Sharpening The Pencils

5th July 2011 Tuesday

It’s still so light at 9 pm - the day lingers on and on.

I notice how much I have resisted writing again since we came back from North Wales with the turn-ups on my jeans full of sand and the memory of my three week old great nephew - the silky softness of his head imprinted, nuzzled, on my neck.

I notice too how I got lost in my family on holiday - old patterns re-surfacing - I was always the youngest - trying to catch up - ‘wait for me’. And this time torn between being with my husband and being with my siblings - where should I be? Wanting everyone to be happy - imagining I can mend it all....

Yesterday we drove up to Dartmoor - an invitation to lunch from some clients of my husband’s. I say,

Let’s go via Mortonhampstead.

I can tell my husband doesn’t know where that is although we have been there many times.

I say, It’s where we buy those cheese straws.

Then he remembers.

Now I can see that we need to learn a new language - words tagged with pictures, with memories. I have been resisting it. It feels like going back to writing in long hand with a pencil when typing is quicker. But if it keeps the channels open between us then I will keep sharpening those pencils - re-writing our scripts.