Friends Indeed

Dog and Cat, hanging out together in the hot sunshine after a quick ride in the washing machine. But not just any old cat and dog.
Cat has been with Granddaughter E for at least five and a half years. They were inseparable for a long time and shared many adventures. He accompanied her in sickness and in health and was quite often in the washing machine as a result. He went to Nursery with E three days a week and did everything she did. He actually had a secret twin because E could not/would not sleep without him and his loss would have been a catastrophe. (No pun intended.)

Dog has not been part of  E's family for quite as long, but both he and Cat have slept with her for more than four years. I was entrusted with Dog at E's first public performance last December; the school Nativity play, where she was an excellent camel. Dog sat on my lap and was held up to applaud like mad. If I had been the only Granny doing this sort of thing I would have felt a bit foolish, but the school hall had many such stuffed things, waving and clapping.

A few months later and my son and daughter-in-law are having a maxi clear-out. During the process they left a couple of bags full of things for charity here. I went through them, as one does, and to my concern found Cat and Dog.
I am not sentimental, of course I'm not, but I was quite unable to leave them in the bag. So they went into the washing machine, out on the line and then will be tucked away in the top of my wardrobe. If E ever wants them back they will be here for her.

Of course I am not sentimental. The Teddy bears in the top of my wardrobe are actually investments, as are the beautifully embroidered silk dresses I wore as a baby.  There are the two tiny Babygos that my infant sons wore for their homecoming - they are of historic significance now.The little glass boxes of baby hair are for my sons, so that they can see their silky blond and auburn curls (so long departed). One of these days I expect they'll be really interested to see those! But I won't mention the baby teeth because even I think that's going too far. (Why on earth have I kept them, but how can I get rid of them now?). There's my wedding bouquet preserved to a variety of shades of beige. Perhaps E would like it for her dressing up box? Perhaps?
There is one special Teddy bear who was blue and is now mostly grey, and is female and full of sadness and is at least 78 years old. She is not an investment.  I told her all my secrets. She is irreplaceable. Just like Cat and Dog.

Anyone who has read The_Velveteen_Rabbit will know exactly what I mean.

Oh Dear, has it Really Been Six Months?

..........and here we are in the garden again, in the heatwave, on the crunchy, crispy grass. Not the best day for Granddaughter to want to be carried like a back-pack (or a front-pack) while Little Brother requests the same treatment from his father, but another happy garden day all the same.

I do not intend to have these big breaks from blogging, but I find that my life seems settled into a succession of mostly enjoyable and always interesting routines. During my years of supporting elderly parents I loathed routine. Really loathed it.
 I struggled against being trapped in my father's requests to be taken shopping on certain days at certain times, his insistence on completing The Times crossword before he could leave the house, his addiction to certain radio programmes and, worst of all. his desire to come to us every Sunday for a full roast lunch with gravy. The gravy really got me down. After his death I promised myself I would never have to cook gravy again, and I didn't do so for several years.

Now, in my mostly solitary life I wake with the dawn and watch the sunrise from my bed. A few weeks ago I was also able to listen to the dawn chorus, but now the birds are fairly quiet. They have done their duties, mating, nesting, rearing young and now they are keeping out of sight while they moult. Very like me, actually, but I'm not about to grow new plumage.
Eventually I come downstairs and have a very simple breakfast with three big mugs of tea. Nothing tastes quite as good as the first mug of tea in the morning. I have the same bitter marmalade, the same number of bits of toast every day. Even before I am dressed I have slipped into the most comfortable rut.

And guess what? I love it. Ruts are very good places to be.
I climb out quite often, and other people climb in with me, but I realise every day the huge joy of contentment.
I am limited now in what I can do, in where I can go, and even more so in what I want to do and where I want to go. I am fortunate in that I've done and seen quite a lot during my 78 years. I have a great library of memories of all sorts, good and bad, funny and not-so-funny, acutely embarrassing and actually very affirming. Oh yes, all sorts, so I can sit in my rut and enjoy them all. There are things I'd like to put right, harsh comments I wish I hadn't made, and there's a certain level of regret.
 I wish I'd been more kind.

A great friend telephoned from Paris yesterday evening. He has lost his sight, almost completely. This is someone who has spent his life reading, studying, but now he can distinguish light from darkness and that is almost it. Then he surprised me by saying he can still go and do the shopping locally. He takes his white stick and goes on to the Paris Metro. He said, "When I was fully-sighted I had never realised how kind people can be. I have never been without help from strangers."

If I could leave one simple message for my grandchildren to remember it would be just that.

Be kind.

Sorry, Papa, if I had a tantrum about gravy in 25 degrees of heat.