The Old Pear Tree
Today, for the first time, the weather seemed to have bypassed Spring and moved straight into early Summer, which is my favourite time of the year. Sunshine and flowers and all the Summer still to come!
The huge old pear tree is in full blossom and looked wonderful against the blue sky.
I've known that tree almost all my life, of course - my parents moved to this house when I was three. In 1999 we bought the old Victorian house from them and they had a house built in its grounds, where my mother lives now. The Communist, of course, now lives in a nursing home, but at this time last year he was still at home.
My uncle and aunt came to visit this morning, on their way between their home near Manchester and my cousin - their daughter's - family home in Harrogate.
My uncle is my mother's brother. When I was a child I stayed with them a lot - they lived near Stockport then - and they were always very kind to me and I always had a lovely time with my cousin: she is two years younger than me.
One year we found a clover plant that grew nothing but four-leaf clovers - we picked and pressed lots in the hope that they would bring us luck for many years to come. We played a lot of Cowboys and Indians - my cousin had a tepee and we did a lot of lighting fires and trying to make smoke signals and saying "How" to each other in a not, perhaps, politically-correct manner: but this was long before politically-correct had been invented, of course.
So this morning my uncle and aunt were on their way to see my cousin, who is married with one daughter, two years younger than my daughter, in a strange repeat in the next generation. Our daughters played together as children, too, and stayed with each other, as we did.
"So," said my kind aunt this morning, "are things easier now your father's in the nursing home?"
"They should be," I said,"but they're not. Because he spends all his time wondering when he can come home, and he'll never be able to."
I found myself looking at the pear tree, and thinking that, when it was in blossom last year, The Communist was at home, and I was suddenly very upset.
"Look," said my aunt, "we don't see you so often these days, but please don't forget, we're there for you, in any way that we can be."
She hugged me and I was suddenly about eight again. In a good way.
The huge old pear tree is in full blossom and looked wonderful against the blue sky.
I've known that tree almost all my life, of course - my parents moved to this house when I was three. In 1999 we bought the old Victorian house from them and they had a house built in its grounds, where my mother lives now. The Communist, of course, now lives in a nursing home, but at this time last year he was still at home.
My uncle and aunt came to visit this morning, on their way between their home near Manchester and my cousin - their daughter's - family home in Harrogate.
My uncle is my mother's brother. When I was a child I stayed with them a lot - they lived near Stockport then - and they were always very kind to me and I always had a lovely time with my cousin: she is two years younger than me.
One year we found a clover plant that grew nothing but four-leaf clovers - we picked and pressed lots in the hope that they would bring us luck for many years to come. We played a lot of Cowboys and Indians - my cousin had a tepee and we did a lot of lighting fires and trying to make smoke signals and saying "How" to each other in a not, perhaps, politically-correct manner: but this was long before politically-correct had been invented, of course.
So this morning my uncle and aunt were on their way to see my cousin, who is married with one daughter, two years younger than my daughter, in a strange repeat in the next generation. Our daughters played together as children, too, and stayed with each other, as we did.
"So," said my kind aunt this morning, "are things easier now your father's in the nursing home?"
"They should be," I said,"but they're not. Because he spends all his time wondering when he can come home, and he'll never be able to."
I found myself looking at the pear tree, and thinking that, when it was in blossom last year, The Communist was at home, and I was suddenly very upset.
"Look," said my aunt, "we don't see you so often these days, but please don't forget, we're there for you, in any way that we can be."
She hugged me and I was suddenly about eight again. In a good way.
posted by Daphne at 8:37 pm
3 Comments:
Very poignant. Thank you for sharing.
It often amazes me how an object or scent can take me right back to a certain time of my life or to a certain person.
I've got my Daddy's can and hat hanging on a hook in my dressing room. It makes me happy to look at it.
I hope the pear tree will bring you nothing but happy thoughts in the future.
sighhhh I have Daddy's cane and not his can hanging on a hook....guess I should read what I type!
My aunt (my late mother's sister) is similarly kind and I really look forward to the times I see her and my uncle and the way they want to pay for my bus and tube fare like I was a kid (now I have an Oyster card they don't do this but they still offer). I know when the phone rings mid morning on a Sunday it is usually my lovely aunt just calling to see how I am. Thank you for reminding me I should tell her how much I love those phone calls and my visits to see them both.
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