Today I looked in the bag of clothes I’d kept from my own babies’ childhoods. Here is Eli in bell-bottomed overalls worn in 1981 by his mother and in 1984 by his uncle Sam, and a hat knitted by his great-grandma for her grandson.
And in his mother’s chic French sweater
And in the “Exersaucer,” the CEO seated at his executive desk with an array of fascinating devices to keep him busy.
Last Remembrance Day, it was freezing, and those poor elderly veterans were shivering in the cold. Today was gorgeous – 18 degrees, record-breaking high. I went for a walk on the Don Valley Trail and was too hot. When the guns began to sound at 11, I stopped still for a minute, giving thanks to those who died, and thanks for those who did not – my father who was in a MASH unit of the American army, my Uncle Edgar who was a radio operator on a B52 in the Pacific, my mother who helped to crack German submarine codes at Bletchley Park. The Great Generation. Today, for once, those who stood saluting by the Cenotaph stood under a gentle sun.
Went across town to get my fix of the squishiest, most delicious baby on the planet. When I got home, there was a message from Mum’s caregiver – a nurse got her in the shower today and washed her hair. This is extraordinary when you know that my mother hasn’t had a shower in about 15 years. She is not a fan of showers. But today she had one, and then some ham sandwich and strawberries for dinner.
Go Mum! Nice knitting, by the way. I still have the little blue coat you made to go with the hat, but it’s too small for Eli already. As is the hat. But as you can see, he didn’t mind, at least for a minute or two, until he pulled it off and tried to eat it.
