Day 225 (Friday the 13th)

Three siblings on a trampoline.

Today was almost perfect, (as perfect as it can be without my daughters) beautiful weather, wonderful company all day!  The beach was sunny and warm, the North Atlantic looked and felt like my friendly childhood Indian Ocean.  There were little waves for child boogie-boarders, lots of swimming and interesting conversations between the generations.

I taught a woman how to boogie-board, well no, I didn't actually, she is my first failure, she didn't even manage to catch one wave! 

She came up to me in the water, introduced herself and told me she had just bought her first boogie-board today and could I teach her, because she had been studying everyone and I looked as though I was a pro!  (I think she just thought I had a kind face)  So I used all the tried and trusted methods, but nothing seemed to work.  I even attempted to push her off on a wave but she was quite a hefty woman and that didn't go anywhere either!  She eventually went out after telling me that I was a very good teacher, she was just a useless student.  Poor woman. 

On the way home, my friend's daughter and I were discussing the best way to tell someone how to catch a wave, and it is really hard to explain.  She came to the conclusion that she and I were probably just born with that knowledge of the right time to leap on the board and sail down the wave!  While other people were born with a deficiency in that respect.

Finding ourselves without anyone to make dinner for, as the boys were out with friends, Tim and I walked out for a romantic evening and dined outside on the river at Tom O'Shea's.  Walking home afterwards we might have been arrested for being drunk and disorderly, because we were laughing so much playing the walking game that we almost fell over, and eventually we were both coughing and spluttering from a lack of oxygen, I suppose. 

A slice of lemon-moon hung in the blue-black sky as we made our way up our steep steep driveway and then into our lovely house, and it peeked in at us as we lay in the bath together in our usual way, and then to bed.

Day 224

Two Eastern Blue butterflies.

The meadow was alive with butterflies and bees this sunny morning as Molly and I walked out. It makes you happy just to be in their midst.

There is a tall sad dead tree near Refrigerator Corner.  Ivy has taken pity on it and covered its trunk and lower branches, but at the top of all this green abundance a few boughs still poke out into the sky.

This evening a gathering of tree swallows in these top-most limbs, living decorations.  I could hear them chatting to one another.  Perhaps it's like sitting on the deck with your family, drinking beer after a long hot day, recounting the events of work and home.

I wondered if the tree appreciated the attention, did not feel so worthless for a short while.

The little trees that all live inside with us in the cold months, dream all winter long of summer, when they get to feel the sun and the rain, when the wind ripples through their slender branches, birds perch on them and flit through them, and at night they watch the stars circle around us.

Running into the meadow late in the afternoon, I was halfway up Heartbreak Hill when I felt someone staring at me, and glanced across the field to find a deer in mid-chew, wondering what on earth I was doing, charging up the other side!  I stopped dead and stared right back, at the handsome ears, the quick and brilliant eyes.  But as soon as I reached for my camera she bolted, snorting and flashing her white tail at the black dog and me.

Apparently the Perseid Meteor shower is best tonight, between 12 and 4am, but there were still a few clouds and I saw none when I took Molly out a few minutes ago at 12.31.

Tim always complains about the movies I order from Netflix, because they are often really depressing indie movies, or strange foreign stories that go on and on and never seem to get anywhere.  Tonight we watched one that he ordered, called Departures. He couldn't believe it came with his name on the envelope!

It's a Japanese movie about a young cellist in Tokyo who loses his job when the orchestra disintegrates from lack of funding, so he goes back to his small town where his mother who recently died had left him a house, and has to find a job.  The one he happens on is that of an 'encoffiner', an undertaker, which eventually turns out to be his calling.  It is a beautiful little movie, maybe a little long, but so interesting and moving.   Japanese customs involving the dead are highly ritualised, and everything that is done to prepare the body for burial or cremation is done in a very beautiful way right there in front of the entire family, all the children and relatives.   And at the end of the ceremony, when the undertaker has washed the body with great care and privacy, under a beautiful cloth the entire time, and then he has dressed the person, and made the face look beautiful again, each person who is there to pay their respects comes up individually and receives a little dampened cloth with which they bathe the dead one's face.   It is very beautiful, and people can add their own touches, like one family of grandchildren said that she (their grandmother) wanted to wear long white socks like them, not the traditional strangely two-toed ceremonial socks. 

It seems to me so much better than the western secretive way, where an undertaker does all that weird stuff like replacing the person's fluids, all alone in a little cold mortuary-type place.  To have it all out in the open, to have all that time to think on that person, to bathe him or her with water, to cry the tears of grief together and alone, seems wonderful, human.

Needless to say, we were both a bit sniffy by the end of it.  Although Tim always blames allergies.

This is a quick drawing of Tim watching the movie, in his inimitable pose, arms above his head, his fingers fiddling with themselves.

 

Day 223

Little island house.

We kayaked all over this little lake today, in the most perfect weather.  The whole area is like a fairytale, beautiful trees, exquisite views. 

When my friend invited me I asked if they had a house there, and she said, "No, we just have a camp."  But of course I had no idea what is meant by that word.  For me it brings to mind tents and cooking over a fire, eating outside and peeing in the woods. 

So when we arrived we parked near this kind of three-sided shed, (which I learned later is called a pole-barn) and I thought, "Oh well, I'm glad I brought my sleeping bag, because this is almost like being outside, so I won't be cold, hopefully."  But then Anne marched on down a path to a dear little cabin, with proper beds and a fridge and a range and everything that was needed. 

Lots of talking and laughing and serious discussion and good eating and drinking ensued.  And her car broke down. 

And this is what we gave up by coming here - a history, many long years of being known by the people of your town, willing friends who come to your aid in times of trouble, because you have helped them out many a time before, or your father fixed their fridge, or your mother cured their sick baby.  Anne has known some people in this town since she was 9 years old!  A family friend pitched up with a spare car for her to borrow, after her broken-down one was towed away by a smiling man who remembered that his older twin sisters had gone to school with Anne!  There were constant greetings and long catching-up chats on our stroll through the town's picturesque shops and galleries. 

I felt a touch of regret, a longing for home, for familiarity, which is difficult to attain, which takes eons to build.

And then the long drive home.  Which took three and a half hours!  Two thirds of the way home I remembered my friend's house, and hastened there to use her toilet, but alas, she was not home, so I had to stop to pee in the bushes, after carefully determining that there was not one iota, not even a tiny leaflet, of poison ivy, poison oak, or poison sumac!

Self-portrait in the sugar-house this morning, a little bit wobbly, but the best I can do for now!

Day 222

Anne swimming.

Two days in idyllic Vermont, living in a converted sugar-house, with which I fell in love.  The sunny rooms, the green trees all around, the wood panelling, and even the compost toilet!

Anne grew up in this town, and we passed her old farmhouse each day.  She and her brothers still own a large tract of land and have this little place they can go to whenever they want to, and it even comes with a private shelter on the beautiful lake, leading down to a dock.  

We roamed around the forest and a few dirt roads, where there were many enormous homes which were completely empty.  They are summer homes of wealthy people who only visit a few days of the year.  It struck me again how the ways in which society works are so flawed.  Some people live in beautiful houses say in Boston, and then have summer homes which are basically mansions, fully equipped with everything, beds, bedding, kitchen utensils, food in the pantry, etc., and then there are people who don't even own a home, who struggle to make ends meet, even when they work really hard.

A little garter snake crossed the road in front of us, and then tasted the air several times, wriggling along and then keeping still, forked tongue out and in, slither, still, and on again, hoping we would ignore it and go away. 

  Two solar panels provide light in the evening, dim light, and there are oil-lamps strategically placed in case they are needed, this one on the window-sill in my room.

Sunshine in my room, green light outside.

Peach and shadows.








Star fern.

Day 221

Boston skyline between Tony and Matthew.

Ran 3.56km in 90F heat.  The only day that I didn't have a camera of any kind, and a monarch hovers around me and then lands on a milkweed plant and proceeds to perform an intricate ballet en pointe, with fluttering tutu of black and red, for my pleasure alone.  I watch entranced for a full 3 minutes, until she bows out and floats away to my silent applause.

Later in the run I very nearly stood on an Eastern blue butterfly, which is actually a little white flitter amongst the celandine.  It would be so awful to squash something so ethereal, like killing an angel.

I had a date with the ocean in the rain and then the sun, and stayed in for an hour and a half this afternoon.

I still miss the girls with my whole body.  A day or so ago conversation and emotion flowed freely between us, easy hugs and closeness, in the kitchen, on walks, sitting opposite one another on the couch.

These girls who were my first babies, who slept together with me when I got divorced, one on either side of me, on a pullout couch, which was all we had, because I got the fridge which I needed as I was granted full custody of  the children too, and he took the bed.

These girls with whom I have a special bond because they are the same sex as I am, a deep understanding, an ability to discuss anything, anything at all.

These young women who are so completely different from one another, and have pieces of me in them too.

Jess - an intricately decorated wooden lidded box containing the four ancient elements: crazy fireworks, a placid thoughtful river, brave fluid air and the loving kindness of earth, any of which can overflow at different moments.

Emma - a beautifully crafted fountain in the middle of a sunny square, constantly erupting, at various times: enfolding empathy, fiery anger, infectious laughter, deep sadness, huge love, insightful wisdom.

Emma and the sea

Jess and the Tiger

Day 220

Tony, Anne, and mermaid Jess underwater.

So my daughters, my darling girls, are both back in their respective countries, Jess in her "shed" and Emma in her flat overlooking a park, safe and sound and a little bit sad, after having sat for hours high above the ground in a large metal cigar-shaped container which is, impossibly, an aeroplane. 

At any given time, there are thousands of them carving trails through the sky, carrying people and their things at some speed over the clouds, covering vast distances much faster than any other form of transportation. 

I prefer boats, myself.

I ran 4.15 km this morning, trudging along for the first 3km, and then finding it a little easier.  Hot again, with sweat pouring off my eyebrows by the end of it.  What strange things eyebrows are.  Grasshoppers scattered before me, pretending to be dragonflies, their legs become white wings for a moment of flight. 

Sadness sweeps over me throughout the day. I am very glad of all the male members of my family who are still in my house, who take me into their big arms and hearts and jolly me along again.

The portrait for tonight is a portion of Tim's body.  The strangeness of male nipples,which are fairly useless, in the grand scheme of things, compared to a woman's.  But beautiful, nevertheless.

Day 219

Thistle floating away

The last daughter left today and Tim almost had to hold me up with the blow of it.  I turned back at the top of the airport terminal escalator, like Orpheus, and saw her small figure below, moving slowly through the line to the security gate. To realise that I wouldn't see her, wouldn't hug her, laugh with her, or touch her smooth face, for a very long time, that she lives too far away, left me grief-stricken.  I don't want to live the remainder of my life on separate continents, it is too tragic, too heart-searing, every goodbye is harder than the one before, the time together too fleeting.

Matthew asked how it was when we arrived home, and Tim told him that it was so sad that the whole airport cried. 

I was hugged by my sons, pressed to their hard chests, so unlike my daughters'.  They gave me tea and sympathy, their faces smiling at me across the table, making jokes, life goes on.

These are our best creations.  (photo by Tim) 

Day 218

Jess looking gorgeous and Tony being funny

Boston Harbor Island trip

Looking back at the city from the water is beautiful, it is our city now.  Last time we went to George's Island was 9 years ago, on Jessica's 19th birthday.  It was the six of us then, Emma too, but today Tony took Emma's place, and the boys are not little 8 year-olds anymore, but big grown-up men.  We missed our sunshiney Emma.  Last time we were new in this country, everything strange and difficult, this time we are seasoned veterans.

George's Island 2001

At George's Island we went on a tour of Fort Warren, led by an old park ranger, a sweet man who explained all about the building of a castle like this, the ways in which it was designed for maximum delivery of cannon-fire, gun-shots, defense.  It was quite fascinating, even to me, who abhors war and armories and the like, but especially to boys, who, Jess and I decided, from the behaviour of her boyfriend and two brothers, never really develop further than about twelve.

Weird how as humans we live so much in the past and the future, while we could always be living more in the moment.  Today was a happy event, but tinged always with dread for tomorrow, when Jess will be leaving.  The entire day, tears hung about at the back of my eyes, waiting to leap forward. 

George's Island 2010

From George's we caught a water-taxi to Spectacle Island, which was basically where Boston dumped all its trash for 30 years.  During the Big Dig, earth excavated from Boston was used to re-surface the island and today it is lovely, with an interesting eco-system, new vegetation and various experimental programmes to do with solar energy, birdlife and weed control. It has also been made with a hill, one of the highest points of all the harbor islands. 

The water-taxi ride was quite an adventure, one in which we all sat huddled and slightly miserable, being soaked by cold spray, as the wind had changed and waves crashed up all around us!  My thoughts turned to the smallness of the little boat we were in, the strength of the wind, the amazing ability of boats to carry us over water, but also to founder, to sink.  And I thought of my family (we were the only passengers) being tossed into the cold sea, how we would manage if this were to happen.  The cameras, cellphones, my bag with all its necessary articles (a book to read, a book in which to write or draw, drawing utensils, nailcutting set, reading glasses, pills in case of headache sufferers, pencils, pens, a swiss army knife, scissors, cotton and needles, a spare jumper, a shawl, Nick's swimsuit, tissues, my ipod and bose earphones, binoculars, Nick's deodorant, bug-spray, sea-glass and stones Jess and I had picked up on the island beach, my little point-and-shoot camera, my car-keys) all would be lost at the bottom of the ocean, but I thought that we would surely survive, Tim would make a plan, I always trust him to keep his head, to know what to do.  And we would save ourselves.

The ferry ride back to Boston resulted in Jess and I just about having ready-made dreadlocks, but what a lovely day, a good day, coming home tired and windswept and blessed, traveling over the sparkling sea.

Day 217

Two little girls with two little kittens. (Tim took this picture a long time ago.  It can be seen on his flickr page too)

Thirty-two years ago today I was 22 years old and naive enough to marry a gay man.  The best results were these two little sweethearts. 

There was heartbreak and much sadness involved in the breakup, but after a while, years sometimes, you get over yourself, and your heart heals, and you forgive people for who they are, you have no regrets, and you have a deep tolerance and understanding of gay people, which you would not have otherwise had.

My upbringing, my world-view at the time of my marriage, were so utterly different from those of my own children at similar ages.  In my 54 years of life, technology has galloped along at an ever-increasing speed, resulting in overloads of information, so much of it in small short bytes, which results in us all being vaguely afflicted with Attention Deficit Disorder (ADD).  The screen grabs us wherever we are, look for any missing guy in this house and usually you will find him sucked in by a computer. 

What we lack in these days is off-time, thinking time, quiet alone time.  A child making a 'nest' somewhere in the house and reading one book there for hours.  An adult sitting on the deck, watching birds, drifting along in thought, not constantly worrying about bills, work, retirement.    Digging in the earth, walking along a deer-track, swimming in the liquid ocean.  Restoration.  Rejuvenation.  Recharging the batteries.

And these are those two little sweethearts many years later, with Tim.

Day 216

Deer and celandine.

On my first circuit, coming into the meadow I noticed a deer, head down, munching away on sweet green meadow-grass.  I ordered Molly to lie down and took out my camera, which unfortunately was only my point-and-shoot, which fits neatly in my pocket while running.  The little doe was so inquisitive, stepping forward hoofstep by hoofstep, wondering what I was.  Eventually Molly became too impatient to run, and barked at me, the dog version of a shout, "Hey, what on earth is going on here!  Throw the ball already!"  And off the doe leapt, with a snort or three, white-tail flashing.

I ran 3.7km, in hot humid muggy weather, thinking about Emma in the air somewhere between France and England, wishing her safe landings, missing her, the sunshine of her, the way she has of filling a room, the laughter we share when she's around.

Later we went to the beach, where the waves were still lovely, but apparently the water temperature was 54F!  It was truly freezing, the foot-numbing chill of water which comes from the north.  Jess and I were brave brave boogie-boarders, and stayed in until our feet "didn't really know what they were supposed to do anymore" as Jess so aptly put it. 

Day 215

Emma's last swim.

There were lovely waves yesterday and today.  The family swam and swam, adopted members and the ones who have always belonged. 

Saying goodbye to the eldest child is very hard. 

The time that is anticipated with such excitement and pleasure is suddenly over, the suitcases are packed, the long journey made to the airport, and last hugs are hugged and kisses are kissed, and the scent of the child, indelibly imprinted, is perceived by the whole mother's body, last touch for a long time.

So the world goes on, the long trip back from the airport is made, and an aeroplane flies in the dark across the ocean, taking my daughter back to another country. 

Which is all very wrong and difficult to deal with. 

Day 214

Just a photo-essay today of our lovely trip into Boston, Emma and Stuart's last full day.  Must go to bed!  Seize the day!  And the night!

Day 213

Balancing act

The grasshoppers have grown quite large since spring, when they were just little tiny things.  Now they leap out ahead of footsteps quite substantially.

Today whizzed by, like the last few have done.  Firstly with a christening in a Roman Catholic church, where I have never been before.  Four little babies and one little girl in a combined christening. 

A few slightly older children were gazing into the main church through the windows of what was called "The Ladies' Chapel" in our old Anglican church, the place where new mothers go with their crying babies so that they don't disturb the rest of the congregation. 

One of the party sitting behind me whispered in my ear, "That's where they keep the older siblings who are completely uninterested in the very existence of the younger child, who would rather they were not there at all, actually!"  This sibling rivalry which begins at the birth of the second child, this deposition of the king, the one and only.  Such a shocking occurrence for the elder child.  I remember hearing the story of my older sister who tried to kill her baby brother, (my older brother) by stabbing him with a knitting needle! 

One little girl was so sweet, so loud and funny, joyously running through the pews, that she was eventually removed there too, where she proceeded to amuse me with her silent antics through the glass.   Funny faces, and hopping up and down, and loud sounds which could be heard even through the mostly sound-proof windows.

The baby we had come to see was the best-behaved, the most avid and curious of all the babies, staring up at the lights on the ceiling above, gazing at the stained-glass windows, which were modern and nothing like the ancient ones. 

I think it is a lovely tradition, to name a child in public, bring them into the fold, so to speak, they are now part of the community to which their parents belong.  

I have raised all my children with a strict moral code, but none of them was ever christened.  I have a big problem with the patriarchal nature of most religions.

And then a mad rush to buy the necessary supplies for a barbecue (alcohol and meat) and on up Route 128 to our lovely full house, where the girls and their boyfriends had done a wonderful job at cleaning up, and where a few minutes later, everyone arrived and a lot of eating and drinking took place for a few hours, and Emma and Jess both fell in love with their friend's little boy, who charmed everyone, and at the end of the evening gave us all hugs and kisses in the magnanimous way of small children, which warms adult hearts and makes us remember our own little ones, or being little, or just the very dear sweetness of the innocent.

Day 212

Fanned clouds in the meadow

With Poison IVY all but gone, she ran 4.5 km in the beautiful morning meadow, a crisp blue day, her footsteps once more familiar on the worn path, with Queen Anne's Lace flowers and little Eastern tailed blue butterflies coming out to greet her.  Catbirds made their strange rasping calls at Refrigerator Corner, and purple vetch pleased her eye on Heartbreak Hill.

The black dog lay in the shade each circuit, waiting for her to appear parallel on the other side of the meadow, the dog's signal to bound across exuding dog happiness at seeing her again.  "Molly!" she exhaled encouragingly each time this happened.  Swathes of celandine have taken over the vegetable rows, and goldenrod everywhere is coming into blossom, visited by an assortment of insects, including her bees.

Friends for lunch, and then peaceful kayaking with the girls and their boyfriends in the afternoon and into early evening, out to Kettle Island and back.  It is the first time on a kayak for one of the boyfriends and he does a grand job, after turning in circles for a while at the beginning.

Near the pier, on clear glossy water, she encounters a cormorant which comes up out of the water close to her kayak. It is startled at her proximity and promptly loses its fish, but dives straight down again and comes up triumphantly, this time swallowing with success.  She is so close that she can see the bright orange of the soft skin around its throat, and its beautiful turquoise eye. 

She observes that it bathes in the same way as the little chickadees do in her birdbath, flapping its wings and fawning its neck back to get clean, only its birdbath is the entire deep sea.  She anchors her kayak on a buoy and watches as it clambers out on to a seaweed-covered rock, proceeds to preen its belly, then turns and flaps its wings a few times before hanging them out to dry in the late sun, frilling out its tail every now and then.  It is soaking up the last lovely warmth of the day.  It takes a fair amount of energy to manage this whole drying business, clambering out of the easy element, then flapping out all the water, then standing there for long periods of time, giving the occasional shake to the outstretched wings. 

Beautiful bird.  She memorises its shape, its stance, and then draws it late at night while she is waiting for the boys to come home from Nick's cast party.

Day 211

Jess and I from the back.

Another lovely day.

Tim took everyone to a real American diner for lunch.  I was not so keen,  but the waitress was a lovely middle-aged woman with a gravelly voice, and the ambience is unsurpassed in this place. 

The cheerful waitress addressed us as "Tourists", which brought home how un-American we really are! 

We laughed and ate delicious food, told stories and jokes and sat in our familiar family togetherness. 

Later we meandered around Rockport, a beautiful little place where Tim and I are going to live when the boys have gone to college and the housing  market picks up again. 

I took my dad (and my brother) there a few years ago and he loved it, cheerfully trying each new taste my brother put in front of him  (he had never had sushi before!). 

I remember when I took him on a river cruise and each passenger was given a postcard of the boat.  He was overjoyed, and decided that he would send his postcard to his sister Margaret to tell her all about his trip.  I said that I thought that would be a very good idea, because what was the point of telling him that his sister had been dead a good few years already, and that in fact there was no one left in his immediate family, no parents, no siblings, no wife.  I knew he would forget all about the card in about 10 minutes, anyway.

And then in the evening we went to watch Nick's play, The Music Man, which was lovely, not as good as last year, but then I am biased because my two boys were the main characters in the last play, My Fair Lady.   All the children are so good by the end of the 4 week rehearsal period, they are truly impressive.  The director is excellent!  She's been directing these plays since the 1970's, apparently.

And no, I did not get to run today either. 
And yes, Lily is so much better.  Eating four times a day!

Day 210

Four in the Peabody-Essex Museum.

The beautifully designed Peabody-Essex Museum in Salem.  We went to Salem specifically to see the memorial to the 18 people accused of witchcraft in 1692 and hanged for it.  One man was "pressed to death" which brings home how utterly barbaric the whole incident was.

Salem is a peculiar place, full of fake pseudo objects and people.  I got into trouble for turning things which are supposed to be turned, like big kaleidoscope-type things, as I had not see the sign saying "DO NOT TOUCH".  We recalled when Jess had done a similar thing in a fancy shop in Boston, picking up a little watery dome thing and shaking it, only to find she had just killed all the sea-monkey shrimp and their perfectly balanced world!  She had mistaken it for a snow-globe.

I didn't get to run today, maybe tomorrow, so many things to do, food to make, and a lovely Beatles concert to end the day, with great food made by my friend, and smiley faces, only Nick missing, performing in his play. 

This portrait "Sunglasses", serves as my self-portrait tonight, although it was taken by Markie, of me and my daughters and their boyfriends, whom I love already.  You just have to love the people your children have chosen.  And usually it is easy because they select well.

And Lily continues to wolf down food and is almost her old self.

And Poison Ivy has lifted her hold on me and is slowly slinking away!

Day 209

Jewel-weed.

After not eating or drinking anything all day yesterday, and behaving in a way which seemed to signify that she had given up on life and was imminently due to leave us, and us all saying our tearful goodbyes to her last night, we woke up to find Lily the old cat still alive. 

It was very early and she wanted to go outside so I let her out and sat with her each time she settled somewhere, stroking her and talking to her (even though she is stone-deaf) and every now and then weeping for her little life which has been lived in that pure way animals have. 

She seemed to be looking around for water in the pot-plant holders and so I poured some water for her and, very carefully, she drank!  Then I tried her on some of her food and she ate a tiny bit too!   Eventually everyone else woke up and began coming out in dribs and drabs, amazed at the miraculous little cat.

And so we have been monitoring her all through the day, giving her treats like tuna and raw chicken, and water laced with the water that canned tuna is stored in.  And tonight she seems better, still very weak and odd-looking, but almost herself.  I know she still may be on her way out, but she had a good day today, with everyone loving her and stroking her and taking care not to stand on her where she lay, always right in the way!  Such a dear little cat.

The new couch we were given is very popular.  Here are two instances of it being put to good use.

Tomorrow I will run again, my poison ivy is quite a lot better, and I hope it will not chafe when I run.  I can't wait!

Day 208

Light and thistle seeds. 

Delicate fairy creatures, these thistle seeds.  Wafting away, they fly until they fetch up against something, and then begins the long long wait, through autumn, the cold snows of winter, until spring, when a few of them will have discovered the perfect place for a new thistle plant, and, having all the purple and green and white carefully stored inside the seed's memory, will proceed once again with the cell-dividing and metamorphosis into a tall strong plant which attracts insects, and makes beauty with light.

Watching these children of mine, I see the DNA memory they have stored inside them, us three women with the feet and ankles of my mother, their Granny Joan, and handed down to her from the Hewitson side - my great aunt Phyllis with the same ankles.  And my female cousins, they both laugh like their mother, Nora, my mother's sister, who received the genes for that particular laugh, in her turn, from my grandmother Gracie, my little granny who gave so many of us her artistic genes, the ability to look at something and draw it perfectly, the capacity for beauty which stopped Nick in his tracks one spring day at Dalrymple School, where three trees stood in all their white spring blossom.  (Nick has always been hyper-aware of beauty, e.g. when he was nearly three he came into the corner shop with me where, unfortunately, all the porn magazines were displayed behind the glass at his eye level.  He fell utterly in love with one large-breasted cover-girl,  looked up at me with wonder in his eyes as he asked if he could have that particular "book" for his birthday.)

Matthew rubs his feet together when sitting just like my dad used to, and both boys sleep positioned like Tim in bed.  And where did Matthew's huge round eyes come from?  Nick's long bony fingers, the brown eyes of Jess, the only child without blue eyes?  (When the girls were little, I once told Emma that she had eyes like the sky, sunny-sky-blue eyes, and Jess eagerly asked me, "Well, what are my eyes like Mom?" To which I replied, "Your eyes are like mountain-pools, the water that's come down from the top of the mountain."  Years later I discovered that she thought I meant her eyes were like mud-pools!)

I have Swedish, Scottish, British and South African blood.  We are all made up of such mixtures, the darknesses, the lights, the talents, the vices of our ancestors running through our veins.  And it is fascinating to see little bits of things, little shards here and there, in subsequent generations.  Some ancestors are lost now that we are the oldest generation of the family, like Auntie Birdie, whose name was Berenice, and who was beloved of my grandmother, but I have no idea where she fits in in the family tree.  And old Auntie Bill, called Wilhelmina, who helped raise my orphaned grandfather, I think.  They were seen infrequently and so are largely forgotten by my childhood self.

Here are my two girls reading something intently together on the couch, Jess not sitting in the regular way, which is her usual manner, reading over the shoulder of her older sister Emma, their hair almost blending together, their heads so close.

Day 207

Races on the beach

Went for a lovely walk on the beach in the evening, ran races - competition is rife amongst siblings, their significant others, and even the old matriarch of the family! 

The water, which has been 9 to 10 degrees above normal is suddenly freezing like the Atlantic in Cape Town. 

So much food to make for all these people again, I had almost forgotten how to do that.  In South Africa we always had about 8 for dinner each day, but for a long time we have just had 4. 

Oh how I miss these daughters. 

I have no desire for them to live with us, they are, after all, independent and have been for years, but I just want them to live in vaguely the same area as we do!

Amongst my four children I am the little one now, it is a common reversal of roles, the once omnipotent mother become small and fairly insignificant in everyday terms.  Become someone to laugh at gently because she loses all the races, doesn't understand certain allusions.  But someone who can still cook for an army, someone who can still dispense advice, set down rules, laugh with you, listen to your stories, and tell you hers.



And tomorrow we'll all run and swim and talk and argue and surprise one another and sing in the car and play games in the evening to much hilarity, together again.  Another day.

Day 206

At Kirsty's baby shower.

Kirsty, whom we have known since she was about 6 years old, is having her enormous second baby the day after my birthday.  The females of the house all went to her baby shower today, a lovely Devonshire Tea with beautiful cups and saucers and delicious food which kept on coming!  Just when you thought you couldn't fit another bite, more beautiful sweet things appeared which you just couldn't resist.  I feel as though I don't want to eat again for a long time!

The bunch of women had such fun together, and so much laughter and hilarity emanated from our room that an old couple walking by looked in and asked us if we had a stand-up comedian in the room!  The old man added, as they were walking on, "Well, I thought that you had a male stripper in here!" 

Buying the presents is always such fun, the babygros/onesies are impossibly small, the colours amazingly bright, the toys so gorgeous.

A whole new little person will arrive in a month's time, with tiny little perfect toes and fingers, with little frog-limbs and a whole new personality of its own.

This morning we swam in the very cold sea, lovely gentle waves, and your body does eventually become accustomed to the temperature.  Bright sun and big fluffy clouds, and a warm wind which feels like a berg wind but of course isn't. 

I don't think I will get much drawing done in these two weeks, although I have planned to, so perhaps there will be more photographs than drawings for a while. 

The poison ivy saga continues: Tim got me the stuff recommended by an old friend, which does indeed work, but I think it basically achieves this effect by sand-papering off your skin along with any remnants of urushiol, the poison ivy ingredient to which many people are allergic. So now I have a raw and weeping area where all the bumps used to be, which I hope will heal very soon!  Good grief, I could qualify for the life of a Spartan at this rate!

This afternoon, after having to rip the fabric of my skirt from where it was stuck to my wounded leg, then finding the afflicted region glued to the seat of the car, Jess bought me some gel healing breast pads, which adhere to sore nipples and apparently work very well on poor destroyed skin of the inner thigh too!