A short story in response to the painting The Siesta by Paul Gaugin.
The heat of the day brought is onto the porch and out of the sun. Keeping their proper distance, the men sat in the grass, smoking in the shade of the bunkhouse and winning nickles and buttons from each other in mindless wagers.
It took a long time to get comfortable with the proximity of my new 'sisters', A near lifetime together had brought with it a physical familiarity between them that was alien to me.
Alice would always be on the edge, one leg dangling down to swish the long grass that evaded the mower's reach. She'd sing softly to herself or, when asked, would share one of the stories her momma had taught her in the days before she died.
Constance seemed allergic to rest. Always anxious of the list of chores left to accomplish before lamp-lighting, she would ever have something with her to do - ironing, darning, trimming the lamps. Her industry made me nervous, but if I ever offered to assist, or tried to bring a chore of my own onto the porch, Natty would scold me.
"Child - you just let that be now." She would say, taking my basket out of my hand, "Never mind her fuss. You sit beside me here and take your rest.".
It was Natty who took siesta the most seriously. Sprawled out on a pillow she would talk and dream, even daring to gossip until Constance started tutting when, with a small giggle, would roll onto her back and ask Alice to sing.
Friday, September 10, 2010
Sunday, August 15, 2010
Beautiful Moments
As with all parents, there are beautiful, magical moments with my step-lovelies that I want to etch into my heart and remember forever. This weekend - alongside the exhaustion brought on by constant bickering, grouchily-appealing every parental request and the usual nonsense - there seemed to be bucket-loads, but this one will suffice for now.
I am honoured to be part of both #1 and #2's nighttime routine. We snuggle, chat, I scratch their backs, and they whisper me confidences and fears. Tonight, #1 (now 11 and a proud middle-schooler) let me know, among other things, that when he's at school and missing his dad and I he sometimes tucks his own hair behind his ears "as it reminds me of you."
"...but it still annoys me when you do it" he said, quickly, putting his head back down in his Ugly Doll.
Be still my heart.
I am honoured to be part of both #1 and #2's nighttime routine. We snuggle, chat, I scratch their backs, and they whisper me confidences and fears. Tonight, #1 (now 11 and a proud middle-schooler) let me know, among other things, that when he's at school and missing his dad and I he sometimes tucks his own hair behind his ears "as it reminds me of you."
"...but it still annoys me when you do it" he said, quickly, putting his head back down in his Ugly Doll.
Be still my heart.
Monday, August 2, 2010
Grandma
My Grandma would have been 100 yesterday, August 1st 2010.
When she died, aged 96, people were staggered to find out how old she was. Embarrassed of her great age when she married at 30 (Shock! Horror!) back in 1941, she'd been routinely taking off 10 years "for the war" for as long as anyone could remember.
Grandma was an inspiration to more than just our family. Broad Scots, under 5 foot and bright as a button she was an amazing woman. She worked in some way or other (from secretarial work to running her own antiques store) from the day she left school at 15 until her even the temp agency couldn't pass her for 65 - at about the age of 80.
She saw so much in her life. As a child she lived in Glasgow, London and Brighton and was even 'farmed' out to a family in the Highlands for a period as very small child when her parents divorced. She lived through 2 worlds wars, a scarlet fever epidemic that claimed the life of her older sister, and a near catastrophic engine failure on a flight from Hong Kong (They landed in Beijing, where the airline had them all sleep in a big room. She awoke to see everyone had been covered up in white blankets, and for a full minute she though she was in the morgue!). She was around when telephones, radios, cars, TVs and then computers went from being a luxury to being necessary. She traveled the world and never ceased to be interested in everything. Everything.
There are so many little things that made up who she was. She loved music, literature, cinema, theatre and handed on to me her love of poetry. She was sweet, fun, incredibly warm, and completely incapable of telling jokes (which, of course, made them all the funnier). She gave wonderful hugs, and always smelt divine - a strange mixture of Estee Lauder's Youth Dew and toast & marmalade. She could break the bones in your hand with the strength in her thumb.
I remember distinctly the collection of necklaces she wore at the same time; their chains would get tangled into knots that I could sit and unravel for hours. She taught me how to coat fresh fish in breadcrumbs, and made the best Yorkshire puddings in the world. The only thing she could play on the piano were some arpeggios, and she'd play them at speed every time she passed an instrument. She could remember every one of my childhood friends.
I grieve that she never met my husband or my step-children, and never knew the happiness I've found here in the States. She would have loved Nashville.
I miss her every day.
Happy Birthday Grandma! 21 again? ("yes dear..." *hand-breaking-thumb-squeeze*)
When she died, aged 96, people were staggered to find out how old she was. Embarrassed of her great age when she married at 30 (Shock! Horror!) back in 1941, she'd been routinely taking off 10 years "for the war" for as long as anyone could remember.
Grandma was an inspiration to more than just our family. Broad Scots, under 5 foot and bright as a button she was an amazing woman. She worked in some way or other (from secretarial work to running her own antiques store) from the day she left school at 15 until her even the temp agency couldn't pass her for 65 - at about the age of 80.
She saw so much in her life. As a child she lived in Glasgow, London and Brighton and was even 'farmed' out to a family in the Highlands for a period as very small child when her parents divorced. She lived through 2 worlds wars, a scarlet fever epidemic that claimed the life of her older sister, and a near catastrophic engine failure on a flight from Hong Kong (They landed in Beijing, where the airline had them all sleep in a big room. She awoke to see everyone had been covered up in white blankets, and for a full minute she though she was in the morgue!). She was around when telephones, radios, cars, TVs and then computers went from being a luxury to being necessary. She traveled the world and never ceased to be interested in everything. Everything.
There are so many little things that made up who she was. She loved music, literature, cinema, theatre and handed on to me her love of poetry. She was sweet, fun, incredibly warm, and completely incapable of telling jokes (which, of course, made them all the funnier). She gave wonderful hugs, and always smelt divine - a strange mixture of Estee Lauder's Youth Dew and toast & marmalade. She could break the bones in your hand with the strength in her thumb.
I remember distinctly the collection of necklaces she wore at the same time; their chains would get tangled into knots that I could sit and unravel for hours. She taught me how to coat fresh fish in breadcrumbs, and made the best Yorkshire puddings in the world. The only thing she could play on the piano were some arpeggios, and she'd play them at speed every time she passed an instrument. She could remember every one of my childhood friends.
I grieve that she never met my husband or my step-children, and never knew the happiness I've found here in the States. She would have loved Nashville.
I miss her every day.
Happy Birthday Grandma! 21 again? ("yes dear..." *hand-breaking-thumb-squeeze*)
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Letter To My Younger Self
Letter To My Younger Self
I’m sorry that it’s taken me
so long to think of us as we,
to own the person that you were
as part of me, not just as her
I’m sorry that I still might cringe
when thinking of that eager, ginger,
loud and frantic little girl
so hungry to embrace the world
if only to squeeze out a friend,
a kind word and a happy ending
full of talent, life and spark,
making all she looked at art;
the view from up the cherry tree,
the ever-present scarry knees,
the constant choosing different names,
the romance trapped in dancing flames.
I’d tell you that your teeth get straight,
Your boobs arrive (they’re worth the wait).
That you’ll get kissed by someone who’s
been dreaming just as much of you
But most of all I want to praise
you for the hope that fills your days.
Your dreams and spirit were the key
that unlocked the me I’m proud to be.
I’m sorry that it’s taken me
so long to think of us as we,
to own the person that you were
as part of me, not just as her
I’m sorry that I still might cringe
when thinking of that eager, ginger,
loud and frantic little girl
so hungry to embrace the world
if only to squeeze out a friend,
a kind word and a happy ending
full of talent, life and spark,
making all she looked at art;
the view from up the cherry tree,
the ever-present scarry knees,
the constant choosing different names,
the romance trapped in dancing flames.
I’d tell you that your teeth get straight,
Your boobs arrive (they’re worth the wait).
That you’ll get kissed by someone who’s
been dreaming just as much of you
But most of all I want to praise
you for the hope that fills your days.
Your dreams and spirit were the key
that unlocked the me I’m proud to be.
Monday, February 8, 2010
Wanting > Shoulding
I've been challenged to live with some new language.
As a world-class procrastinator I 'should' all over myself all day, every day. "I should clean the bathroom", "I should tidy the kids' room... make the beds, repack their drawers... you know, I should make it nice.", "I really should be reading every day.". Or, alternatively, "I need to work out where the social security office is so I can get my card tomorrow morning.", "I need to get my office sorted before I can sit down properly.".
By changing need and should to want, it puts everything in a different light.
I want to write today. Actually, I want to write everyday, and this makes it liberating, instead of crushing. There is no guilt in leaving the bathroom a little grimey, the kids clothes a little spewed, or a pile of papers either side of my laptop. I will find out where the Social is later... but first I'll write.
Oh, wait. I just did.
As a world-class procrastinator I 'should' all over myself all day, every day. "I should clean the bathroom", "I should tidy the kids' room... make the beds, repack their drawers... you know, I should make it nice.", "I really should be reading every day.". Or, alternatively, "I need to work out where the social security office is so I can get my card tomorrow morning.", "I need to get my office sorted before I can sit down properly.".
By changing need and should to want, it puts everything in a different light.
I want to write today. Actually, I want to write everyday, and this makes it liberating, instead of crushing. There is no guilt in leaving the bathroom a little grimey, the kids clothes a little spewed, or a pile of papers either side of my laptop. I will find out where the Social is later... but first I'll write.
Oh, wait. I just did.
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