September
I've been up at my dad's since Friday.
I'm currently sitting on the bed in my teenage bedroom, looking at a black ceramic bowl I decorated with silver marker pen when I was 16. Apart from a blue and orange teddy bear my aunty bought me when I was four there's nothing much else of mine in here apart from the toiletries I've accrued here over the years. There's a ceramic owl that![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
emungere sent me for Christmas last year, and a card I made for my mum about 15 years ago. It depicts a jungle scene, drawn in coloured pencil. It's all achingly familiar. My mum's touch is still everywhere in this room, and in the house. We've changed things here and there, repainted bits, but it doesn't alter much. My mum chose all the furniture, decorations and curtains, bed linen, rugs, towels. Everything. I don't find it so painful now though, because it feels something like an embrace.
I cleaned out some of her old perfume bottles yesterday, that we'd just let sit there: half used bottles of L'air du Temps and cannisters of Impulse. It's been a year and it's not like she is coming back to use them. Still, it overwhelmed me with grief. I kept two of them. One of them, called Summer Rain, smells just like her, and my brother and I both like to spray it in her room sometimes. The other is Floris's Jasmine, that she loved and that I can't bear to get rid of.
We're going up to my dad's garden soon to pick tomatoes and damsons. The last pot of my mum's jam has been used up, so I want to make some more. It will probably take some experimenting before I can get it as good as hers but she taught me how to make it once and I haven't forgotten her advice.
My brother is downstairs pickling onions, the wind is getting up outside, and I'd better go and sort out the laundry. I hope you're all having good Sundays, flist.
I'm currently sitting on the bed in my teenage bedroom, looking at a black ceramic bowl I decorated with silver marker pen when I was 16. Apart from a blue and orange teddy bear my aunty bought me when I was four there's nothing much else of mine in here apart from the toiletries I've accrued here over the years. There's a ceramic owl that
emungere sent me for Christmas last year, and a card I made for my mum about 15 years ago. It depicts a jungle scene, drawn in coloured pencil. It's all achingly familiar. My mum's touch is still everywhere in this room, and in the house. We've changed things here and there, repainted bits, but it doesn't alter much. My mum chose all the furniture, decorations and curtains, bed linen, rugs, towels. Everything. I don't find it so painful now though, because it feels something like an embrace.I cleaned out some of her old perfume bottles yesterday, that we'd just let sit there: half used bottles of L'air du Temps and cannisters of Impulse. It's been a year and it's not like she is coming back to use them. Still, it overwhelmed me with grief. I kept two of them. One of them, called Summer Rain, smells just like her, and my brother and I both like to spray it in her room sometimes. The other is Floris's Jasmine, that she loved and that I can't bear to get rid of.
We're going up to my dad's garden soon to pick tomatoes and damsons. The last pot of my mum's jam has been used up, so I want to make some more. It will probably take some experimenting before I can get it as good as hers but she taught me how to make it once and I haven't forgotten her advice.
My brother is downstairs pickling onions, the wind is getting up outside, and I'd better go and sort out the laundry. I hope you're all having good Sundays, flist.