I keep missing the poppies in my garden. There are plenty of fat buds but the emerging petals are whisked away in a moment by the wind and rain. I go out with a cup of tea and there are new buds and silk petals littered on the wet earth.
There are masses of beautiful scarlet poppies in front of Z’s school where the gardening club have scattered wildflower seed. They’ve left a triangle of unmown grass and last week we stood for five minutes watching the five gleaming goldfinches hanging off the thistle heads. So much loveliness for such a little effort. Today, sat on my bindweed adorned bench, I consoled myself with how properly wild the garden is. I’m going to get some photo’s and show you in the next dry moment. The grasses are up to my knee and topped with feathery seedhead plumes and my hollyhocks are gathering their strength for their breathtaking flower spikes.
I’ve finished my first baby hat, it seems veeeeery small and I am doubtful that an august baby will want a knitted hat… I’m trying to knit some boot things to match. It is very hard (for me) I don’t really understand what I’m doing – just struggling to complete each row according to the instructions and hoping the shape will make sense eventually. It’s a fine metaphor for life (but sure it tis no barn english) (this is a Simpsons quote and I am ashamed but Steve says it so often that, for me, it is a Steve quote.)
All my big hope projects lie pretty much where I left them when I last described them. They’ve been slightly abandoned as I slog through a grey period but I can feel a lifting in spirits and the feeling I could, maybe, accomplish something tingles in my fingers. I must fit more in this up period – a bit of DIY crowbar – ing could be good for the soul. Mum and Dad are coming on Wednesday for our postponed mussels and sardines feast. I need to pay more attention to the sweetness as life rolls on.
Today my heart caught at how big my girl seems. She has suddenly done one of those development jumps. In Asda last week she really wanted some new pyjamas but they didn’t have her size. Crouched down beside her defiant toddler self clutching the next size up to her chest I point out the trousers will be too long for her legs. “my legs get bigger mummy – they get longer in one week, two week.” It feels such a sophisticated new grasp of time passing, legs growing and long string of words threaded together and presented to me like glittering diamonds and lustrous pearls. She is her own person with busy secret thoughts behind her eyes. People ask if she looks like me or Steve but she is her own distinct shape.
In PJ’s that are much too big for her.