The Life Recycled!

You know that family dynamics have reached a transitional point when your entire stock of chocolate biscuits appear in the re-cycling bin. They do this spontaneously — apparently of their own volition. You call your daughter who is staying for the week-end to witness the mystery. You both stare into the gaping mouth of the green food-recycling bin where pale, slightly crackly milk chocolate digestives peep out from beneath cauliflower leaves and carrot peelings. “Perhaps it’s for the best, Mum? They don’t look very fresh!”

“I just fancied something sweet,” chips in son-in-law from somewhere in the background. The plot is edging towards a painful denouement. “But I couldn’t find anything that had expired later than 2018.”

“But, but…” I suddenly sound defensive, “We’ve only just dealt with the spaghetti mountain.”

“Not quite” interjects Judas Iscariot who is helping set the table, ” we’re up to 2016.”

“Well that’s no age at all for dried spaghetti” I snap, I’m starting to sound petulant. “Anyway, I’m on a war footing.”

So I have reached some sort of milestone. It only seems yesterday that I was furious with my own mother when I caught her rummaging through my kitchen waste to rescue things that she felt needed to be recycled — this was early in her eco-warrior phase. She had done this by emptying the entire contents of my kitchen bin onto newspaper on my kitchen floor.

I seem to have come all the way around some sort of cycle — I think I’ll go and hide my dirty underwear, like great-granny did, in back copies of the Daily Telegraph and start spitting my pills behind the toilet cistern.


Getting Closer to the Edge

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I have been getting to know the stranger who will soon be in our midst — the new arrival to challenge all our preconceptions and established relationships — presently a nudge to my proffered hand, like the mumble of a presence in another room, but soon to be much more.

You see, nothing is ever what it seems — you are not what you seem — not what you were a moment ago — time changes everything.

A first baby, at any time, changes a child into a parent and sends the parent from centre stage to the wings —  maybe a relief after 35 years in a leading role, to emerge in a new role which could be tricky but could be amusing, even liberating.

A baby makes little sisters into big sisters; little brothers become big brothers, mentors and protectors; siblings become aunties, next in line of responsibility in case of disaster — and dogs…  Sorry, Pedro, but dogs become a threat.

We are all looking forward, or are oblivious, to our impending rebirth,  meanwhile we wait.

Gwithian Sands