Tuesday, September 30, 2003

25 years

The silence is almost deafening now that they have left.
We had late nights and karaoke, beaches and mountain walks, photos and non-stop talking. We had feasts and coffee on the deck, laughter and tears, champagne, home brew and chocolate.
Most of all though, we had renewed friendship and I feel honoured and humbled and blessed.
We sat by the table last night and the candle wax melted away as fast as the years and I listened to their voices, unchanged. The music cutting through time like nothing else ever can. 

Saturday, September 06, 2003

Goddess

We are going shopping this morning, my daughter and I. I will walk beside her tall lithe figure feeling slightly worn and shrunken. I will notice the appreciative glances all the boys give her, while she tells me she is grotesque. I can only be stunned, but next to her petite and anorexic looking friends her 5 foot, 10 inches make her feel like a giant.
She is looking for something to wear today, but all her clothes seem to belong to somebody else, another smaller girl who she feels has betrayed her. Her frustration is palpable. I curse fashion and society and being fourteen. She shakes her mane of dyed brown hair over her shoulders, steps out of her room and even wearing all black as she tries to shrink herself, we can all see that she is a goddess. One day perhaps she will see it too.

Thursday, September 04, 2003

After school

The afternoon air is sleepy and cool. I am fighting to keep my concentration, not to let my focus slip. Today is making up for other days of procrastination and digression. The computer hums, the phone rings, the words fly and the task list shortens. I am coasting along in my tiny world of order, achievement and calm. A cloud of self satisfied smugness surrounds me.
Then, with crashing, a rumbling and a torrent of laughter and words, the kids rush up the stairs from the school bus. The cupboard doors bang and the fridge door swings wide as two hot bodies push for access to whatever is on offer. The television is switched on at full volume, bags are thrown, crumbs are left and in a gradually decreasing flurry of activity they retreat to their rooms, a bedraggled line of possessions in their wake. Now the piano starts in one room and the voice excersises in the other. The television is still blaring, unwatched. I switch it off as the phone starts ringing again, this time not for me. I put work on hold until tomorrow, or later tonight or whenever I find my concentration again.
This is an afternoon in my house

Tuesday, September 02, 2003

On hold

I am on hold on the telephone. They play some recorded orchestral music, tinny through the handset. I listen half heartedly as I gaze out the window at the leaves dancing in the breeze. Then suddenly, she is there. Her fingers tracing the air as she plays the conductor, the twinkle in her eye laughs at my expression and laughs at her joy in the music, then I see him out of the corner of my eye. He is smiling at her. My memory plays this moment like a scene from a movie and I know that part of the reason I feel so fond of him still is because she loved him too.
She lives so vividly in my heart, she walks through my days in her words and her ways and her love and that she is gone now can never really be true when I feel her so close as I do. Perhaps I value him more than I should because when I think of my happiest times with her, he was there too. When I hear his voice I remember the utopia of that time, which can never be lost as long as I remember. So I love to hear his voice, it may not bring my Grandma back but it seems to bring her closer.