments surely. ‘Yes but don’t call me Shirley,’ I hearher saying!

This jogged some drinking memories. In our teen years we would plump for vodka and orange or rum andcoke, always sweet drinks, Cinzano and lemonade, which Angie our middle sister sometimes stillhas, she never lost her sweet tooth. Then we graduated to half a lager. Not wine, wine in pubs is always crap.

Over the last ten years Pam liked a glass of chardonnaywith dinner. I, onthe other hand, gave up alcohol. Iwas totally off it for five years. Sugar was the problem, so I quit drinking. I didn’t miss it hardly at all, mind you I wasbeing very strict with myself. Iwas in nun mode. Iusually go into nun mode after some kind of excess, usually that was mennot alcohol, but you can’t be too careful. Pam would always roll her eyes at meduring such times. Oh Janeyou can be such a schoolmarm!

I'm trying to remember Pam drunk. She didn't get pie-eyed in front of me. She probably watched herself when I was around, as she didn’t want to get lectured by her bossy, over protective eldestsister. My only memory is when wewent on holiday with our parents to Tenerife, a Spanish island off the coast ofAfrica. I was seventeen, Angie maybe sixteen and Pamwas fourteen. One night we went to a bar without our parents andstarted drinking. Pam didn’t drinkyet as she was too young but that night she did. I looked at her while we were having a good laugh with somepeople and said, ‘Oh God she’s drunk!’ She was rolling around and giggling, her long dark hair and palefreckled skin all innocent and squiffy, in the pink cheesecloth dress that sheloved. ‘Yikes, we’d better get youback to the hotel!’ I said andwalked her staggering back to the room where she fell on the bed and passedout. Phew!

Pam and Angie

Me and Pam drinking

We went a bitwild in Tenerife, well me and Angie did, Pam was a bit young yet. We had mum and dad worried sick. One night I was strolling romanticallywith a waiter on the beach, it was getting late. Next thing I saw my dad scanning the beach with his hands onhis hips looking for me. I grabbedthe lad and ducked behind a sun bed. Meanwhile mum was looking for Angie in a disco. The next morning atbreakfast mum said, ‘Blimey, Ihope to God you lot are being careful in those discos. Last night looking for ourAngie I crossed the dance floor and got picked up three times!’ She needed to be worried. I nearly got raped one night escaping just by the skin of my teeth. And Angie was all goo goo gaga about a handsomeyoung dude who told her (and she believed him!) that he was a brainsurgeon. You should have seen him, a brain surgeon he was not. We went shopping one day and there he was working in a local boutique. Busted!

In the nineties I lived in London and Pam would come tostay. I remember we went on agirl’s night out with some of my friends and ended up in a club near PiccadillyCircus. We were getting drunk,well I was. Pam was a littlesubdued, as she was shy around new people. She told me she liked a young barman and I was all… go forit! But she was too shy and sober…so I started flirting with him! Hewas quite ‘fit’ as we used to say. Since I was drunk I started doing my sex kitten impression, drapingmyself along the bar like a cat, pouting my head off and flapping myeyelids. I must have looked like aright fool. But to my delight heresponded beautifully. Oh well Ithought drunkenly, Pam didn’t want him. Little did I know that Pam was seething. Before we left, the barman said to me, ‘I’m having a partytomorrow, want to come and help me blow up balloons?’ Want to help me blow up balloons? I loved it! Hegave me his phone number and I was happy as Larry. Pam and I got into a taxi outside the club and the driverproceeded to zoom like a fair ground ride around the streets of London. He was driving so fast and I was sodrunk that I was tumbling from one side of the cab to the other. Pam got worried, ‘Jane where are we going?! Where is he taking us?’ ‘Oh it’s all right, he's sort of going in the right direction’ I said as I flewthrough the air too drunk to care and landed giggling in the corner.

When we got home we pulled out the sofa bed for Pam and I flopped down on it in a heap. We chatted for a while but I soon started to fade. I had to go tobed. 'Will you pull me up?’ I said, and held out my hand. Pam grabbed it and yanked meup violently. I shot forward andhit my nose hard on the arm of the sofa. Blood poured all over theclean white mattress. 'Oh God, JaneI’m sorry!' 'Blimey Pam,' I said, 'youdon’t know your own strength, I hope it's not broken.' Feeling very sober all of sudden Isaid, ‘You’re angry with me aren’t you?’ She said that she had been furious with me all night. She hid it very well! ‘Pam why didn’t you tell me? I’d have stopped immediately.’ She shrugged. ‘God I’m so sorry Pam I thought you weren’t bothered. I wouldn’t have done it if I’d known... well maybe I would. I was so drunk, I’m sorry. What aslut I can be.’ 'Oh never mind,it’s done now' she said sobering up from her anger as she watched blood streaming from my nose. Wewere friends again. Pam I'm so sorry I ever hurt you. I love you more than anyone, I wasn't very good at showing it sometimes. I can't believe we will never go out and get tipsy together again.

I hereby encourage everyone to have a Pamopolitan. To Pam! Cheers Pam! Look I'm doing my face from The Party! The 'What is it?' scene.

If I could taste one sip of an answer,
I could break out of this prison for drunks.
I didn't come here of my own accord, and I can't leave that way.
Whoever brought me here will have to take me home.

Rumi

Born on the Fourth of July

2011-02-01T11:12:00.000-08:00

"Your fight is just beginning. Sometimes no one will want to hear what you are going through. You are going to have to learn to carry a great burden and most of your learning will be done alone. Don't feel frightened when they leave you. I'm sure you will come through it all OK."

Said to Ron Kovic by a priest in Da Nang.

Pam died on the third of July.

Mystic Us

2011-01-17T09:38:00.000-08:00

My sister Pam went to see her first psychic when she was 21. Mum went first, then she took us then we took some friends. One of my dearest friends Sue, an unlikely candidate for this kind of thing, came running out of her session with "Ivor" and burst out, "You should have heard what he said about you Jane! Oops he told me not to tell you!" And she slapped her hand over her mouth dramatically as if to say, not telling. I said, "You better bloody tell me!" He had said that I wouldn't meet the right man until I was much older. Great! Actually it turned out to be true. He told Pam she would live in America, he also told her she was psychic. She went to see various psychics over the years, all of them told her she was psychic. She never thought she was but she had a kind of knowing was how I described it. She just knew. One time she had an out-of-body experience after reading a book on the subject which scared her. Pam was always into metaphysical stuff, well she was a Scorpio. I on the other hand got into it later on.

When I was 39 I was having some sort of midlife crisis. I resigned from my job selling apartments in Covent Garden, London due to clinical depression. I did this work in between acting jobs but ended up doing it full time hence the clinical depression. I got involved with The Landmark Forum a personal development course that used to be called EST but left because they maintained that 'life is empty and meaningless' which kept giving me a severe migraine. I then got involved with a female new age guru type (it's not sounding good is it?) which is where I met Nikki, a tarot card reader. "Do you teach tarot?" I asked her one day. Well of course she did for a little matter of 100 pounds. And so, since clothes shopping wasn't having the same hit anymore, I began a spending frenzy focussed on healers, astrologers you name it. I started going to Nikki's flat in Swiss Cottage to learn how to read the tarot. I liked her flat she had new age paraphernalia all over the place. Buddhas, angels, crystals, altars, candles, incense the lot. Mmm mystical and goddessy and all that jazz.... much like the picture below.

Nikki used the Rider Waite deck to teach me, the cards that she worked with. I was certainly enjoying learning about these cards, their ancient symbolism intended to assist the hero on his journey. I didn't feel like a hero but I could have used some help on my journey! At the end of my training Nikki got me to try what she called psychometry. You hold an object and try to get some psychic information from it. She started me off with photos. She put a photo face down so I couldn't see the picture and told me to put my hand on top of it and 'tune in'. She kept saying not to judge what came into my mind, to trust what I saw. I remember the first photo very well because what happened surprised me. I lay my hand on it and closed my eyes. Shaking my head and shrugging unconfidently I said, "Well I'm kind of getting a woman in a long white robe and she's hugging everyone." I looked at her and smiled doubtfully. She smiled back and turned over the card giggling. It was an Indian woman dressed in a long white robe! "She is Amachi," she said. I didn't know her. "Is she famous?" I asked. "Well she is quite famous for what she does... she hugs people." "You what? Hugs people? Honestly?" I got it right, I was amazed. "Let's do another!" I said excitedly. I went on in varying degrees to describe something of what was in the rest of the photos. Another photo that stands out was when I got an image of the circus. Nikki kept saying no and finally turned the photo over. I looked carefully at the picture of a man standing by a wall. "There! I said, "In the background. Look he's standing in front of a poster of a circus!" Nikki missed it as her mind was focussed on me figuring out who the man was.

"Right," she said, "I want you to do a reading for me now." I became nervous saying, "Oh no I don't think I'm ready, I'll probably get it wrong." "Don't be so hard on yourself Jane, it's just practice." She handed me a photo of her mother who had died and I tuned in. Straight way I got a very strong image of bunnies, rabbits. "She's holding a baby, she's nursing it happily from side to side and smiling like she's giving the thumbs up." Then Nikki gave me a photo of her grandma. "Again," I said "I'm getting a child, something about a child but I see sticks, like sticks knocking against something, like there's some trouble.... I don't know Nikki, I feel like asking you...you're not pregnant are you?" I laughed amateurishly. "Actually Jane I am." "Get lost!" I blurted out totally stunned. "You're bloody joking!" "No Jane, I did a pregnancy test this morning and it was positive." "Honestly? This morning? Really? You didn't." "You see Jane I told you you're good at this." And it was true, she was having a baby. "I am going to have an abortion," she said. "But your mum is all for it!" I protested loudly, surprising myself a little. "Yes but Jane the sticks are right, it is a troubled situation." So Nikki had an abortion and I felt strangely disappointed.

Of course my sister Pam was getting a blow by blow account of these sessions over the phone in America where she now lived (I wonder why! Psychic reading by any chance?) When I arrived in Newport RI a couple of months later to spend the summer with her, Pam had me holding people's watches, doing tarot readings galore! I was mortified, sitting there holding some bloke's watch as not a thing came into my head. But Pam, not bothered about being 'cool', pushed me into it with unabashed awe and wonder. Still it didn't seem to work the same and I was dead uncomfortable and embarrassed as hell doing readings for people so I put my foot down and told Pam she could copy all my notes from my tarot lessons, let her read the damn cards! Anyway she was the one who was supposed to be psychic, not me! One spooky thing sticks in my mind from that summer. Pam kept getting me to do tarot readings about her relationship with Keith. He was her boyfriend at the time and they were having plenty of difficulties. They split up for three years before they got back together and got married. Anyway I would do little five card spreads over and over for her. We would constantly get the Death Card and the Tower card. It was weird. Nikki taught me that the Death card is hardly ever negative, that it means the ending of something, transformation, major change, a snake shedding it's skin. The Tower is sudden, bolt out of the blue change. Life falling apart, a shock that feels like something has been taken away from you. Pam and I would end up shrugging unable to figure out what it meant. Pretty bloody obvious now what it bloody well meant. In this case death meant exactly that, death. I sometimes think back to us doing those spreads together like little girls playing. If only I had been a real psychic, I could have warned her.

A few years later Pam went into a little new age shop in Long Island where she was living and the owner said to her, "Why don't you work here and do psychic readings?" "Me? I'm not psychic." Pam said. "Oh yes you are. You can do it." And the owner marched Pam into it (as Pam did with me that summer in Newport) and set her up in a corner of the shop like Gypsy Rosalee. "Thing is Jane," Pam told me on the phone, "I'm getting it all right! This lady came in with her husband and I started describing an old woman in red-framed glasses in a red gown, next thing the lady burst out crying and said, "That's my Grandmother!"

Over the years that we 'dabbled' Pam and I visited Glastonbury a few times. A supposed spiritual hot spot. Pam visited this place on her own one time. Below is her word for word account of breakfast at The Barn.

Breakfast Scene

Woman: (female, mid-fifties, sick of not getting enough attention) Do you want to know what I do?

Pam: Yeah, what do you do?

(Interruptions from other guests)

Woman: So do you want to know what I do? I'm a Shaman and I work with stones and do lots of exorcisms.

Pam: Do you? Do you do exorcisms?!!

Woman: Oh yes. That's an interesting stone, what is it? (pointing to Pam's ring)

Pam: I'm not sure. That's a lovely ring. (pointing to shaman's ring) What's that stone?

Woman: Actually there's a funny story about this. It was interesting what my friend picked up when she held it. Here, hold this. (she gives it to Pam)

Pam: Oh, er, I won't get anything from it. I feel daft.

Woman: Go on! See what comes.

Reluctantly and embarrassed Pam holds the ring with closed eyes sighing while the others chat.

Pam: Well the thing that comes up for me is meridians, blood flow and the heart. Is that right?

Woman: (shrugging irritably) I don't know.

Pam: (feeling a fool) Oh. Hold my ring and see what comes. (She hands her ring to the woman)

Woman: Oh this needs cleaning!! (thrusts it back patronizingly)

Pam: Oh does it?! How do you do that?

Woman: (irritably) I don't know.

Pam: (feeling a fool) Oh. It's a shame we haven't got one of those crystal books.

Adrian (B&B Owner) I've got one...here. (He gives it to Pam)

While they are all chatting Pam looks up the woman's stone.

Pam: Eh! I got it right! It's about meridians and the flow of blood through the veins and the heart!

Woman (coldly) Could you pass the muesli?

Hey look Droopy and Browns!

2011-01-16T22:25:00.000-08:00

Found these today looking through Pam's things.. she must have kept them because she liked D&B so much. Looking at these images really evokes Pam for me. They are so her.

Pam's Perfume..seeking forgetfulness everywhere..

2011-01-07T16:23:00.000-08:00

When I was in my early thirties Pam and I went shopping to York (she loved her little shopping trips to York where we'd always visit the glorious Droopy and Browns) OK stop! This story has now veered down a different road. It's one of those moments again. Droopy and Browns just this second came into my head and was not where I intended this story to go but look at the link above! Look at the synchronicities! Firstly the designer died at 50, something I didn't know. Secondly the article begins by talking about her shopping for perfume and wearing copious amounts of perfume when I'm just about to write a piece about perfume! Then it tells us she was a singer, like us. Then that she was into singing Brecht songs (I've just bought 5 books on Brecht and am reading about him) And to cap it all off she was born July 10th and died November 3rd, Pam was born November 10th and died July 3rd. Actually there is one more little coincidink. The description of Angela Holmes turning heads as she walked her dogs in York all done up like a dogs dinner. Our other sister Angie? Just the same as a young woman. One time Pam was shopping with a friend in the big Boots the Chemist in Manchester when her friend exclaimed, "look at that girl coming down the elevator!" The young woman in question was dressed from head to foot in gold. Gold suit, gold hat, gold shoes, gold handbag and gold make-up. "Oh," said Pam, "That's my sister Angie." And that's another thing they were both called Angela! Twilight Zone theme tune going on in my head right now.

OK so let me wander down this path for a bit and then I'll get back to the original story. We found Droopy and Browns in York in the early eighties and immediately fell in love. My then boyfriend Gabriel liked a navy blue polka dot dress he spotted there and made me buy it. Pam and I bought various blouses and skirts there over the next ten years. They were expensive but original and extremely well made. Pam even bought her wedding dress there. I still have it here. It suited her down to the ground. I can still picture her juicy, cudgily (my made up word for her... and I don't mean cudgel) arms in it. You can just make out the name Droopy and Browns on the label.

Here's a funny story about that dress. It was very expensive as you can probably gather from the photo, more than our dad really wanted to pay but she looked so stunning in it. Anyway Pam used this same dress when she got married a second time and then I ended up getting married in it (second marriage and a long story) in 2006. Dad said for the price he paid we should keep getting divorced and re-married just to get the value out of it! Dear, dear..

The thing I find remarkable about the above link is this. There I was today looking for a cure for my depression when I stumbled on the word Vetiver. This led me to thinking about Pam's perfume, that led me to Angela Holmes of Droopy and Browns obituary which gave me the perfect advice on how to cure my depression! If you read the obituary you will see what I mean. Instead of getting distraught by watching the news, do as Angela did, "exclude drab reality" from my world. Fill it with flowers and beauty, dress up and wear lots of perfume. Live in a pink fluff world! As my other sister Angie would say. A notion that Angela Holmes no doubt would have saluted. Don't join in! Be an individual and to hell with the "culture of collective thought." The other thing is that Pam too had a flair for glamour and beauty. Like Angela she loved all things beautiful but went her own way never following the dictates of fashion and always turned her nose up at "trendies." You'll see what I mean when I do a post on Pam's B&B. She liked what she liked. Viva la Difference! So back to my original story which came to mind when I saw the word Vetiver this morning.

When I was in my early thirties around 1990 I found a perfume that I loved whilst shopping in York with Pam. The most sensual, odorous scent. "This is going to be my signature perfume!" I cried. "At last I've found you!" I don't know where I got the idea of a signature perfume from. Was it magazines? Other women? My mother? No it can't have been my mother because as soon as she got her nostrils on it she announced that it was going to be her new signature perfume. "What?" I said, "We can't both have it as our signature perfume." "Why not?" She said, "It doesn't belong to you. Don't be silly!" And she continues to wear my signature perfume to this day. In fact her grandson, my nephew Billy associates this perfume with his grandmother which makes it crystal clear who's signature perfume it is. In fact I dabbed some on last night and thought of my mother. Dear, dear...

About a year before Pam was killed (sigh) she went with her husband Keith to San Francisco. There she found her signature perfume. "This is it! I've found it at last Jane! It's called Vetiver by Elizabeth W I'm only going to wear this from now on. I love it!" I wonder if on some level she knew it would be good for her (many) depressions? It sits in my bathroom now and I wear it from time to time in her honour. I'm going to squirt some on now and hope that it cures my depression.

Here's to you Pam and to Angela Holmes...Ute Lemper singing Youkali by Kurt Weill, the lyrics say it all.

It was almost to the end of the world

That my wandering boat

Straying at the will of the waves

Led me one day

The isle is very small

But the kind fairy that lives there

Invites us

To take a look around

Youkali

Is the land of our desires

Youkali

Is happiness, pleasure

Youkali

Is the land where we forget all our worries

It is in our night, like a bright rift

The star we follow

It is Youkali

Youkali

Is the respect of all vows exchanged

Youkali

Is the land of love returned

It is the hope

That is in every human heart

The deliverance

We await for tomorrow

Youkali

Is the land of our desires

Youkali

Is happiness, pleasure

But it is a dream, a folly

There is no Youkali

And life carries us along

Tediously, day by day

But the poor human soul

Seeking forgetfulness everywhere

Has, in order to escape the world

Managed to find the mystery

In which our dreams burrow themselves

In some Youkali

Birds fell down from the sky

2011-01-05T13:03:00.000-08:00

Why did 1,000 red-winged blackbirds die in the sky? It takes me back to a time when I would go to a pond here in Santa Fe and watch them balancing on the reeds. Bouncing to and fro and wobbling like plates on sticks. Chirping merrily away to each other as I sat silently watching. Their unmistakable song. I feel so sad today for the birds. My friend said it's the damage done to the Gulf Stream by the spill... I hate it when animals get hurt.. my sister was a BIG animal person..

Bjork and Nirvana

2011-01-01T12:25:00.000-08:00

Pam really liked Bjork. I remember when MTV first came out in it's early days we would watch this video together along with Nirvana. We would fling ourselves around the room and make moan like Kurt Cobain when he does that odd moan (yay) in this video and giggle our heads off, we bloody loved it.

One time we watched Bjork in Dancer in the Dark. I don't think we ever cried so much at a film. When it was over we were both sobbing and sobbing and sobbing. I have never wanted to watch that film ever again.

Crazy Jane Talks With The Bishop

2011-01-01T10:32:00.000-08:00

I met the Bishop on the road
And much said he and I.
'Those breasts are flat and fallen now,
Those veins must soon be dry;
Live in a heavenly mansion,
Not in some foul sty.'

'Fair and foul are near of kin,
And fair needs foul,' I cried.
'My friends are gone, but that's a truth
Nor grave nor bed denied,
Learned in bodily lowliness
And in the heart's pride.

A woman can be proud and stiff
When on love intent;
But Love has pitched his mansion in
The place of excrement;
For nothing can be sole or whole
That has not been rent.'

William Butler Yeats.

To all those people who knew Pam!

2010-12-31T12:08:00.000-08:00

This photo of Pam was taken after my parents had visited a dog shelter. They walked out of the shelter saying they didn't see a dog that they wanted so Pam marched them back in and this little puppy was the result. They called him Spikey, he was dad's constant companion until he died in 2005 (the dog not dad!) Pam loved dogs with a passion.

I was listening to a man on the radio last night, Frank Mundo as he talked about losing his brother a year ago. He and his family have a website where they put all his brother's art work and photos and memories. They also put stories and memories on there that friends share. So I invite all those people who knew and loved Pam to please email me and share your stories so that I can put them on this blog. Don't be shy! Come on!

Lucille Ball and Pam...

2010-12-27T15:27:00.000-08:00

Pam's husband Keith (who was learning to fly planes that's how come they were killed) always said Pam reminded him of Lucille Ball. She sure had that Lucy goosey dizziness going on. She had the same wide-eyed quality, she could make her eyes move really fast from side to side. I never knew anyone else that could do that. Pam got in some scrapes in the multitude of jobs she had over the years... like this...

No Pam

2010-12-23T10:22:00.000-08:00

I wrote this quote on a piece of paper in the months following Pam's death. I found it in a file where I put all the hand-outs on grief that were coming my way. I don't know who wrote it.

"When all the family members are alive, the family system is carefully held in place. When one member dies, the system is thrown into a chaotic state destabilizing each family member. Old ways of coping are no longer effective; those left behind feel exhausted. This exhaustion combined with a sense of disorientation and disillusionment make room for new awarenesses to break into consciousness..awarenesses that at other times a person could keep at bay."

Wigwam Pam

2010-12-22T08:25:00.000-08:00

I wrote this poem after Pam came to Santa Fe to spend Christmas with me in 2003.

I suppose it still applies Pam...wherever you are my love...

Wigwam Pam
Telephone ma'am
Your heart in a clam
You had the same plan

Wigwam Pam
You also ran
As fast as you can
From the same man

La la la la pretty girl la
Do you know where you are?
Did you travel really far?
La la la la pretty girl lee
Did you set yourself free?
Did you find your own tree?

Wigwam Pam
Your Uncle Sam
Says don't give a damn
Live if you can

Tis wondrous strange indeed..

2010-12-18T11:08:00.000-08:00

A few months after Pam's accident Ron and I started watching anything we could lay our hands on about the Afterlife. It was comforting. My friend Terry introduced me to her meditation class too. I went there with her once a week. She thought it might help with the pain. And it did for a while. But one night I told the leader I had been overdosing on this afterlife material and she said, "You know the Buddha said all that is a waste of time as we don't know. You'd be better to concentrate on your suffering in the here and now." I wish I'd said what I wanted to say in that here and now moment which was, "Fuck the Buddha!"

HORATIO

Oh day and night, but this is wondrous strange!

HAMLET

And therefore as a stranger give it welcome.

There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,

Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.

Do it!!!

2010-12-18T10:33:00.000-08:00

   Start a huge, foolish project,
   like Noah.

   It makes absolutely no difference
   what people think of you.

   Rumi

This explains perfectly why I do this...

2010-12-17T09:27:00.000-08:00

And what is it to work with love?

It is to weave the cloth with threads drawn from your heart,

even as if your beloved were to wear that cloth.

It is to build a house with affection,

even as if your beloved were to dwell in that house.

It is to sow seeds with tenderness and reap the harvest

with joy, even as if your beloved were to eat the fruit.

It is to charge all things you fashion with the breath of

your own spirit.

And to know that all the blessed dead

are standing about you and watching.

The Prophet by Kahil Gibran.

I Remember Sky..

2010-12-15T13:29:00.000-08:00

2001. Outside the inn in Newport, Rhode Island where Pam was working. She is hugging our nephew Billy and one of the Irish girls. With Mum and Dad and that's me behind them.

I remember sky is a song I used to sing when I was anactress going for auditions for musicals. “I remember sky. It was blue as ink, or at least I think I remembersky.” It makes me feel likecrying. Like now here I am todayfinding life a pain in the ass because my back is aching like mad, it’s reallydragging me down. How can I be somisery-ish when I’ve lost you Pam? I’m sorry. You probablythink, “Well girl enjoy life, you are alive and I’m not!” Or perhaps you are thinking, “ActuallyI’m frigging glad it’s over and I don’t have to suffer backache like you todayha ha!” Well, which one is itPam? I wish you could tell me now. It’s such a bore when I’m ill, it makesme very serious and at a loss as to how to respond to it. I looked at myself in the mirror and Isaid, “You don’t know what to do to look after yourself when you’re ill doyou?” And the answer was no.

I finally lay on the tilefloor with the dogs and tried to be a dog. I lay next to Paako and I lifted his paw onto me. Anyway I got bored being a dog.

I remember being able to callyou Pam when I felt like this and tell you about my funk and then you could dothe same with me. I remember thatwas before we started working on our codependence and then we thought wecouldn’t do it anymore. Butsometimes when things got really bad we would. Like when I first started dating Ron and he didn’t call methat day and I went into a pit of horror I called you and you said, “no Jane Idon’t think I should do another tarot card reading for you because I’ve just doneone and it said everything was great. Why don’t you just feel your feelings instead?” And I did. And then the next morning when I calledyou again to tell you I was still in a state you said to keep on feeling thosefeelings Jane!

But I haven’t been able tofeel my feelings lately. I feelcold inside. Perhaps if I couldcall you, you would know what to say to me. I think you knew me better than I knew myself. I want to remember and I don’t want to,it hurts too much. That is theproblem you see Pam. I don’tremember the details and that’s what bothers me. Oh I remember the room at the inn and the kitchen down below where youused to bake your little muffins. The flat upstairs which was so cozy and you letting me come and staythere with you even though it was too small. I remember reading a book that I found in that little newage bookshop about Jane Roberts and Seth. And we cycled around Ocean Drive me talking like the Irish girls who also worked at the inn and you laughed. I kept calling you Dervla, do it again you kept shouting, do it again! And you laughed and laughed. You watched me cry because I was soupset about men and you saw me get drunk out of my head that night and throwmyself at that man who owned a boat called the Pearl Necklace. You were right there by my side Pam, mysister all the way. Right up untilthe end. I remember the problemsyou had too and the way we would talk and talk about all the problems and thedysfunction and when we went home that Christmas your face looking at me as ifto say what are you doing this for? When I was singing those carols so loudly and acting out like anangry daughter. You looked at mewith disapproval I remember, you keeping a lid on it. Sitting there in a grey cardigan keeping a lid on it. Letting it all run on.

And the film below is me singing the song...

Have yourself a merry little Christmas...

2010-12-11T11:56:00.000-08:00

Andy Connell just put this on Facebook of himself and my heart skipped a beat. This is the last song Pam sang to me. Bitter, bitter sweet Andy and Pam...two people I love dearly.

It was December 2007 and we were all wending our way toEngland to spend Christmas with our parents. I decided to go to Pam’s B&B in Newport for a week onthe way. Pam was taking part in adinner theatre Christmas cabaret at the time and had a solo spot singing theabove song. She was eager for meto watch the show and I of course was eager to go along. So we drove over to this cute littlevenue in her silver Mazda sport’s car. She introduced me to the other singers who all seemed of course toadore her. As they eachwalked away Pam told me their back-stories. I sat at the bar with Pam’s husband Keith to watch as the show began. They sang the typical Christmas fareall of them dressed in glittery clothes with warm winter scarves thrown aroundtheir necks. Then it came to Pam’ssolo. She sat on a chair centrestage the other singers draping themselves around her some sitting on the floorlooking up at her as she sang. Shewas enchanting to me as always, and tears welled up in my eyes. And what a truly gorgeous song this is I mused,perfect for her. I scanned theroom proudly but to my indignation you COULDN’T hear a pin drop! People in the audience were holdingconversations whilst my beautiful sister was singing! This will never do! How very dare they! I began to beadily scrutinize her performance for clues. Right! In no time at all could see what the problem was. I made a mental note toset this matter straight as soon as we returned to the house. Having worked for many years as anactress I knew how to fix this.

So when we got back I threw my coat on a chair and launchedinto action. I immediatelydeclared, “Pam! You are singing the song all wrong!” Pam winced a little knowing her sister only too well. She tried to explain to me that shedidn’t really care but I was adamant. “Look Pam people were talking!” Pam shrugged. “Don’t youwant them to listen?! Oh come onof course you do, come on let me show you.” I went to find YouTube on Pam’s laptop and started searchingfor a clip of Judy Garland singing the song. “But Jane,” Pam bleated “It’s OK as it is. The other singers love me singing itthis way.” “Yes but Pam it’s notgood enough! We should have been able to hear a pin drop. We'll have none of that audience talking while singer is singing lark around here! Come on, please, look.” Pam sighing sat on the high chair nextto her desk and as we both focused on the computer the master class began. “Now Pam this is the problem. You are singing the songcheerfully. Right? Wrong! You are swaying rather jauntily from side to side and it’sall kind of upbeat and jazzy. No,no, no! Now watch.” And I clicked onto Judy singing. Pam looked at Judy and then looked atme expressionless. “Do yousee?” Pam shruggedunenthusiastically, “It’smelancholy Pam, sad not cheery. Now let’s get to work.” And whether Pam liked it or not Icompletely changed the way she delivered the song until to my mind it was perfect. “There! Now when you sing that song tomorrowevening I guarantee you will hear that pin drop.”

The next evening I stayed at home. When Pam got back from the cabaret I asked rather smugly how it went. "Worse," she said. "What? You're kidding me why?" "The other performers didn't like it. They were going mad asking why I'd changed it and to change it back!" "Oh, that's ridiculous!" I said, "Ah but what were the audience like?" I asked confidently. "Quieter," she said, "listening." "There you are then. I told you! Well weren't you pleased?" I said. "Yes but anyway I think I'll change it back to the old way." "Do what? But why?" I asked. I think it was probably peer pressure. This turned out to be Pam's last Christmas.

A Photo of Pam as a baby

2010-12-09T14:08:00.000-08:00

This photo is of Pam and our parents. It was pinned to a bulletin board in

Pam's kitchen along with a photo of me taken in Newport when I was staying

with her one time...

Eva Cassidy

2010-12-07T15:58:00.001-08:00

I happened upon this today in the most unexpected way and of course I cried.

Pam loved Eva Cassidy and felt it was so sad that she died.

The Little Prince

2010-12-07T14:18:00.000-08:00

In about oooh 1988/89 I was in a production of The Little Prince at the Bristol Old Vic Theatre. I played a Rose and a Fox. Pam came to see it. She particularly liked my Rose. I'm going to write the story of this sometime. Oh did we giggle. She liked my Fox too and bought me a toy fox soon after which I still have.

I think about this story from time to time and the fact that it was written by a pilot. This pilot, Antoine St Exupery disappeared whilst flying his plane. The last Christmas before the accident I bought Pam's husband Keith one of his books called Night Flight. Keith was learning to fly planes, that's how my sister died. The instructor and Pam and Keith all died. Like with Antoine St Exupery no one knows what happened. He once said, "Only the unknown frightens men. But once a man has faced the unknown, that terror becomes the known."

Man on Wire

2010-12-06T12:52:00.000-08:00

Have you seen the documentary Man on Wire? It is about a Frenchman who tightrope walked across the twin towers in New York. My friend said when he saw him on that wire he couldn’t stop crying. The man on the wire is walking. People are walking. Alone. Up steep hills, into a temple. Walking alone, silhouetted in darkness against a blue horizon, head down. All heads down. I hardly noticed the twin towers. There are so many buildings that block the view of the sky and the little rabbit is so sad that all the seeds are taken away and the smoke is taking over. In my dream I dreamed that the Nazis were coming and my father put on a suit and tie in readiness and I said no, no that is not the right thing to wear, come on we must run, get away. To talk to Pam that’s all I wish for now. To get past those stones that wait in the garden, as the little girl lies sick in bed waiting. The stones moving closer every time she looks out of the window. What do they want those stones? Why can’t I go with you? Oh, my spirit. With the man dressed in black with the red belt and the heavy bag as he goes into the temple. Maybe I could sing in the glow of that golden light? At the foot of the world trade centre? My sister has been killed like Joan of Arc and the burning meanders in my mind and it is like JD Salinger who wrote about a family like mine who’s brother dies and Franny gets a little book and wants to run into it and she can’t eat her sandwich. Seriously you couldn’t stop seeing him could you? If you had this would never have happened so precisely. My Joan of Arc. My little daisy, my buttercup. But you cared for him didn’t you? Like an octopus kiss and you were his little moon. Angels part the clouds and grant us deliverance.

This was written in Febuary 2009.

The Mysterious Hum

2010-12-06T10:36:00.000-08:00

The mysterious hum… it sounds like a cue for a song with my sister. I was so angry. But you are so soft like the soft animal body covered with stars. You are white and alabaster and I have to learn a new language. I’m looking for the mysterious hum at the earth’s centre to find my forget-me-not. I am the daughter of the name of my mother and today when I got out of the bath I sat for a moment and gently sobbed, my skin looking for you. Meanwhile the world goes on. You are like a jewel a huge precious sapphire and your gown gently blows as the breeze calls to you like the wild geese. I sit day after day with my ear to the earth and my face cracking. I met Jayne Liddy in my dream, she wore blue first then pink as she disappeared down the hole right to the earth’s centre. The bird is in flight moving on from loss from the time that was. There was a mouse there on the stair and now it’s gone. You are gone and so has Jayne Liddy but she came back to me in the dream like the lady in white and we talked and then she said she’d better go and wasn’t sure how long she’d got. And now the star shines bright and she has a green rabbit and a starfish and she’s all right. He said she’s all right now it’s us left behind who have to deal with all the shit. A little mouse with clogs on, there on the stair going clip clippoty clop on the stair right there. I’m looking for the mysterious hum. I’ll find it and when I do we can still sing together you and I we will sing. I’ll do what he said I’ll sing and I’ll know you are singing with me… the daughter of the name of my mother.

Jayne Liddy Huxley 1963-2010

2010-12-06T10:10:00.000-08:00

This book was written by my friend Jayne who died of cancer on June 25th. It is her journey step by step. If you get a chance to buy it the proceeds go to cancer research. It is beautiful.

Someone left a comment yesterday!

2010-12-06T10:03:00.000-08:00

I am so glad that something told me to look at my blog yesterday, which I hadn't done for ages. To my surprise someone had left a comment! I haven't shared anything on here since last March...kind of lost my enthusiasm. But how great to know from the comment that this blog has helped someone in their grief. I am really grateful for your generosity..commenter. And now re-inspired to carry on...thank you!

The Flower Duet

2010-12-06T09:04:00.000-08:00

Me and Pam...

There's so much I could say about this photo of Pam, Dad and Uncle Guy...

2010-12-05T16:26:00.001-08:00

Dark Night.

2010-03-25T12:11:00.001-07:00

The deep black water shimmering in the moonlight oozes, engorged towards a waterfall of mist, my sister. As I stare at the black water, black like my fingernail I feel dizzy, like I’m falling into a trance. I can’t see. I don’t know the darkness outside and in. The velvet water calls me and like the golden vase I empty myself dreamily like pink cascading flowers into the deep place. My sister is dead. I see Ron’s eyes looking at me as I lose focus. I dream and from my dreams the thunder wakes me. The flickering lightening flickering my eyelids bringing me back to the fact that I know. She’s running, drinking tea to forget you. The dream was dropping me into the water. I was losing you. I left you for New Mexico and it’s glorious sunsets and it’s dark nights. As the crickets whisper and the candle and the shrine I think of you. I know it was you that night at my window. Calling to me, calling. I dreamed that you were happy and present enjoying the flowers in my garden, and the breeze. Leaves are green and my sister is dead. And the pink flowers continue to tumble and the black sea continues to ooze. I’m sad that you won’t be going to the wedding with me. My fervent vain wish is that you were still alive happy and present and enjoying the flowers. On flower after flower you would land like a butterfly. That is how you lived your life. I’m afraid of the judgment like you used to be. I’d like to sit by the glow of the golden light and lose myself in the inky black waves. It’s cold, cold without you.

Pam's particular wrinkled brow...

2009-08-20T09:16:00.001-07:00

You see it there...just above her right eyebrow? It's very faint. It was beautiful and sad and particular. And I loved it. So once when I tried (yikes!) to draw her I noticed I'd included it.

My Absent Child

2009-08-14T07:41:00.000-07:00

Grief fills the room up of my absent child,
Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me,
Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words,
Remembers me of all his gracious parts,
Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form;
Then, have I reason to be fond of grief?

Shakespeare.

Baby

2009-07-15T11:15:00.000-07:00

Here she is Sawyer who was born this morning, resting in the arms of her proud sister.

Rain

2009-07-09T10:45:00.001-07:00

We've been getting a lot of rain.

Bergman's Wife.

2009-07-08T14:50:00.000-07:00

Watching Bergman Island last night the one thing he said that moved me to tears was this, "I accept that I'm going to meet Ingrid. And I've completely crossed out that other nightmare thought that I'll never meet her again."

This last year...

2009-07-07T19:17:00.001-07:00

There is a pain-so utter-
It swallows substance up-
Then covers the Abyss with Trance-
So Memory can step
Around-across-upon it-
As one within a Swoon-
Goes safely-where an open eye-
Would drop Him-Bone by Bone.

Emily Dickinson.

His first tattoo at seventy three

2009-04-01T22:38:00.001-07:00

Not long after IT happened my nephew Billy declared he was going to have a tattoo done for Pam. Dad ended up being the one who had one done. When the man began dad was struck by how big it was going to be but was too polite to say anything. At first it was a bit gulp inducing to see but dad is very proud of it. When I get an opportunity I'll get a better photo.

Sisters

2009-03-18T20:28:00.000-07:00

I have been following the news on Natasha Richardson avidly since I first heard about it yesterday. I worked with her sister Joely at the Royal Shakespeare Theatre in 1986. Joely is the same age as my sister Pam would have been 44. We have now lost our sisters to death within a year of each other. Joely is now in the same boat. Life is so weird to me now. You carry on but every second of your experience seems odd. Now Vanessa Redgrave, who is the same age as my mother, has to grieve and be in so much pain. It hurts and hurts and leaves a gaping hole. Nothing will ever be the same again. I will always have my head turned by tragic accidents now until the day I die. I wonder now regularly how I will die and when.

The Focus of this Blog

2009-03-14T17:50:00.000-07:00

Is to write. It seems to be a way of dealing with my grief to share stories about my family. However now that my play is going to Edinburgh I will be focusing big time on that. Anyway FYI this blog is about pouring the extreme loss of my beautiful and extraordinary sister Pam into something. It makes me feel a little better. Pam would like it. I think this sketch is by John Williams Waterhouse. I found it amongst Ron's stuff. It looks so like Pam. It's uncannily like her. The more I stare at it the more it strikes at my heart, she seems so sad. She often was so sad. I wish this hadn't happened. I wish with all my heart that she was not gone.

For Dad

2009-02-27T15:48:00.000-08:00

Get your laughing tackle round one of these!

My garden

2009-02-26T20:17:00.000-08:00

This was taken as autumn was setting in last year. That tree covers the entire garden with it's leaves. Today I planted some sunflowers seeds. I got a spade and turned the soil over and spread the little seeds and covered them with mulch to be precise. I hope they grow, those little seeds. I enjoyed it. I'm no gardener but last year a friend stayed here because I had to go back to England unexpectedly for Pam's memorial. 2008 then became the worst year of my life. He was a gardener and he gave me some lovely suggestions. He also told me that one half of a little tree died and he said it was Pam. I love you Pam and I am going to make my garden grow.

Go Mickey you're so fine!

2009-02-23T09:35:00.000-08:00

The reason I'm loving Mickey so much lately is because of what his good friend Sean Penn said about him when accepting the Oscar last night. Sean won. He said, 'due to a sensitivity that has caused much challenge, Mickey has risen again.' Both Pam and I can and have related to this all our lives. They all said we were 'too sensitive' ah well.

The sweetest, dearest creature...

2009-02-22T18:25:00.001-08:00

My dear sister, you had the most exquisite face. Your skin was like rose petals so soft and sweetly freckled. Your square jaw I wish I could cup it now in my hands. I wish we hadn't felt so weird touching. I regret now as I think of you how we could have held each other more. I remember when I was living in Liverpool you visited. I wanted to show you a field full of sunflowers all just standing at attention. We took photos of ourselves in front of them. Then we went for a walk and saw horses and a peacock. We found a clearing amongst some trees and I suggested we go and sit there and that you put your head in my lap. I stroked your hair and you tried to feel OK about it. Your gorgeous long, thick, dark hair which I stroked. Were you wearing white? You are now I think. Oh Pam, I remember we had a nice day in the sunshine and we went into a little church.

The Triffid

2009-02-17T19:47:00.000-08:00

What do you think of this necklace? Is it me? No it is not me in a month of Sundays. I defy anyone to think that this monstrous-looking triffid would suit anyone at all. And yet this is one of many such xmas presents that I have received from my very own mother. What! Why? I hear you scream. I don't know, is the answer, I just don't know and what's more neither does she. Let it be said here and now, and I'm sure mum would have to agree, when it comes to buying presents for her daughters, this woman was and always will be stark, staring mad.

An Audience with Hilda and Derek

2009-02-12T18:58:00.000-08:00

Confessions of a window cleaner

2009-02-12T15:53:00.001-08:00

Steve was and still is the family window cleaner. He must have been cleaning my parent’s windows for ooh over twenty years. I bump into him occasionally when I’m visiting and he always says, ‘Alright Jane?’ with a look that says I know and you know that I’ve caught you in some pretty intimate positions. He was certainly kept entertained over the years by the sights he saw in our house. One occasion, which has kept me laughing for years, involved my youngest sister Pam.

We had not long been home from school one day and after putting up with my goading for long enough she went upstairs to change out of her school uniform. Every evening I would torment her for a while trying for some fun. I always shot myself in the foot because she’d only put up with it for minutes and then she’d be off. She knew I was after some shits and giggles but she wasn’t prepared to provide them by being jostled about by me.

One such occasion she came downstairs to find me staring at an episode of Blue Peter or Skippy going out of my mind with boredom. In she walked as only the best sitcom actor can. The wry look on her face couldn’t have been bettered by John Cleese or Leonard Rossiter. One eyebrow raised and her mouth cocked to one side which told me instantly that something had happened and I was going to find it very funny. My eyes lit up expectantly. What she next revealed had me beating the floor with peels of laughter. She had been sitting on the toilet staring into space when she began to hear a noise. It was a kind of squeaking noise and it was directly behind her at the window. Her mind slowly began to work. Squeaking noise at a window now what could that be? Oh no! She slowly turned her head and there at the window staring right at her with a look of apology and confusion was said window cleaner. She snapped back round, weed her wee hard and fast, not an easy thing to do, yanked her knickers up and bolted out of the toilet like a frightened pony. Mortified, she came to recount the story to me and having relieved herself of this (other) burden she wearily trudged back to her room. I resumed my viewing, grateful for the humour but disappointed that that was all I was getting.

Moments later I heard Pam’s feet thumping back downstairs, more juice? I could only hope. In she came same look of utter comedy despair on her face. Having slightly recovered from her toilet embarrassment, she wandered aimlessly into her bedroom lifting her school shirt over her head. She nearly screamed as she came eye to eye with the window cleaner who was now at her bedroom window his face filled with uneasy helplessness. Her eyes widened with horror at the thought of her bra looming at him in the manner of the local flasher. She pulled her shirt down like her life depended on it. Face red, head swimming she dashed out of the room and down to older sister to share her nightmare and provide some much needed entertainment.

Who invented this little instrument?

2009-02-11T07:59:00.000-08:00

My dear old dad used to play the jews harp when we were kids. He also played teddy bear's picnic and the theme tune from the film Genevieve on the harmonica.

The right man for the job

2009-02-05T10:07:00.000-08:00

A few years ago my sister Pam and I were stuck in England wondering what to do. I was in a 12 step program and always thinking I was not good enough in my sponsor's eyes. She told me I was self obsessed and suggested I do some volunteer work. In an effort to please her I turned to Pam who was helping out at a homeless centre. Pam kindly arranged for me to go with her. We pulled up in a car park in dreary Stockport. The centre was located in a grey shopping precinct. I marvelled at Pam's matter-of-factness as we walked into a little hut of a building. I helped her and two mumsy women to set up. I was quite perky and rather intrigued by this world. I noticed that the food was cheap and not very nutritious. The actress in me was taking everything in. Pam was pretty laid back just quietly getting on with things. She had nowhere near the heightened intensity with which her actress sister was diving in. Perhaps she might have been a little wary if she'd known what was to come.

The homeless people started to arrive and Jane's eyes were glued. Looking to the ladies and Pam for the correct mode of behaviour she was given the job of serving tea. Men and women rough and ready, quite lively she noted, started to form a line. Jane went into big smiley, friendly, helpful mode perhaps with just a tad too much spring in her step. At least for the liking of one man in particular. This man was short, sleight, in his fifties, grey long hair and very grouchy. Jane poured the tea and asked if he would like sugar. '3 sugars' he said and Jane noted that everybody took 3 sugars in their tea. 'Shall I stir it for you?' she asked cheerfully. Gesturing that his hands were full he said, 'Well I'd do it myself but I can't get my flies undone.' Jane froze and stared at him blinking like a rabbit in the headlights. She turned round dramatically and Pam said,'God what's the matter?' 'That man, that man' I cried and tears started rolling down my cheeks. I told them what he said and taking it in their stride they carried on as normal. Pam laughed and comforted me a little and we all resumed our posts. Soon a cheerful chappy in his twenties rolled up for his tea. 'Hello love' he said, 'How are you today?' 'Alright' I said with a little dramatic emphasis. 'What love?' he pressed and I said, 'Well to be honest one of the men said something rude and it upset me a bit.' 'You what?! he cried 'You what?' He spun round and scanning the room shouted 'Where is he? Where is he? Which one is it love? Who is it?!! I'll show him upsetting you kind ladies who help us.' His voice booming he continued. 'Eh? Have you heard this lads? Some f*#*er has upset this lovely lady. What a f*#*ing c**t!' I couldn't seem to stop him shouting. I was flabbergasted. How could I have gotten myself into another scrape minutes after the first one? I looked at Pam aghast she was staring at me her eyes wide with alarm. The offending homeless man sat rigid, his back to us hunched over his food. The ladies gathered round to pacify the young man and with some effort they got him to let it go. Off he walked looking at me saying, 'Are you sure? Are you sure?' Me nodding furiously, the wind firmly knocked out of my sails. I felt utterly defeated.

Driving home I decided as Pam laughed and nodded furiously that that would be my last day volunteering at a homeless centre. A new sense of awe settled on me at Pam's ease in that environment. I said, 'I don't think I'm cut out for it. I'm too dramatic.' 'Too dramatic?' she said, 'You'd been there 5 minutes and you caused f*#*ing mayhem!

Fame constantly eludes me...

2009-02-02T09:13:00.000-08:00

I was asked to sing backing vocals on two tracks on this album in 1983. I was to go to the Manor recording studios somewhere in Oxfordshire I think it was. I went with my boyfriend Gabriel and we stayed there in a gorgeous room, eating gorgeous food and swimming in the pool. In the studio I had to sing the vocals over and over it seemed to go on forever. At last the producer seemed to be happy so with that we left. After those two days at the Manor it never occurred to me to buy the album or ask for a copy of it. So I never saw or hear of it again. Until today. I marvel at myself.

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Releases:
It's A Fine Day (7", Single)		Cherry Red	1983
Jane And Barton (LP)		Cherry Red	1983
Lovely And Chicken (12")		Wooden Records	1989
It's A Fine Day (12")		Cherry Red	1992
It's A Fine Day (CD, Maxi)		Cherry Red	1993
Appears On:
Working With Fire And Steel (Possible Pop Songs Volume Two) (LP, Album)		Virgin	1983
Working With Fire And Steel (Possible Pop Songs Volume Two) (CD, Album)		Virgin Records (Benelux), Virgin	1984
Working With Fire And Steel (Possible Pop Songs Volume Two) (CD, Album)		Virgin, Virgin	1984
Tracks Appear On:
The Eyes of Barbara Steele (12")	It's A Fine Day	Cherry Red	1983
And Suddenly It's Evening (LP)	It's A Fine Day	Vap Inc.	1986
And Suddenly It's Evening (CD, Album)	It's A Fine Day	Vap Inc.	1986
Edward Not Edward (LP)	I Slap My Belly	Wooden Records	1989
Ambition - The Cherry Red Story Volume 1 (CD)	It's A Fine Day	Cherry Red	1991
The Indie Scene 83 (CD)	It's A Fine Day	Connoisseur Collection	1992
New Wave Soft Class-X 1 (CD, Comp)	It's A Fine Day	Antler-Subway	1993
Red Heaven (CD, Comp)	It's A Fine Day	Cherry Red	1995
Ambition - The History Of Cherry Red Records Volumes 1 & 2 (2xCD, Comp, Album)	It's A Fine Day	Cherry Red	1997
Pillows & Prayers Volumes 1 & 2 (Cherry Red 1982-1984) (2xCD)	It's A Fine Day	Cherry Red	2000
Generation 80's: Classics From The 80's Alternative Scene (CD)	Its's A Fine Day	Ocho	2002
Cherry Red Archive Series - Part Two (CD, Comp, Enh)	It's A Fine Day, It's ...	Cherry Red	2003
Ambition - Volumes 1 & 2 - The History Of Cherry Red Records 1978 – 1988 (2xCD, Album)	It's A Fine Day	Cherry Red	2005
Beloved (CD)

Pain

2009-01-24T11:08:00.001-08:00

My father regularly throws himself out of bed during the night because he's dreaming that he's being chased. My mother regularly wakes up in the night because my dad is hitting her on the head or trying to strangle her. He's dreaming that he is fighting with someone. In one dream he said he was hitting this guy's head with a spatula like the Three Stooges, only in reality it was mum's head. She tries not to sleep with him these days. Last July our lives were hit by an awful tragedy. His youngest daughter Pam, my closest sister was killed in Rhode Island. Lately I've been avoiding my dad. In the dream that is now life I was thinking back today to THAT WEEK. At her Bed & Breakfast, The Dragonfly Inn during the funeral, in the middle of the night there was a terrific crash. People came running. Dad had thrown himself out of bed. He knocked over the side table breaking it's glass top, a lamp and a dragonfly ornament. Mum cut her feet as she ran round the bed to help him. He was crying so hard they said. I had my ear plugs in as usual I didn't hear it. His grandson tried to help him. The next day he had a black eye and his nose looked like WC Fields. I can't stand to see him in pain. He wants to see me on the computer but I can't bear to see the pain in his face. I think I'm selfish.

The Great Gump

2009-01-21T07:02:00.001-08:00

I felt like I was at a wedding last night watching Mr & Mrs President. I always found the dancing part at a wedding embarrassing. I suppose that's my inbred Englishness. Last night, squirming, I tried to imagine watching our Gordon Brown up there smooching. What a 'Great Gump' (to coin one of my sister Pam's expressions) he would look. Actually come to think of it, I'd bloody love to see Gordon up there dancing and smiling his own special smile. Or not, erm.... well no, probably not, no. The only thing that touched me (which Pam would have liked) was the singer, Beyonce. What a lovely voice. I've never heard her sing. I thought she was stunning. When she was interviewed later she said of Obama, 'he makes me want to be a better person'. Followed by a sharp intake of breath from me. Oh God, it is going to be interesting to see this one unfold.

Eh?! Look what I just found!

Take Hart

2009-01-19T09:27:00.001-08:00

And we did take heart thanks for being there for us Tony when mum was making our tea!

2009-01-11T14:11:00.001-08:00

You are asking yourself just what is this interesting interview about aren't you? And who is she? Isn't she the spitting image of Kirsty Wark?

Speaking of shoes...

2009-01-07T08:30:00.001-08:00

Take a look at these. My dad's 'casual, working round the house' shoes. Probably purchased in the 1970's. Wonderful!

Pam's Slideshow

2009-01-07T08:26:00.001-08:00

17 little piggies basking in the midday sun

2009-01-04T19:01:00.001-08:00

Hey come on you guys let this little piggy stay at home!

Shoes!!

2009-01-04T18:34:00.001-08:00

My 15 yr old nephew Billy shared this delectable video with me and his mum Angie this xmas. We then became Kelly addicts. Simply enjoy.

The Great Equalizer

2009-01-04T16:17:00.001-08:00

As they say I'm sorry for your loss. I have not enjoyed hearing that phrase these last six months. It is unreal. I know how you feel John. We are in the same boat now. No one wants to be in this boat. No one.

Christmas without Pam

2009-01-04T15:33:00.001-08:00

I'd better get it over with. My sister Pam was killed last July 3rd in a plane crash. She was my soul mate. Here we are without her. She was sorely missed. We love you Pam! It is excruciating. I want to write more about her and show you how beautiful she is but not right now.

Edible Arrangements

2009-01-04T14:03:00.001-08:00

I am so sick of seeing the word 'simply' involved in advertising. Simply organic, simply this or simply that. My heart sinks when I see yet another product described as simply....whatever! The worst,worst one is Marks and Spencer's 'Simply Food'. Simply Food? It's simple. I was simply eating a multigrain cracker the other day when I spotted this on the packaging. "We invite you to experiment with our products. These original tastes are perfect for a variety of occasions, from informal snacking to hosting guests around a dinner table." Who the hell came up with informal snacking? What a great idea? To snack informally! Why didn't I think of that? I wish you all a glorious year of informal snacking. It's so simple. And don't get me started on edible arrangements grrrrr!

It's a Fine Day by Jane

2009-01-04T12:45:00.001-08:00