Comparing Cinderellas

Over the past few weeks I’ve been comparing two versions of a ballet – Prokofiev’s Cinderella.  One was a traditional version from Amsterdam, Dutch National Ballet, one a recording of the Matthew Bourne version set during the war, which I saw recently at Sadlers Wells but which was also on TV over Christmas.

The music doesn’t directly correlate as you switch between the two, but I’ve certainly become very familiar with bits of it.  I don’t know if I could say which of the productions I preferred, probably the more traditional one, but only by a bit, and both had interesting scenes and ideas.  For example in the Dutch version I particularly loved the groups of four seasons dancers, in different colours, bright green for spring, yellow for summer, red for autumn, then blue/white for winter, with the trees reflecting the same colours, so pretty.  And also how the trying on of the shoe was done, with a whole row of dancers moving forward by one on a row of chairs, with each one doing something slightly different or comical when it came to their turn.  And in the Matthew Bourne I liked particular moments, like the angel all in silver suddenly appearing on a mantelpiece, and the way the stepmother and family do a funny walk together in the hospital scene, so evocative and so cleverly matching the music.

I’m only just starting to bear to be able to listen to emotional classical music again.  The music of the final scene – I’ve just watched the ending of both versions, not an actual proper dance between the couple but a staged happy ending – when it comes in is SO affecting and emotional, it’s like the Rosenkavalier duet at the end, just magical, all ‘twinkly’, stunning how a piece of music can bring out such feelings in your heart you can hardly express, well done Prokofiev!

Just another musical comment.  It’s a well known thing in classical music and opera for example, that the tempo at which things were taken used to be slower in the past and in modern productions can be faster.  John and I used to discuss this a lot, he had an amazing feel for tempo and we both tended to agree about a preferred tempo.  In general, personally, I often prefer the more ‘old fashioned’ speed, and sometimes find things taken much too fast (many examples I could give in opera).  But listening to the main Cinderella theme repeated at the end of these two ballets – in the traditional one it was played over the credits, in the Bourne there was a wonderful danced curtain call – I really felt the traditional tempo was just that bit too slow and laborious, whereas it was much better, to my ears ‘right’, in the more modern version.

I felt so so sad that my partner that I used to be able to talk to about this sort of thing was gone – and so so sure that he would have agreed with me about the tempo, and about the astonishing musical beauty of the ending.

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Walking and talking

I’ve been trying to walk more, to get exercise for my own health, and have been regularly walking up and down a long straight path which I call my ‘exercise path’.  It is in a rather deserted place, by a playing field.  Occasionally there are other people there walking dogs, but generally it is a lonely and dismal place.

I prefer it when it is sunny – I have got rather hooked on walking in winter sunshine, on cold days. Quite often though, when the weather is just dull and overcast, I find it depressing – countered only by the fact that by exercising I know I’m doing something positive for myself.

I can’t help feeling very reflective when I walk on this path.  I find myself sometimes talking as if to John, telling him what’s been happening and what my current state of mind is like.  Oddly I don’t think I ever walked there with him, so it’s not a place he would have known.

It’s three years now and I do feel very very lonely, and miss so much having someone intelligent and caring and supportive to talk to every day.

It’s true that some things get easier, that things aren’t so raw, but it’s also true that it never goes away – the loss is always there.  I will never be able to speak to him again, listen to him again. Every time I walk on the path is another memory made without him.  Every sunny, or dull, day is a day he hasn’t seen – every leaf, every cloud, every bird, something he’ll never see.

I never expected to be feeling loneliness like this again.

 

Winter Wonderland

Well I’ve got seriously hooked on Winter Wonderland (a giant funfair and christmas market) in London’s Hyde Park this year.

I’ve been four times.

The first time I went alone and was so aware of everyone around me being in couples and groups, I don’t think I saw one other person on their own.  So I contrived to go back a couple of times with people I didn’t know very well, which was better in a way but didn’t feel great.  (I guess what you really want is to be there with the person you loved and enjoyed the company of and who you knew so well, but that’s no longer possible.)  I went back again yesterday on my own and felt a bit better.  Clinging onto my idea that although he’s no longer here, there’s still ‘me and the world’, and why can’t I enjoy what the world has to offer even though I’m on my own.

I had another profound revelation, that I’ll have to ‘compartmentalise’ my life more now.  Whereas he, my dear life partner, covered several aspects, maybe now I’ll just have to separate things.  Not expect ‘intellectual stimulation’ along with ‘companionship’.  Find ‘humour’ in one place and ‘emotional support’ in another.

I’ve just written a page long list of all the rides and attractions I can remember at Winter Wonderland – there is so much to look at and to do.  I went on the observation tower and to the ice show, and would really have loved to go on one of the fast things, like the main roller coaster that goes upside down five times.  But I can’t judge whether I’d like it or hate it – maybe next year I’ll pluck up courage.

I listened to live music in six different places, and also drank mulled wine and ate bratwurst, spit roast chicken, sweedish meatballs, and waffles (not all on the same day!)

One feature of Winter Wonderland is my favourite – I fell in love with the giant christmas tree children’s ride, where you sit in a spherical ‘bauble’ that goes round and up and down gently.  I just loved watching the various coloured lights at night – it’s programmed to run through so many options and is just a beautiful thing.  First it’s all red lights, then flashing white, then maybe green and purple (various combinations of two colours), then it’s all blue, then twinkling yellow and pink, then every branch a different colour…  Mesmerising, and so pretty.

Those of us still on the planet should cling onto and enjoy places like this – as they are so full of LIFE.

 

Fear of grief

This is why I have had to look through every piece of paper that is in the house – amongst all the junk, I occasionally find a treasure!  Have come across some early writing of mine including a poem which I must have written at the time of my wedding on the Isle of Wight in 1988.  I don’t think I’ve seen it since then.

Difficult to read and retype, the particularly poignant verse being:

I will work through pain and problems,
Lean to live with fear of grief.
What we’ve had is worth a lifetime,
Even should our time be brief.

Well, our time wasn’t that brief (29 years), but I did end up experiencing grief at the end of it.

Link to complete poem here:  Wedding

Casablanca Steps

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These are the Casablanca Steps, which I have written about in A Widow’s Words.

A jazz band that plays cheerful, humorous songs at the country shows – I have seen them often.  It was horribly difficult the first time I saw them after my loss – knowing that the person I had watched them with before would never see them again.

They can’t know how poignant they have become for me.