The last heatwave triggered childhood memories for Chrissy

July 29, 2022

This article was written for Annabel & Grace, which is now part of Rest Less.

Chrissy, a guest blogger, wrote this post during the last heatwave but, as we are warned there is another one on the horizon, we thought we would publish her article now.

Thinking about the heat warnings all over the news the last few days, I found my 4.30 am walk with the beasties brought everything into focus as I may not be able to venture out tomorrow morning and wanted to make the most of it.

At home, I have battened down the hatches, preparing to close all the windows and doors; the shutters and curtains are all ready, and this, after literally having everything wide open until 7am, in an effort to cool everything down in anticipation. Unlike the last few mornings, as I watched the sun come up in a salmon pink haze above the rooftops, I found myself thinking of Sunday mornings as a child, listening to the distant sound of church bells when our mother would wake us up with breakfast of cobweb thin slices of bread and butter, a real treat as we ate it in bed.

It’s strange how the oddest things can send your mind spiralling off into half-forgotten memories, the most banal moments suddenly finding their significance as they are caught in time, living somewhere amongst the grey matter only waiting to be reawakened by a sunrise. The smell of freshly cut grass or the silver drops of rain trickling down a window pane. It suddenly seems so strange to equate me with that little girl in a pink nightie munching on bread and butter under the covers when she could have literally had no concept of what her life would be or what she would become, and the thought makes me stop and sit awhile.

Stroking the soft, furry ears of my best friends, I remark out loud to Arthur: “My goodness… if she had only known”, and he tilts his head, studying my face in a knowing fashion with his black, beady little eyes that glitter and say so much, without his ever uttering a word. Sighing, it is time we moved on, but my step is lighter, my heart softer as smiling I cheerily say to the beasties: “Come on, time to go home and water the hydrangea!”

Home to a cup of hot water with fresh lemon verbena leaves that will sing on my palate and brighten my day before shutting up shop and waiting out the heat, probably with all of us stretched out like starfish on the cold kitchen floor.

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