More from the day I visited Rosalind, aka Roz, and her family at her grandmother's house ('courage').
It was Bonfire night, actually. We were having our annual bonfire in our garden square, back in South Kensington: we're on the committee, and our friend, the Chairman, had a bigger budget than usual for the fireworks. But first, I took the tube to Primrose Hill. The light that day, the colours.. the houses on the street, it was all quite magical. The autumn leaves. The three acts: lunch. Cake. Garden.
During Cake, we went into a lovely sitting room, with french doors leading to the garden. Roz, only days home from the hospital, was finding sitting the most painful part (as they said it would be) so - with such grace - she'd lay down periodically, even during lunch, on a day bed set in the room. Above her were paintings, portraits of her family: her grandmother was looking down, and her uncle.. her father's mother sounds amazing, and I could sense her presence by all the books surrounding us, and the rocks and shells, the same kind of treasures I collect.
This is such a creative family. Her father, her mother, her brother. Each uniquely talented and completely supportive of each other. They made the most perfect coffee, just the way I like it (strong, with hot milk AND a bit of cream to make it rich). We were just hanging out, talking about all kinds of things, taking photos.. and Roz's little brother, Asa, was just quietly drawing. And drawing. He is so sweet, cute, they're such good friends, and his artwork- it was like watching a young Keith Haring.
I could see his work in the Saatchi Gallery. Or printed on an amazing scarf.
Everything was beautiful, that day, as Roz rested and recovered. As her beautiful, brilliant mom said later, the day felt.. timeless.