Sunday wander

Sunday, 6 May 2012




The Husband stayed true to his word and although I didn't get a lie in and a bath I did get a sort-of back rub and a lovely lie in. I think I'll keep him.

The Toddler has a new found game of opening one of the bedroom windows, joy. He can't really fall out of it as we have those safety doo-dahs on that prevent them from opening wide unless you can locate the release catch however it does ring warning bells for trapped fingers as he happily opens and slams it shut again, many many many times then has an absolute meltdown should I dare to remove him from the window, more joy. I much prefer his older past time of simply sitting on the window sill and happily glancing out of closed windows.

He was so engrossed by this new game that he spent an entire hour doing it and consequently not napping for that hour by which point the three cooped up personalities downstairs had reached exploding point so The Husband wisely took himself , Thing One and Thing Two out for an expedition before they massacred each other.

Upon waking from our nap they were still not home and the day was still bright and fresh you know blue skies and birdsong and all that jazz so with The Toddler on my back we set out to attempt to meet them on their return.  We kept out pace slow taking time to count cats, point out birds, touch branches and leaves and enjoying the touch of sunlight on our faces.

Anyone who is unfortunate enough to know me will realise that I have no direction sense.  No, really.

The Husband wasn't picking up his phone and I'd forgotten to wear my tubagrip on the Ankle of Doom so I decided it was probably unwise to chance which direction to walk in so The Toddler and I headed for the graveyard instead.  I love graveyards, seriously.  The older and emptier the better.  There's no better place to reflect and to feel alive and to simply exist.  There's a dance in the air of sorrow and of tranquillity.  This sadness isn't bitter it's peaceful.

The Toddler adored the butterflies and the squirrel scampering up the trees, pointing at the trees and flowers and the subtle echo of his babbling song rang a certain poignancy throughout the otherwise empty graveyard.



As we entered the graves were new and shiny with an abundance of trinkets and flowers adorning them.  The inscriptions were crisp and bright glaring into view 'see me! see me! remember me remember me!' yet we ventured further and deeper into the graveyard where the flower urns are empty and rusted, the gravestones larger and chipped, the words partially covered by a duvet of moss in an antiquated script.  The air seems stiller there, heavier. The forgottons.  The graves full of entire families until there were none left to squeeze in nor to care for those within it.  There's both a beauty and an infinite sadness here.  These people were once alive and loved and are now names on stone, to be both immortalised and forgotten.   I like to read the names and dates, swallowing the inscriptions like jagged pills, allowing them to stick in my throat gifting them with the ability to effect and affect.  To be able to say that for that moment, they were being thought of again  and that in that moment they mattered, again. Upon a  few with empty rusted  flower urns I'd scatter daisies and dandelions, a small token to say I was there and to acknowledge that they're there.   Occasionally we'd come across a grave of an infant or child, the urge to bleach my eyes and memory...to walk past is always great which is exactly what makes me ensure I do linger, that I read the inscriptions in full that I allow the tragedy to ripple over us, because it is a tragedy.  Children and babies aren't supposed to die. So I'd stand and take  moment, squeezing the little foot by my hip gently, tenderly and totally appreciating the gifts I have before moving on.




I called The Husband again to see where about's they were and they were home already so homeward bound The Toddler and I st only to meet Thing One, Thing two and The Husband half way, the former on their scooters.  It was the perfect compliment to the gentle peace I felt and the perfect antidote to death, a jolt of pure energetic youth, real life.  The short journey home was littered with squeals and giggles, of chatter and smiles as the sun kissed our faces.

Please don't rain tomorrow, let us walk again.


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