I’ve been propelled back into my childhood, to the peaks of wonder, hope, and all that its mysterious. Hidden clearings, locks, doors and keys, darkened tunnels and the secrecy that I can’t be found. Exploring my infinite imagination at my favourite magical place, just five minutes from home. I have memories from when I was a little person, whipped up in the fairy dust, that sprinkled special days with adventure and the unknown.
I’m volunteering in the gardens of a local stately home, I have no idea what I’m doing and I LOVE IT. I await instruction, the simpler the task the better... work my way through asking as many questions as I need to. The freedom associated with not being relied upon to be ‘chief thinker is addictive. I bumble with the bees amongst the beautiful botanics, not knowing weed or flower, it is indeed like being a child again. Crouched amongst the flowers balancing my boots on bricks, grounded. Birds deep in conversation and the whistling of the wind between the leaves of the giant trees. Here I’m tiny. Minuscule. The great lungs of our planet shield and protect, the insects work their little legs off , whilst the birds up high natter. Here I don’t matter, I’m part of a wider view.
Perhaps soon all that magically care for the gardens will wear a Vietnamese hat. To signify we are the chosen ones, or more importantly I am. I pick up sticks. It’s a very important role I have, but better with a rake! At what point will I begin to analyse, suggest, and create? I guess when I start that, it’s time to go back to work. Oh god, I’ve said it now, ‘work’. Let’s take that back and imagine it doesn’t exist. Yes, I am indeed a child.
Last weekend I visited the motherland, and had the particularly emotionally charged job of rooting through my mothers private things. No, she’s still with us, but now she’s gone to a nursing home. I’m too young for this, it wasn’t meant to be this way.
It’s intrusive, to rifle through your parents private matters. Boxes that have been locked, envelopes labelled with memories. That’s is until... I found journals from my travels, oh how I’ve laughed at my 19 year old self. Photo’s captured and the memories came flooding back, instantly connecting me to old friends and shooting off pics for some nostalgia gazing. No hashtag required, they were the best times.
Flecked in between the anxiety, I experienced the joy of my best friends kids. One of each, a year between, my time was spent mostly picking up half eaten fruit and asking them to check the fridge to see if there was a monkey inside. Why wouldn’t there be a monkey in the fridge, is what you must ask yourself? Surely there could be anything in there if you’re a child? Where has your imagination gone? We are all so caught up in our own day to day grey, that many of us have forgotten the world without walls.
Anything and everything is possible. Is that hope? Or naivety? I want to believe there is a whole zoo in that fridge. I’m tired of being told what to think or how to feel. Exhausted with Covid 19 and a second wave. Why does bad news sell and good news snore? Check in with yourself, do something fun and stop being so serious. Try doing something you know nothing about, take instructions and don’t make instructions. Free your mind to a place where you don’t need to think. Even if it’s for 20 minutes, trust me.
In the end we all become kids again, through choice or illness. Life is indeed to be present, fun and for those who know me... it has to be be silly. Now, go find your monkey!
Ps- it’s too hot for pink tights
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