Dear Diary, Peace reigns throughout! Bliss! Pure bliss!
Once the household settled down Niece and I tidied the spare room, stripped the bed and washed the bed linen. The morning was warm with a slight breeze; the sheets soon dried, were folded and put away in the linen cupboard. We sat at the bench for a quick coffee discussing the past days. While Niece was overjoyed to meet her long lost daughter, she admitted the experience was quite traumatic.
"Aunt Alice", she confided. " That baby never truly left my thoughts, but when she was born there were no alternatives but adoption. Today young mothers-to-be have so many options. I actually feel envious of their choices; they don't need to experience the heartbreak in losing a child. It is how I imagine a still-birth might feel. There is a baby; then there isn't. Every year, on the date of her birthday I would go to a quiet place, often in the park, where I would wonder where she was, what she looked like, did she know her birth mother, did she ever think of her; you can imagine what raced through my thoughts Aunt. That was the only day of the year I allowed myself to wallow a little. Otherwise I kept my mind occupied with things; keeping a home, and just moving from day to day."
I felt small Dear Diary. In all the years I had lived with Hester and Phil I never guessed her secret. A sudden rush of emotion surged through me; spontaneously I reached out and hugged her. Poor Niece!
She smiled tremulously, opened the biscuit barrel and offered me one of her home-made gingernuts, which are 100% tastier than the purchased ones. Taking my cue from her, I suggested we have a second cup. We decided, in the interests of our susceptibility to caffeine addiction, to have a small half cup.
The day had hours of sunshine on offer; too lovely a day to spend indoors and especially today when maudlin feelings were on the surface. I suggested a trip to the shops. We didn't need any groceries, we didn't need anything much, but an outing seemed sensible.
Quickly sprucing ourselves up we headed down the path, deciding a walk would be beneficial. We had two free hours; lunch was on the cards, and perhaps a look around the new shop that recently opened at the far end of town. By all accounts a new couple to town had opened a bazaar type shop. Items from far-flung places were set out in a large white space. Oriental rugs, baskets full of English lavender, cotton clothes from India, and an array of scented articles whose perfume wafted throughout. The white walls allowed the stock to be displayed to full advantage.
I ran my fingers over some Egyptian cotton bed linen, admiring its pure feel. Nudging Niece I commented that polyester is but a poor relation to cotton. She smiled in agreement. Small posies of dried flowers scattered on the shelves added to the ambience, while clear glass bowls holding either interesting shapes of pastel coloured soaps, or delicate sea shells made the place equal to a wander around the park.
The time moved on quickly Dear Diary. We were delighted to find a small area at the rear of the shop opening onto a courtyard where tea and sandwiches were served. There seemed no sense in looking for another eatery; this place was restful, the coffee aroma drifted invitingly; we accepted its invitation.
I do believe, Dear Diary, that this quiet little outing provided the correct antidote to Hester's hectic past weeks.
Once the household settled down Niece and I tidied the spare room, stripped the bed and washed the bed linen. The morning was warm with a slight breeze; the sheets soon dried, were folded and put away in the linen cupboard. We sat at the bench for a quick coffee discussing the past days. While Niece was overjoyed to meet her long lost daughter, she admitted the experience was quite traumatic.
"Aunt Alice", she confided. " That baby never truly left my thoughts, but when she was born there were no alternatives but adoption. Today young mothers-to-be have so many options. I actually feel envious of their choices; they don't need to experience the heartbreak in losing a child. It is how I imagine a still-birth might feel. There is a baby; then there isn't. Every year, on the date of her birthday I would go to a quiet place, often in the park, where I would wonder where she was, what she looked like, did she know her birth mother, did she ever think of her; you can imagine what raced through my thoughts Aunt. That was the only day of the year I allowed myself to wallow a little. Otherwise I kept my mind occupied with things; keeping a home, and just moving from day to day."
I felt small Dear Diary. In all the years I had lived with Hester and Phil I never guessed her secret. A sudden rush of emotion surged through me; spontaneously I reached out and hugged her. Poor Niece!
She smiled tremulously, opened the biscuit barrel and offered me one of her home-made gingernuts, which are 100% tastier than the purchased ones. Taking my cue from her, I suggested we have a second cup. We decided, in the interests of our susceptibility to caffeine addiction, to have a small half cup.
The day had hours of sunshine on offer; too lovely a day to spend indoors and especially today when maudlin feelings were on the surface. I suggested a trip to the shops. We didn't need any groceries, we didn't need anything much, but an outing seemed sensible.
Quickly sprucing ourselves up we headed down the path, deciding a walk would be beneficial. We had two free hours; lunch was on the cards, and perhaps a look around the new shop that recently opened at the far end of town. By all accounts a new couple to town had opened a bazaar type shop. Items from far-flung places were set out in a large white space. Oriental rugs, baskets full of English lavender, cotton clothes from India, and an array of scented articles whose perfume wafted throughout. The white walls allowed the stock to be displayed to full advantage.
I ran my fingers over some Egyptian cotton bed linen, admiring its pure feel. Nudging Niece I commented that polyester is but a poor relation to cotton. She smiled in agreement. Small posies of dried flowers scattered on the shelves added to the ambience, while clear glass bowls holding either interesting shapes of pastel coloured soaps, or delicate sea shells made the place equal to a wander around the park.
The time moved on quickly Dear Diary. We were delighted to find a small area at the rear of the shop opening onto a courtyard where tea and sandwiches were served. There seemed no sense in looking for another eatery; this place was restful, the coffee aroma drifted invitingly; we accepted its invitation.
I do believe, Dear Diary, that this quiet little outing provided the correct antidote to Hester's hectic past weeks.
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