Thalia's fertility journey

Pob snippets number 6

Pob: I want an orange! (she means clementine)

Thalia: You've already had 2 oranges darling, no more now

Pob: I want an orange please!

Thalia: Sweetie, no more oranges now, lunch is finished

Pob: I want an orange little bit please Mummy!

Thalia: What did Mummy say Pob?

Pob: (thinking)

Pob: Yes my can!

Thalia: (laughing)

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Scene: Driving

Pob: Where's my home?

Thalia: We have to go round the big roundabout, turn right then go straight down the road, then we'll be home

Pob: Where's my home

Thalia: (repeats)

Pob: See my home soon. Where's Granny's home?

(etc)

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Scene: In Mummy and Daddy's bed in the morning. Mummy is feeding Junior. Daddy is having a shower. Pob is drinking milk and watching CBeebies

Pob: Want my giraffe

Thalia: It's Junior's giraffe darling

Pob: I can share it

____________________________________________________

What am I doing here?

As part of the great blog cross-pollination, organised by the lovely Geohde, I am proud to present the post of someone infinitely more gifted in the creative sphere than I am.

±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±

It is one of the realities of my life that as I lose the ability to remember exactly what I did last weekend or the name of the new staff member I was introduced to not five minutes ago, I am compensated by wide open access to the part of my brain that stores more distant memories.

My grandmother died more than 34 years ago. Yet I am often overcome with very clear moments of time I spent with her as a child, absorbing her stories and learning to cook. Last Saturday afternoon I was making scones for afternoon tea and as I sprinkled flour on the granite counter I was instantly transported back to my very small self, listening to Granny as she warned me of the dangers of over handling the dough or making it too wet or not having the oven hot enough.

Her absence, and now that of my parents and siblings, is particularly keen as the year draws to a conclusion. I really do love summer and look forward to it despite the fierceness and cruelty that can come with it in my little corner of the world. But, more and more often, in the early days of December I find my mind drifting down into a quieter, more retrospective and infinitely sadder place.

I am acutely aware of the fact that in just two more weeks our end of the planet will have tilted as far as it is going to towards the sun and, inevitably, it must begin its eternal swing back. These days the excitement of Christmas is closely tempered by the reality, that in the bigger scheme of things, cosmic forces are bringing summer to an end as I have barely begun to feel its effects.

For me at least, it is that reminder of the inevitable cycle of life, moving at the edge of my consciousness that brings with it such vivid memories. Of all the things I will never do again, of everyone and everything that I have loved and lost. And that is achingly bittersweet but incredibly real.

±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±

Any ideas who it is? Guess in the comments, then go here to find out