26. She's The Colour Of Metaxa
Happy Hour | Ibiza, Balearic Islands
Howzit friends,
If you, like me, have more fatigue than feelings these days, you might benefit from taking a moment to listen to this uplifting, poignant song. I’m not going to lie — my first impression was skeptical at best and you’ll see exactly what I mean when it starts. But the more I watched, and listened to the words, the more soothed and connected I felt. I ended up in tears at the end and you may too.
Here — watch for yourselves : The Keep Going on Song.
Here’s five things you may or may not have already seen on the internet this week.
1. Retirement
— via one of my favourite newsletters to read on a weekend, The Monocle Weekend Edition.
/ /
“There’s a lady walking in front of us.
You know her well.
She’s the colour of Metaxa and she’s shuffling along atop impossibly tall cork wedges.
She’s wearing a mustard-yellow house dress of the sort favoured by similar women in similar neighbourhoods at this end of the Med.
You know the cut: it’s essentially a shirt dress with pockets but the sleeves are properly rolled-up, there are sensible slits on the sides and it’s been accessorised with €12,000 in gold chains, medallions, bangles – and don’t forget the massive hoops.
She has a towel under her arm, a folded copy of the Kathimerini newspaper, a magazine that looks as though it does a good job stalking former Greek royals and one of those floaty, foamy noodles.
If you had to capture a snap of what the good life looks like at 78, this has to be pretty close.
She turns off a block or two later, steps down onto the beach and is suddenly chattering to 45 other ladies with floaty noodles, bathing caps and up dos.
They’re soon in the water and they wade out about 100 metres.
It might be water aerobics, it might be the Orthodox church modernising its outreach or it’s simply what retirement looks like in Vouliagmeni.”
Stalking Greek Retirees in Mykonos <3
2. A poem
For anxious times by the Irish poet — Derek Mahon.
How should I not be glad to contemplate
the clouds clearing beyond the dormer window
and a high tide reflected on the ceiling?
There will be dying, there will be dying,
but there is no need to go into that.
The poems flow from the hand unbidden
and the hidden source is the watchful heart.
The sun rises in spite of everything
and the far cities are beautiful and bright.
I lie here in a riot of sunlight
watching the day break and the clouds flying.
Everything is going to be all right.
3. Home inspiration
I’ve been mildly obsessed with the transformation of this adobe home in the desert for ages now.
4. Goodness-Trees
The planet-friendly Christmas alternative.
5. Reading
After being hit by a grenade in Sri Lanka, she joked: ‘All I want now is a cigarette and a vodka martini.’
My admiration (and borderline obsession) for this incredible woman knows no bounds. Marie Colvin (1956-2012) was an American journalist who worked as a foreign affairs correspondent for the British newspaper ‘The Sunday Times’ from 1985 until her death. She died while covering the siege of Homs in Syria.
Here is an archive of her news articles and this poignant obituary.
“In 1999, in East Timor, she was credited with saving the lives of 1,500 women and children who were besieged in a compound by Indonesian-backed forces. She refused to leave them, waving goodbye to 22 journalist colleagues as she stayed on with an unarmed UN force in order to help highlight their plight by reporting to the world, in her paper and on global television. The publicity was rewarded when they were evacuated to safety after four tense days.
This was the essence of Marie's approach to reporting. She was not interested in the politics, strategy or weaponry; only the effects on the people she regarded as innocents. "These are people who have no voice," she said. "I feel I have a moral responsibility towards them, that it would be cowardly to ignore them. If journalists have a chance to save their lives, they should do so."
It was also Marie who stayed behind during the exodus of journalists from East Timor in 1999, refusing to leave the UN compound in Dili and reporting the terror, almost hourly, of the women and children inside. She flew back to Darwin, Australia, and I remember trying to say something profound to her about her bravery. "What about some lunch?" she said, brushing it all aside.
She was the bravest woman I have ever known.”