Bank Holiday Weekend

4th May 2016

Bank Holiday Weekend


Again, looking back to last year and it's coming to the end of the April challenge. For both 28th and 29th April I responded to the prompt.
But there is a little story there as well about a grandmother who is not ready to die.
We've just been away with some of the family on a long weekend and I also am not ready to die. No one is, of course. We need to make the most of life and especially of those ones that we love . I am conscious that we are giving them memories that they will treasure after we are gone ( hopefully) , much in the same way that I treasure so much those times that a smell or a word can bring to mind memories of happy times with my own grandmother and now my mother and father.
When we arrived at the caravan park my main concern was that we would be close and that the caravans would be clean - they were amazing. More than big enough and scrupulously clean and although not all together they were within easy reach of each other, as I found out after doing a lot of complaining while studying the map the girl in pink was showing me.
Although it was quite cold, it was mainly dry and we had some lovely moments during a relatively short three days. Just walking together and chatting as we took in the amazing scenery of Dorset brought tears to my eyes. My children enjoying each others company as we ate a meal,  a simple pleasure but such an important glue for family life. The young ones playing games, getting to know their cousins and laying the foundations for future friendships.  The three babies who were with  adapting to the strange circumstances so well that our plans were never held up because they were with us.
It was indeed good. We need to do more of it.
I came home a bit tired but happy .



Day 29:  29th April, 29th Poem
Prompt: to use the idea of a bridge.


                                          Ponte Vecchio

Alone...

She walks out of Cretella's,

Most expensive Jeweller's on

The Ponte Vecchio bridge

Alone... as she wants

Ring given back

Him given back,

Each step lighter than the last,

Head held high,

Drinks in future possibilities

With each autumn breath.

New colour wraps her in  

Promise of adventure. 

She looks down the Arno River

Still,  blue, 

Reflections,

Like a painting,

Forms beautiful, but not real,

Was that how she was ?

Not  now,

Not now
No,

Now she  feels more than real 

If that can be.

Yes, that can be

And,

Now she  is free

Day 28:  28th April, 28th Poem

For the prompt:

In The Shade

Cold, 

Like marble,

Having hot bath

And also for today, a story:

                                Birthday

             My grandmother would much rather be running the London Marathon, especially as this was to be it's final year. Having already taken part seven times before, it was one of the things she most looked forward to.
             But, instead,  today being her birthday and also the last time we would see her, she is having a party.
             "Grams , what about this one?" Bright pink lipstick in hand,  hair dyed purple and gathered on top of her head,she looks away from the mirror as I hold up her  red dress decorated with tiny gold butterflies around the top.
             "OK, yes, that's fine. Get me a cuppa please, would you,  dear?"
             "In a minute, I just want to help find shoes to match your dress"
              The truth is I want to spend as much time as I can with her before she leaves for good.
Before I can bring the tea back to the bedroom she is standing beside me in the kitchen.
              "Wow, you look great. Well, you always do, but today..." I turn,  fiddle with the cups and quietly wipe away tears  that I can't hold back.
              "I never told you how I met your grandfather, did I?" she sips her tea, enjoying a moment of wistfulness. I try to compose myself as I answer,
               "No, but you better do it now or I'll never know." So she did.
               A tale of young love enfolds and we are both surprised when an hour later the doorbell rings. Mum and dad have come to take us to the venue.
               As we walk into the Sianuthe Hotel, balloons, music and about one hundred and fifty people give us  a cheery greeting. Grandmother smiles warmly as she is escorted through the adoring crowd, to her table, where she sees her close family gathered.
             "Happy birthday, Mum and huge commiserations. I wish it could be different" Auntie Rathuna  throws her  arms around her mother sobbing, as the others mutter their agreement with her heartfelt words. Two more daughters, one son and  five grandchildren take their turn in similar fashion. I try to sit next to my grandmother, but that place has been taken, on one side by my father, the eldest and on the other by Nick, my cousin and the eldest grandchild.
             We enjoy the most wonderful meal , with excellent service and even better food.
             "I think that salmon was the best I've ever tasted" Grandmother says pushing  her empty plate to the side and carrying on her conversation with my cousin Nick. She is always interested in hearing about his research into the  new  drugs programme. She has been closer to Nick since his Dad went three years ago after they found out that he had cancer of the bowel.
             It didn't used to be this way. In 2015 when grandmother was forty, dad told me that people were looked after when they had  these sort of illnesses and nursed till they died a natural death . He also said that people often lived till they were eighty or ninety or even a hundred. I couldn't imagine what that was like, what kind of world it was then . I mean who would look after all those people.
              My grandmother has been lucky. Today is her seventy fifth birthday. The age people are allowed to live to if they are fit and healthy.  If they didn't interfere she would probably live many more years. Maybe she'd be one of those who lived to be a hundred. No, that's too weird.
            The meal  over we hit the dance floor where my  grandmother, who loves dancing, doesn't sit down  till it's over.
The end of the evening comes much too soon  for my liking. But it's the way it is. The way it has to be.     We say our goodbyes, waving at the car as dad drives his mother to the Gryndiomo Centre where they will give her an injection and she will die.