I look at what others write that capture the essence and poignance of a moment. Mine seem prosaic and stacatto reports. I feel this acutely at the moment. I want to store up happy memories for the bad times ahead. A source to dip into of strength for the tears to come.
We went to auntie's house yesterday. Had a great time. There was nothing special about it. But it was a warm sunny afternoon in a summer of wind and rain. The boy was in a good mood and was happy to let auntie and I talk intermittently while he watched TV or played with toys.
After he and auntie had made tea and coffee, we sat in the garden. The boy was very excited as the black cat was there. The boy poured him some milk and then sat on the bench to watch him. I sat on the doorstep enjoying the sun - not something I ever do during the week. Auntie sat by her flowers. We chatted about nothing much amiably with the fragrance of lavender adding to the warmth. The rustle of her bamboo like a whispering screen from the rest of the world. And the pink bouganvillia a showy, exotic splash of coulour contrasting with the deep green of the fig.
The boy got the confidence to go and stroke the cat. He kept gathering his confidence and then tottering unsteadily towards the cat, only to have the jerkiness of his movements startle it into moving to a different part of the garden. After he had stalked it unsuccessfully a few times, he managed to get near enough to crouch down beside her. He put out his hand with some trepidation and was able to restrain himself to stroke it gently. He was thrilled when he had managed it.
Eventually, the cat decided to go somewhere else. The boy waved goodbye and we went back inside.
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