Sweet Girl is going through strange times – I do wonder if hormones are at play. Anyway, despite really not wanting to, she has managed to do her homework. She must use words in sentences to learn their spellings. She has given me permisson to share it with you all. The given words are in bold and blue, and you should all know that she gets extra marks for making her sentences interesting. In the last few weeks she has challenged herself to make a complete story from the set of often disparate words… My daughter the wordsmith, how I love her!
A sovereign, in 1066, was in disguise having a coffee at Cafe Nero. Being incognito, he found that he had to pay. However, as this was extraordinarily rare the king, whose name was Toby, had no cash in his pockets. Luckily he had just recently invented the cheques so he took out his feather quill and wrote a cheque to the waiter. As he handed the cheque to the waiter, King Toby realised in a sudden tsunami of shock how utterly grotesque this person was. He wore a hippy robe and a jester’s hat with a pale face covered in clown markings. Queen Tobathena suddenly burst through the wooden doors and screeched at the top of her voice, “Toby, oh Toby, I have some confidential information that is essential I give to you!”. Upon seeing the piece of parchment in her beloved’s hand, her whole body became stationary with shock. For five whole minutes she stood there, motionless. King Toby, to awaken his wife, tickled the beautiful lady under the chin. Tobathena took one glance at the horrific waiter and immediately recognised him as a hugely influential newspaper reporter who encouraged people to like the king.
I’m told that this is the end. It is designed to be a cliffhanger, but she also informs me that there will be no follow up. That’s our lot! I’m kind of gasping for the rest, but I shall have to live with the disappointment, for this young lady once decided rarely changes her mind.
Tensions are rising once again… Tomorrow marks the last day of the holidays, and anxieties about returning to school are causing little flowering bursts of panic, micro-explosions, less than silent pops of paranoia…
Much like one of those rather beautiful little games seen on such sites as Facebook, whereby a couple of bubbles grow and must be popped. If you fail to pop one before it hits another, more bubbles appear, growing in number at a frightful rate. Much like this game, we have become a family of bubbles waiting to burst, to pop, to explode into nothingness, or chaos…
And so we try to protect ourselves and each other from those explosions of anxiety, anger, frustration, fraught anticipation. The only way in which we instinctively seek to do this is to withdraw. Some of us quite physically – behind screens, in front of meaningless games or distracting laughter inducing comedy. Others behind a smile, an encouraging hug, an “it’ll be alright, you’ll see”…
Either way, it’s quite false.
There is a fear of pain there… fear of pain inflicted by others onto us, their anger, retribution, nameless emotions… fear also of inflicting our own pain onto those we love…
That bubble we wrap around ourselves for self protection is now itself wrapped by a bubble put in place for the protection of others… because if we explode, we will hurt those we love.
All good, all utterly sensible in the end, except for one thing…
… those bubbles, they do so isolate.
And so the five of us (nope, four… the little one is largely oblivious to the quite insane construct going on around him). So the four of us find ourselves in terribly separate bubbles. Three of us almost certainly have constructed these Double Bubbles. One, wonderful, beautiful, awe-ful boy has a rather more fragile bubble… it does tend to pop with alarming frequency.
It doesn’t help, you know… the building of bubbles.
I’m not yet sure how to manage without them, but I do know they don’t help. They merely serve to render us alone, trapped inside a fear of the pop.
And thinking about it, would the pop be so terrible? I know there is a science of bubbles… and that the pop is as much a part of the bubble as anything else.
The pop frightens me terribly, and so I keep constructing my bubbles. I know that in a few days, when some kind of stability has been re-established, I will be able to merge my bubble once again with that of Darling Man, and that of Sweet Girl.
I know that we will slowly dismantle our temporary outer bubbles and that the isolation will dissipate.
But I recognise a pattern that we continually repeat. That our endings and beginnings are merely transitions from one state to another, a little like a pendulum.
And despite all the growing I seek and hope to achieve I’m not sure that I’ve really managed to move on at all from all the various traumas of life. I think I might be standing still.
Whether that is good, bad, or something else entirely I have no idea at all… Thoughts to ponder as once again I find myself running to this page at the end of a school holiday.