It’s a particularly beautiful time of year in our Los Angeles neighbourhood; the flowers of the Jacaranda tree are blooming everywhere. We were walking the dog yesterday and the fallen purple blossoms which lay strewn upon the sidewalks glowed almost luminescent in the fading evening light
When I look back into the past I can not locate the moment at which I first discovered the novelist Mary Stewart. In the days when, as teenagers, we would make weekly family trips to the library I was always happy to discover one of her novels unfamiliar and unread. In later years the delight came from rediscovering one to read again. I must have read all of her novels ten times over or more.
Sunday was Mother’s Day here in America. It was a very sweet celebration this year. My daughter and her classmates sang songs about us; we were heroes, monster slayers and teddy bears while my son’s witty and heartfelt card made me smile in a way that hasn’t left me all week. It seemed somehow not quite right to sit for a meal and so we all piled into the car and drove down to Dog Beach.
We’ve said goodbye to family for now and once again an ocean separates us. I was coming back from the airport a few days ago and the late afternoon traffic dictated that I avoid the freeway. I drove towards home along one of my favorite stretches of road which takes you through Mar Vista, across Santa Monica and eventually meanders into Brentwood.
The ocean dressed in grey today. I was out fairly early walking the dog and we ventured onto the sand so that he could dig, roll around and coat his nose. Quite the fool but the enormous grin and beating tail drew answering smiles from passers by.
I woke up early this morning and gazed out at the inky dark sky as the lights from Wilshire Boulevard twinkled and the palms swayed, caught in a balmy breeze. The siren song of Los Angeles shimmered in the blue pre-dawn light and the enchantment of the city that we call home beckoned me afresh, as it often does when I’m least expecting it.
It’s been a week of standing on either side of the desk and playing the role of both teacher and student. Yesterday, as evening approached, I drove south in the light sunshine after a grey and silvery blue day, listening to the opening chapters of Enlightened Vagabond by Matthieu Ricard. I was headed to a regular tutoring client and wearing that particular set of clothes is always reinvigorating.
I’ve discovered a new children’s illustrator recently. Her name is Kinyuko Craft and her creations are exquisite. My daughter is discovering the magic of fairy tales and reading these wonderful stories accompanied by such a depth of visual wonder is a beautiful experience.
It’s a comfortingly domestic evening. My son sits practising piano chords while my daughter bustles around wearing fairy wings and the dog lies gazing soulfully into the near distance. I sit with my mind training text on my lap, musing happily on the weekend just past. It occurs to me that memories of my young family will consist of many moments such as these; when we were together and the world of childhood was all around me.
It was our daughter’s fourth birthday this week. With a hop, skip and a jump, it seems, we arrived in the wondrous realm of the little girl. From Poppy Troll birthday banners, confetti balloons, gigantic rose gold helium creations to tiaras, mermaid costumes and cuddles, it’s a glorious place to spend time.
Birthdays are in the air in our house at the moment. Our daughter turns four in a couple of weeks and talks of little else but parties, friends, balloons and presents. It so happens that our canine family member, Duke, also has his birthday in March and while he will be turning six in human years it is also very nearly five years since we first laid eyes upon him.
My husband and son left early yesterday for a soccer tournament in San Diego. The noisy haste with which they departed left an unexpected stillness in its wake. Living the speedy dance of family life the weekends often pass in a blur and so I’ve spent quiet moments sitting on our balcony watching the rain as our dog gazes territorially at passers by and offers the odd ferocious bark.
