Sunday, September 23, 2007

Letter to Charlie #2 (Re: Temper Tantrums ie Throwing Yourself Onto the Floor and Pounding Your Fists)

Dear Charlie,

Who taught you how to do this?

Much love,
Your Mum

In the Last Few Weeks

In the last few weeks, the weather has been warm.
One day, I sat at a table outside Jones the Grocer, ate dark chocolate rocky road, and drank Fruits of the Forest tea.
Another day, I did the same thing.
One day, Charlie turned one. I made a cake in the shape of a ladybeetle. Just before his party, he came out in spots. ‘Charlie,’ I said, ‘do you have chicken pox?’ I thought of cancelling the party but I’d already made the cake.
So we kept him apart from the other babies. He didn’t seem to notice. He seemed very glad of heart. And the next day the spots were gone.
That same day, I looked in the fridge at the left-over birthday cake.
Guess what? Its spots had also gone.
One day I saw the movie Once. I would have liked to see it Twice.
Ha ha.
One day I read Rachel Cohn’s new book and I thought it was savagely good.
One day I visited a friend: his floorboards shone and he had baked a magnificent devil’s food cake. (The week before, he said, he’d baked a quark cake.) Another day, a friend phoned from Canada, and sang a song into my voicemail. (In a separate message, she told me that her daughter had been made into sprite. The daughter had hoped to be a fairy.)
One day I saw my old neighbour. This was by chance.
“What are the the new neighbours like?” she asked.
I told her they were very mysterious. “They come and go,” I said, “at the strangest hours.”
“Shift workers,” she said at once.
I was at a loss for words. “Anyway” I said, a little frostily. “I’ve gotta go.” Abruptly, I walked away.
One day I realised that a lot of things are broken around here: the printer, my camera, the stereo, my toe.