Sharp




As I type, a queen wasp is circling inside the light shade. White washing dangles damp from the clotheshorses: it has been fetched in from flails of chill wind and waning flares of sun. Indoors, it has been warm enough to wake a high-ranking wasp.
The fire is not even lit, because the flue is choked with wood ash.
We resorted to electric heat to keep Little Granddaughter cozied up this morning.

She runs around the living room, condensing meaning into strings of single words. Doggle: meaning this in some way relates to Dog. Mow: meaning this in some way relates to Cat. Nam-ma: meaning Granma there is a job for you to do here. Down: abandon the coffee cup, there is important other stuff to do. Yeh-plea: what children have to say to be obeyed.

I hand her toast in a plastic bowl. She looks at me, says phonetically:
'Szis breakfast?'
'Yes.'
A satisfied nod: the expected answer.

There was no dialogue to be had with the wasp.



Nam-ma! Meaning: my hands are cold, sort it out! 

Comments

Susan Flett Swiderski said…
She's adorable. Isn't it fun learning grandchild-speak?
28 January 2013 at 01:16
Suze said…
'I hand her toast in a plastic bowl. She looks at me, says phonetically:
'Szis breakfast?'
'Yes.'
A satisfied nod: the expected answer.'

My heart is full, Lily.

My daughter sat on my lap as I read this and, referring to the beautiful first image of your granddaughter, commented that she looks like one of her cousins, 'in the hair, but not so much the space between the eyes.'

:)
28 January 2013 at 03:22
Geo. said…
Lily, I love this nascent lexicon of toddler terms. My wife, Norma, is called "Gamma Namma" by our grandchildren --which sounds like a title from a '50s Toho Studios monster film. I am called various things which, so far as I can tell, all mean "that which must be climbed". Have fun with this delightful time!
28 January 2013 at 04:05
Lisa Southard said…
Children are brilliant. The real secret of my success is that a large part of my brain seems to be about 5 years of age. When the Littles talk like this, it makes total sense; their language is so inventively pragmatic. They see things like the difference of eye spacing even though hair is similar, understand things like how Grandads function as climbing frames. Total joy!
28 January 2013 at 22:57
Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

A Candle Lit

Image
We live by the light of those we love, whether they are here or gone. That light is inextinguishable. To have the light and not the company is an adjustment process we call grief. Loss is a shadow, equal to the light. We adjust not to lose the shadow but to see both. Hard to bear - yet without darkness, light cannot show its full wonder. Let us look after each other, then, and value our days, our company, and live to leave vast shadows, and understand that pain is a strange gift, a tender, haunting, purposed gift. And if you are grieving: let your tears flow, let your anger shout, let yourself plead and deny and feel terrible: it is not an easy process.  Know that other people know grief.  Know that other people are hurt to see you grieve.  Know that love is a fundamental response. There is no time limit to this adjustment process. No right or wrong way to feel. One day you will stand back and see that the shadow is proof to the strength of the light, a
Read more

The Everyday Portrait Habit

Image
Outside the clouds tremble with fine rain. It drops from them sparsely, clearly mocking my decision to hang the washing indoors. I have the windows open. I don’t mind. It occurs to me that I take each day as raw materials from which to construct a portrait of myself, and I like this idea. It shows me the magic of everyday things. It isn’t too grand, it allows for unassuming - it allows for all the variables. Some days are daubed in turbulence and now they are not bad days but in fact part of a series of studies; my moody phase, my this-is-overtired phase, my shadow sketches; some are gleefully oversaturated, glitter-spattered, sequinned-and-celestial. Each day is subconsciously coloured in uncountable shades, textured with everything I see, touch, hear, taste, or smell; has one or many points of interest, it is as sparse or as crowded as I choose. Today I am a kitchen maniac, cooking up coq au vin, pate, stock, lentil curry, chocolate sauce, cheese sauce, roasted and steamed vegeta
Read more

Eulogy For Dog

Image
We had wanted a puppy and while at 10 months old she was not quite that, we saw her in the rescue home and we knew she was right for us. She was a liver and white Springer Spaniel, real name Midi (not too big, not too small) with a slender, tentative form. I respected her privacy so online she was known as Dog- many of you, Dear Readers, have watched her grow up with us, and will be sorry to learn that her adventures have ended now: please read on, come with us, it will be okay. The hesitancy young Midi Spaniel held towards her new home was reserved for indoors. Outdoors she was absurdly reckless, usually clumsy. She pelted over barbed wire, through thorns, jumped five bar gates; she threw herself into the sea, the river, the lake, the muddy puddles, rolled merrily in dung- she hated the bath. She did not much care for the company of other dogs, though with persistence she learned tolerance, and once fell in reciprocal love. She adored children. Children could be trained to play fetch
Read more