Saturday, 25 July 2009

Letters to my Grand daughter



Here you are now grown enough that we can share starfish puddies through a closed car window.Nothing but cold glass between our palms but smiles warm enough to soften the huffy breath mist as we kiss the invisible barrier before your mother takes off in the big green Jeep stealing you away to buy Blueberries and milkshake before bedtime.

How you have delighted me with your ability to learn and figure out your world and all that enters it in a way that makes perfect sense to anyone creative and imaginative. Today we learnt to use a pen in order for you to write your first novel. We started to make swirls and twists that went on forever before you happily found your antique silver spoon and with a look of great accomplishment, You fed your self for the first time. Mirroring generations of little girls before you, safe in the knowledge that porridge is never permanent in angel soft blonde hair and small perfect ears.

Tomorrow you will come to the big wooden farm gate your face transfixed in delight because you will be allowed to blow warm huffy Puff's into the large old furry horse eating his breakfast in the yard, without your mother stopping you. When finished eating he will return the warm breath to you and touch your face with his whiskers while you run your fingers over him wondering if he will fit unnoticed amongst your Dinosaurs and soft toy Unicorns, that spring to life in the darkness of your bedroom. Gentle and strong as an Oak tree. whilst sweet as black molasses, this old horse would give his last hours to keep you amused and safe.

When you were born your fingers curled around an imaginary fretboard, playing chords and practicing your art, whilst honing your ability to be the next great musician to hit Glastonbury. When I am but a distant whisper in the wind that moves your blonde rock star curls, you will be on stage.
You may be the smallest ever person to appear on the hallowed boards and you will certainly be the loudest with your already smokey,raw echoing voice.

Teddy Bears picnic will always be our song even though we will sing many times surrounded by the ambiance of 12 strings warbling a variety of strong women lyrics,
Teddy bears picnic will be ours forever.........Anything by Pete Tong or Michael Cretu will be our songs forever too because only we will understand them.......... Actually any song we sing loudly in my Landrover discovery will be ours too but especially for you to learn all the words whilst playing with the electric windows. Always remember that it might not be prudent to sing some of the songs in front of your mother if you still want to be allowed over to my house unchaperoned.

Your song writings bound to be shaky for a bit so bed time stories will be our special time for using words to conjure up magic and mayhem between us. We will fly twice nightly on the big warm breath'd old horse and sit on the moons surface looking back at your mother searching the house for us. We will sing and wave but she wont see us so we will be safe to catch and eat the moons cheesy puff balls with your silver spoon and unwashed hands.It will go very nicely with the marmalade I made you in Spring and the dog biscuits you enjoy.

We will play croquet using mallets made from pink tuning forks which will echo like church bells on the most obliging cosmic hedgehogs that giggle and snort as they roll through the giant hoops of living twisted candy canes.At half time we will swap and giggle and snort as we try to crawl through hoops that run away from the hedgehogs bad aim and our flailing limbs.

Your mothers voice will grow louder than the laughter and your eyes will open wide You will keep the secret of where we went when grandma read you a story. Just like your mother did many years before when she and Vicky flew out the window with Peter Pan every night.
We mothers searched in their dreams for them and each morning they were safely in their beds whispering head to head about last nights adventure and what they remembered.
We too will whisper head to head sharing our dreams and slivers of memories awakened by black horse hair on your pillow and fairy dust in your shoes that we have to hide before your mother blocks the hoover with them .
And only we two will know the fun we had and will have when the old magic horse has had his dinner and is ready to rise in the sky with you my little angel warm and safe in his mane with Deer hounds following his long tail baying at shooting stars. All off to hullabaloo land which is just past the moon and turn left at Blueberry Junction.

C Lady Lesley Cooper / Roxalea Cooper aged 15months

1 comment:

Kazz said...

Awww lovely, your writing is brilliant Lesley xx