Beside the peaceful pond beneath the maples

And majestic oaks

Fifty mice scurry around

Acorn lanterns dangle from ferns and twigs

Pieces of carpets, rugs and sheets

Spread bright colours all around

Mothers instruct, fathers groan,

Little mice skip, run and play.

Excitement fills the air,

For when the sun sets 

The midsummer night of delights 

Will begin!

Baskets of pies, and gooey, licky sticky

Juicy toffee apples in bowls,

Cupcakes piled with tummy yummy

Strawberry cream,

Custard pies, milkshakes in barrels,

Wooden bowls over flow with fruit,

Nuts and raisins, cheese rinds,

Miniature  marshmallows in acorn bowls

Ready to be toasted,

And many other glorious delights. 

 

Laughter of children fades with the light,

Sunset fills the sky,

Orange, blues, threads of pink 

Scatter light through the tops of trees,

Down below the acorn lanterns begin to shine, 

A grandfather picks up a tiny fiddle

He plucks a tune,

A grandmother taps on a mouse size drum,

Feet tapping mice begin to move,

The little beach soon fills with whirling, twirling,

Laughing, happy mice.

A black and white cat stalks through the trees,

Sniffing the air, ears pricked she sneaks closer,

And closer, 

Nearer and nearer,

Almost there when a dog’s sharp bark

Sends her scattering away into the dark,

A child shouts goodnight,

A mother sings a lullaby,

Unaware the mice listen only to the magical

Music.

Twittering curious bats 

Swooping hither and thither 

As lanterns flicker in nine o’clock breezes

A drum beat rises 

The moon slowly rises spilling pale light

Upon the pond where a sleepy frog

Ribbitt,  ribbitts in her sleep,

In the old grey rock wall

Chipmunks poke out twitching black noses

And observe with drooping eyes

The midsummer festival

Right before their eyes.

The scent of food drifts on the warm

Summer breeze and a chipmunk yawns

Considering plundering the delicious treats

But curls up in his nest and falls asleep.

A coyote yips, another barks,

Mice freeze where they are!

Danger! DANGER! Yells a grandmother.

Scatter, run, hide the call goes out,

As fifty mice run and hide.

Trembling they watch the glowing eyes

Of curious coyotes passing by,

Sharp teeth shine as they yip and yap,

One moves nearer and nearer to the feast,

Her coyote nose twitching as she sniffs,

Huge paws with enormous claws (after all

Those watching are wee mice!)

Move closer to the party site,

Then a bark calls her back,

The pack has already dined and slowly 

Wanders by.

Phew!  A grandfather releases his breath,

He ventures out to make sure 

Danger has passed for now,

Then waves a lantern to tell forty nine mice

To celebrate!

Even owl decides to let the mice 

Dance and dine

Sing and play beneath the moon

For tomorrow is another day.

Gathering baskets, blowing out lanterns,

Folding blankets, scooping up sheets,

The mice yawn and nibble on the very last treats,

They walk away with sleepy gaits

Separating to go to homes

In wood piles, and beneath piles of old oak leaves, 

In basements, and garages,

Even an old car,

The mice are soon asleep.

So we must leave them to dream of dancing feet, 

Piles of yummy treats

And best of all excellent friends

All beneath a summer night sky.

Teapot Treasure

 My home is most certainly not a show house.  I like everything to be clean but tidy has evaded my efforts - okay my ability to concentrate on tidying.  As a child I lived in fear that whilst at church with my Dad and siblings my mother would feel the need to check my cupboards. On more than one occasion I returned home to find myself whisked away by my Mom who would swing open my bedroom door as if about to reveal a great new paleontology discovery!  

“Look!” She would instruct me.

Yip, I would think, there lies my entire wardrobe and numerous other possessions.  

“One day all this,” pause for dramatic effect (and to find an appropriate word), “this…” a hand signal to direct my attention as if somehow I could possibly have not seen the pile that covered the floor in front of us.  “You messiness will …”

“Kill you?  Hurt you?” I generously offered my suggestions.

Closing her eyes, brilliant blue and an alarming darker shade when angry, she shuddered.

“T.I.D.Y.  IT!  TODAY!”

The tone was what I had to focus on not the low volume although that was also somewhat alarming.

Within half an hour things would be arranged according to my low, very low, standards.  By the time I was 12 we had come to an understanding.  A fortnightly inspection kept her blood pressure under the red zone and I would try not to kill her with falling clothes, books and more books.

Of course a wall height bookcase would have helped but I never found the courage to suggest it.

So the years passed.  I got married, to a man who prefers tidiness, had children and moved house so many times that I stopped counting at eight.  Of course each move offered the opportunity to do a thorough discarding of bits and bobs.  To a degree it was a success.  The main issue for me is that special items have a unique history and story to tell.  You may see a teapot that is pretty but nothing about is unusual.  Yet it has a 47 year old story behind to remind me of a new beginning in my life.

Nothing special.  It holds about six cups of tea.  It has survived children, being shipped from Africa to the USA.  Numerous domestic moves and sits on our sideboard only used a few times a year.  Of no real monetary value.

The Simple Story:

From early on in our dating Best Beloved and I would meet at the varsity cafe for afternoon tea almost every day.  We would buy tea and peanuts.  Then sit in a booth together.  It was a simple date which gradually turned into a ritual.  Four decades later we have afternoon tea together almost every day. 

After moving into a tiny flat just off campus we decided to spend a small gift of 15R that David’s grandmother had given us.  Soon after moving in we decided the best thing we could buy was a tea set. On a warm late summer day Best Beloved and I decided that the 15R his grandmother had given us as a gift should be spent on a tea set.  Not a common purchase for most people in their early twenties just starting out together.  I’m not sure we even really had space for it.

So off we went to OK Bazaars and looked for a tea set.  Nothing fancy. Six cups, saucers, milk jug and sugar bowl and tea pot.  We walked home pleased with our purchase feeling almost like real adults.

Washed and dried our tea set was used that first day. Our ritual tea time was made more special because of the gift.  Four decades later we have afternoon tea together almost every day.   No longer using our teapot (the only piece of the set to have survived) but still following our youthful selves in sharing our news as we sip our tea. 

On a cluttered sideboard among other treasures stands our teapot. If we ever need to remember when we began to enjoy a cuppa together the teapot is our key.

Don’t Get Me Wrong

 My eldest Grands like music … well they enjoy their music, and have even been known to like music from yesteryear.  I listen to their music and on occasion find something that I actually both understand and like.  My eldest Grand will share his AirPods with me so that I can hear the music with more clarity.  I freely admit that some of it makes me grind my teeth but there are some I have downloaded onto my very dated play lists.  One thing I have come to appreciate is that I can hear lyrics I dislike, a beat that almost gives me palpations and then I hear magic in a voice.  The musicality of the performer crosses two generation.  Suddenly I am paying attention.  The mumbled, often crass words fade as I track the voice that hides behind them.  

Time for an example.  Giveon is a good example of this ability to bridge generations.  A young man who is featured on rap albums and various other genre songs that I think most people sixty plus would rather not listen to if given a choice.  My grandson sent me a link to Giveon’s song”World We Created”.  I did not expect the beautiful, rich, lyrical voice that I heard.  Modern with threads of other eras that made me listen to the lyrics and the music.   What a joy to known that this is a song my grandson and I listen to with pleasure.  The artist has created magic in words and music that appeal to two very different people. 

One of my favourite songs from the 1970s is Ventura Highway by America.  It recreates a place and time long gone but with a nostalgia that is fill of good memories.  My love of this song had my grandson listen to it using his EarPods.  When he visited he gave me the AirPods and instructed me to listen to it.  As I listened his smile grew.  I heard a surround sound wonderful piece of my history with a new clarity.  The fact that he had taken the time to both listen to it with care and to discover pleasure in it that he shared with me created a beautiful new memory for us both.  

I do not see as much of him as I used to because he is growing up.  I celebrate him quietly in my own way pleased that he is moving out into the world.  I know that we share a lot of memories and will make new ones.  Time will pass.  Visits will be rare.  Yet all I have to do to connect with him is to play our music and remember that every now and then a message will appear with a link to music he has discovered and wants to share with me.

Youth may be careless in many ways but in the ones that count the young give us a view to the world that is to be treasured,

So thank you Baba.  I shall keep listening!