Skip to main content

All those little things

Little things - the things that don't really matter, the things we can and do live without, the things we stumble upon and notice only when we're not too busy, the things that may not exist except in our imagination but that if we could capture and hold them would make our lives better - these are the little things I would wish for


  • intelligent grass (Yes! Getting off to an improbable start.I know. But stick with me, the probability of veering close to reality improves with the other little things below. For now lets get back to this one ...) - grass that senses when it is growing at the edge of a flower bed, aligns itself neatly in the horizontal plane and never creeps vertically down the precisely cut lawn edge and would baulk at the idea of throwing runners out onto the pristine soil between the flowers.( Hmmm ... if only it were pristine.)

  • bottled kisses - I'm not talking about the full mouth kiss of lovers but the familial peck on the cheek between parent and child - the kiss that says I love you utterly; that is unconditional and more precious than any material gift. It is the same kiss that the judgement of their peers forces children to suppress at the school gate but still crave at bedtime. It is the kiss that rewards a mother more than any whispered thank you. It is the kiss that cares

  • glasses that clean themselves; that never smear when touched; that sit obediently on the bridge of your nose without ever sliding either up (too close to your eyes where your eye lashes paint the inside of the lenses with tears) or down (necessitating the finger push and the inevitable smudged finger print)

  • dog biscuits that don't smell foul and that don't crumble into pocket gravel

  • time limited nail varnish - I haven't fully thought this one through, but Littlest likes to paint her nails, my nails, and the nails of any visiting friend (such are her powers of persuasion that many a young man has left our home hoping that his mother, girlfriend, sister, female neighbour has some nail varnish remover). Many too the Monday morning when Littlest has walked into school, hands in tight fists, so that no teacher will notice her nails. A nail varnish with a built in time-to-decay (say ... 24 hours) would also prevent my toes giving the impression that I make a habit of kicking stones around while not wearing any shoes. I know I could just remove the chipped paint with nail varnish remover but first I'd have to remember and second I'd have to find the time.

  • chocolate that is all-that's-good-about-chocolate but without the eat-as-much-as-me-as-you'd-like-and-you'll-get-fat element.

  • dog hair that becomes invisible as soon as it falls off the dog and lands on the floor. Or alternatively, dog hair that when swirling in playful eddies across the wooden kitchen floor is invisible to anyone male.

  • a world without wasps. And warfare. And viruses. (Those are pretty big things actually. And worth wishing for.)

  • an answer to the question - 'Why have you been lying to me for years? You told me lying was bad.' When you-know-who who eats the mince pies and pours the whisky back into the bottle is rumbled and found to be you-know-me.

  • an intelligent music player that would not only automatically match your mood but also sense when to play a song or poem or segment of narrative to make your spirit soar.

  • winter evenings, warm socks, a good glass of wine, a comfy chair, a good book and a sleepy, quiet house

  • more Sherlock. Roll on January 1st. But not before we have enjoyed Christmas.



Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Colour, Delacroix, flochetage and why don't we all have a go at inventing words

Yes - it is a real word. Flochetage. Well, a real-ish word. One invented by the painter Delacroix, when he found the dictionary cupboard bare and required a word to describe his technique of layering different coloured paints, using lightly pulled brush strokes to create texture and pattern and thereby enhance his base-layer colours (... lost? - stick around, read on and all will become clear. Or perhaps muddier ...). Flochetage implies both stringiness and threadiness. Apparently. And it sounds good - in a filling-the-mouth-with-sound sort of a way. Try it ... flochetaaaage. Not that I speak French. So I am probably mis-pronouncing it. Nor am I an artist. So what do I know about painting techniques - except that I think this one works. What I do like is the concept - you invent a new technique in whatever it is you do, hunt around for the vocabulary to describe it, find the dictionary is lacking, so make up a word of your own and announce to the world what it means. Delacroix isn&#
Post a Comment
Read more

My beloved boy, how lucky I have been

It's an odd thing that when we are waiting for someone to die ... and I say someone here even though the one in question was a dog - but to us he had character and a place forever in our hearts and was more of a familiar someone than some of the people in our lives. So, I'll start again - it's an odd thing that when we are waiting for someone to die, our senses go into overdrive. We notice things that normally would be part of the background of our every day. We breathe more - or rather, we don't but what we do is notice our breathing more, as we watch his. We pause. We think. We listen to ourselves and our inner voices speak. Memories flood our dreams ... though sleep is fitful.  Why am I telling you this? ... ... we lost this beautiful boy today And in the hours before he went, I saw perfect spheres of dew on blades of grass - little orbs holding micro-images of our world; a bumble bee drunk on nectar, yellow-dusted with pollen, resting in a crocus; ten - yes, ten!
Post a Comment
Read more

Curlews, summer skies and walking in circles.

Summer skies over the Yorkshire Dales and my mind is set to rest mode. But that rest is not totally restful; there is a niggle ... a memory, a hint of childhood, something that unsettles slightly - a light brush stroke of discomfort; a gossamer breath of discombobulation and a 'Woah! Wait a moment!' moment of 'that's-not-right!' - we're about as far from the sea as it is possible to be in middle Britain and yet, I can hear the distinctive Peep! Peep! of oystercatchers and the piercing cry of curlew. Here -  in the blue skies of the North Yorkshire dales and along the footpaths - and above the endless miles of drystone walls are birds that should be at the coast.  Oystercatchers, with their distinctive red pliers attached to their heads feed on - you've guessed it - oyster beds. All along the coastline of the British Isles, their distinctive cry is the call of summer. Drowned out somewhat by the banter of seagulls but sharp and
Post a Comment
Read more