Warmth, Memories, Mum ...three words that feel like a hug !

A few days back I found myself leaving the confines of my kitchen to tap out on the laptop the words that filled my head…some days there are simply too many to remain in there..

Either I tap them out or the thoughts would make me cry and to tear up in front of staff is not a thing I desire to do.

I ventured to my oasis, my sanctuary, a coffee shop not far from the maddening world of my cooking life.

I left the air conditioned oasis, ran to my car to avoid the 52 degree heat and sat in my air conditioned car….drove at the rate of knots to the mall and walked briskly inside to find my coffee shop..

The heat outside was 52 degrees, but where did I sit …beside the fake log fire drinking a tall Americano with extra shot, hot milk separate….

52 degrees and I sat beside the log fire, where I felt cosy…drinking a tall hot beverage.

Nothing really to say , other than the comforts of life are strange.

You can offer me cold air, cool water, ice, a beach or a shower, but I feel more at home sitting beside the log fire with a tall warm drink…it calms my nerves and makes me forget the maddening craziness of the psychotic kitchen world, the phone calls and the relentless questions, the downloading of files and the orders.

There is something about warmth which is soothing, well warm is, hot like outside is not..

I think it’s the log fire, I know its fake and resonates no heat at all, but the flickering would defy you that premise.

My mother recently had a very bad event, and I have been very worried that this was the big one, the last time I would here her voice, last time to hear her laugh or get to tell her that I love her..  

Who knew that blood clots can burst inside your brain and you get to survive…Poor thing fell like a leaf inside a shopping mall , thats how sudden the event occurred.

All through these recent days that have followed her hospitalization I have thought of little else than the events surrounding her 40^th birthday for some reason, when we were at our Aunts house in Ulverstone , Tasmania.

A grand old home set on acres, of the type only millionaires have these days, but which a poor old aunt had built from scratch back then.

I loved that old home.

It was the home of my mothers youth, partly the reason I loved it, but it had so much character.

A massive walnut tree in which to climb and see the pirates of Never Never land, a dark scary tool shed in which to imagine robbers and boogey men and guest houses where strangers from far away lands became our friends for a day , a week or a month as they shared their lives with us and stories of distant adventures. Mr and Mrs Robinson where my favorites, they holidayed here every year in my erly youth and they had travelled far and wide. The souvenirs they gave me then has long since been lost but the tales and visions of glorious far away lands, was partly responsible for my own wonderlust all these years and itchy feet to travel.

Mostly what I loved about this old house was where we slept. My bed was against a brick wall which itself backed onto the kitchen and the wood fire stove.

That wall was warm and cosy all day long and just perfect at nights after a busy dinner meal had been cooked upon the stove. The fire barely ebbed , before breakfast stirred its coals once again.

I’m not sure if that is where I developed my love affair with warmth…but its nice to reminisce.

One day I know I’m not going to be so lucky as to say that my mother is making a slow but hopefulrecovery from her recent saga, but at least until the day that I too pass, I will always have the irreverent memories of our childhood living, dining and playing in the house which played such a large part in our lives as children.

I hope every child on earth has such sumptuous memories on which to visit when the world becomes scarily maddening.

It’s not good to dwell on the past, but it sure is comforting to be able to escape sometimes to the beauty of your childhood, when everything was going to be “okay”, where safety was never an issue and where a kiss and hug healed all wounds.

It’s relevant that the subject line to this blog is “Warmth, Memories, Mum” because they strangely all do go together. Like a huge hug.

That said, I’m heading back to work….a child’s dreams and memories  may be precious, but they don’t pay the bills or get the cakes baked…

Best wishes to my mother who is not so well these days.

I love you mum XX