AFTER THE BALL


The big 70th celebration was a success. Food, drink and convergence of family and friends affixed their stamp of approval and sent us once more into the brink. I am again in awe of the daughters who made it such a grand success.

Sitting this morning in the quiet garden with only the company of a few visiting hummers, I tried to recapture the happy assembly which gathered last weekend. Sometimes it is easier to retrieve conversations and memories after a day or two of recovery.

The guest beds needed to be changed and rooms set back in order. While engaged in this chore, I remembered a remark a grandson said which touched my heart. His youngest child, a boy, was unable to come to the party, and my grandson said he had been looking forward to sleeping in his own ‘little boy’ bed with his son. Another day, another time, but it told me that perhaps this bed held happy memories for him. The twin beds in this room had belonged to Dr. A when he was a boy, and after that, they were part of a daughter’s bedroom. They are nothing special, but how do we know what dreams were dreamed while asleep in them through the years?

I will admit that my decorating skills are pretty eclectic, and cover a multitude of things I like, whether they appeal to a proponent of Home and Gardens or not. There are a couple of bears from Harrod’s sitting on antique ‘potty’ chairs in the breakfast room which I rather like, but while sorting things out, I discovered one had gone missing. I sent out an amber alert to no avail and hoped he would be happy in his new home. But while changing the bedding on the ‘little boy bed’, I found he had chosen to join the other bears in the ‘children’s room’. I don’t blame him, it must be discouraging to spend your life on the pot.