Dear Diary, I suppose the world will not stop turning, and the sun will often shine upon us; life in my small portion of the world is topsy turvy.
After the first day it was my fervent wish that Karen and Jake might go home and give Niece a chance to regain her equilibrium. No such luck! That first day dragged, and when I dragged myself into the kitchen for breakfast they were sitting at the island bar, muesli, banana and yoghurt in their bowls, and a glass of orange juice alongside, which shows they are followers of the 'healthy lifestyle', and in that respect belong to the same club as I.
Their greeting was warm and cheerful ... at 7.30am! I dislike early mornings. I dislike mornings until I have partaken of at least two cups of tea, liberally laced with sugar and milk. Karen poured the first cup for me, which earned her a brownie point. However she spoiled the next ten minutes by chattering, about nothing. Until my cups of tea have surged through my veins I am a sorry sight.
While I abhor appearing dishevelled, mornings are the exception to that self imposed rule. As the morning was cool I wore my candlewick dressing gown, a relic from the 60's, when my life was exciting and daring; when I danced the twist and the limbo, before the easy procurement of The Pill; when young girls flaunted their knees under short skirts and wore stiletto heels that ruined linoleum and parquet floors. I had kept the dressing gown occasionally bringing it out when I felt the need to be cherished. Strange Dear Diary, that an ancient pale lemon candlewick dressing gown can evoke warm memories. But, life has been different over the past 24 hours.
Slowly the English Breakfast tea drifted around my system reviving my sluggishness and reminding my stomach that it had not received food for 12-hours. Realising that Karen and Jake had bowls of my favourite breakfast, I suggested I join them.
"Where is your mother Karen?" I enquired.
Karen looked flummoxed, until the penny dropped. She smiled, lovingly, at her memories of the past day.
At this stage I felt humbled. Karen hadn't the pleasure of knowing her mother during her babyhood and childhood. The meeting would have triggered many feelings, emotions of joy, and sorrow.
"She must be feeling overwhelmed Aunt. I should have written and introduced myself much earlier instead of suddenly, out of the blue, telephoning and rushing into a garbled explanation, and inviting myself, and Jake, and not giving her the opportunity of assimilating all my news."
"Karen," I murmured, I had no idea of your existence. Your mother kept that secret so well. I am positive that man of hers had no inkling either. Just imagine how surprised he must feel!"
We sat quietly, the round white clock hanging on the wall next to the old Pear's soap poster of a little girl climbing into the bath in a room that had black and white tiles on floor and the wall behind the bath. I stared at the poster. The little girl had beautiful golden hair; the bath had curved legs that were visible; the bathroom in no way resembled modern bathrooms. I stared at Karen. Her hair blonde hair had roots a wonderful shade of gold. Many times hints had been tossed out to Niece to 'get rid of that old poster'. Suddenly the reason for its place of pride, in the kitchen where it was always in the line of vision, became obvious. The Pear's poster girl reminded Niece of the baby she had given up.
A shiver ran down my back. A unseen shadow crept over me and a deep sadness filled my heart. Dear Diary, my poor Niece. She had kept this important episode in her young life to herself.
After the first day it was my fervent wish that Karen and Jake might go home and give Niece a chance to regain her equilibrium. No such luck! That first day dragged, and when I dragged myself into the kitchen for breakfast they were sitting at the island bar, muesli, banana and yoghurt in their bowls, and a glass of orange juice alongside, which shows they are followers of the 'healthy lifestyle', and in that respect belong to the same club as I.
Their greeting was warm and cheerful ... at 7.30am! I dislike early mornings. I dislike mornings until I have partaken of at least two cups of tea, liberally laced with sugar and milk. Karen poured the first cup for me, which earned her a brownie point. However she spoiled the next ten minutes by chattering, about nothing. Until my cups of tea have surged through my veins I am a sorry sight.
While I abhor appearing dishevelled, mornings are the exception to that self imposed rule. As the morning was cool I wore my candlewick dressing gown, a relic from the 60's, when my life was exciting and daring; when I danced the twist and the limbo, before the easy procurement of The Pill; when young girls flaunted their knees under short skirts and wore stiletto heels that ruined linoleum and parquet floors. I had kept the dressing gown occasionally bringing it out when I felt the need to be cherished. Strange Dear Diary, that an ancient pale lemon candlewick dressing gown can evoke warm memories. But, life has been different over the past 24 hours.
Slowly the English Breakfast tea drifted around my system reviving my sluggishness and reminding my stomach that it had not received food for 12-hours. Realising that Karen and Jake had bowls of my favourite breakfast, I suggested I join them.
"Where is your mother Karen?" I enquired.
Karen looked flummoxed, until the penny dropped. She smiled, lovingly, at her memories of the past day.
At this stage I felt humbled. Karen hadn't the pleasure of knowing her mother during her babyhood and childhood. The meeting would have triggered many feelings, emotions of joy, and sorrow.
"She must be feeling overwhelmed Aunt. I should have written and introduced myself much earlier instead of suddenly, out of the blue, telephoning and rushing into a garbled explanation, and inviting myself, and Jake, and not giving her the opportunity of assimilating all my news."
"Karen," I murmured, I had no idea of your existence. Your mother kept that secret so well. I am positive that man of hers had no inkling either. Just imagine how surprised he must feel!"
We sat quietly, the round white clock hanging on the wall next to the old Pear's soap poster of a little girl climbing into the bath in a room that had black and white tiles on floor and the wall behind the bath. I stared at the poster. The little girl had beautiful golden hair; the bath had curved legs that were visible; the bathroom in no way resembled modern bathrooms. I stared at Karen. Her hair blonde hair had roots a wonderful shade of gold. Many times hints had been tossed out to Niece to 'get rid of that old poster'. Suddenly the reason for its place of pride, in the kitchen where it was always in the line of vision, became obvious. The Pear's poster girl reminded Niece of the baby she had given up.
A shiver ran down my back. A unseen shadow crept over me and a deep sadness filled my heart. Dear Diary, my poor Niece. She had kept this important episode in her young life to herself.
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