We have these little prayer card things at the front door. Nobody ever touches them any more. The fad has passed. Except for her. She doesn’t know what they say yet but she has always loved digging her hands in and pulling out the brightly coloured squares.
The house has been a flurry of activity, making up the spare bed, moving out the spare shit from the spare room. Why do we have so much spare “just in case” stuff? Time to turf that lot.
Anyway, the lovely Kristin of Wanderlust fame is jetting her way to us as I type. The cleaning is for her. Okay, and a little bit for me too. I do love a freshly cleaned house, rare as it is.
Yesterday, I walked past the shelf where the prayer cards sit. The LBGG had left a calling card:
|Say it, sista|
The LGBB has been looking forward to this mysterious American guest who is coming to stay with us for a few nights. “But who is she?” she wanted to know. Unfortunately, by my obviously confusing explanation, she will now be bitterly disappointed if Kristin doesn’t end up looking like this:
|Hellooooo, Prairie Dawn heeeere.|
…because she is firmly convinced Kristin = someone from Sesame Street. Preferably Prairie Dawn. Last night, she was practicing her name in an American accent and told her Dad that’s what Kristin will sound like.
I was thinking today how amazing Lolly is. She has been preparing in other ways to welcome our international visitor to our home. They are private preparations, something I don’t feel is my place to share here, for they are Lolly’s way of getting ready to open her home to a stranger (to her, Kristin is just that). And they are things I have never seen her do/request before. Last night, I was very impressed. She and I have always worked closely together on this unseen energetic level, even as a young child pre-speech. Traipse back through the earlier stuff on this blog – I sometimes posted about it.
Today, I dusted off my balls. These are the balls Lolly helped me pick out. I love them. They represent me, in a way. Us. Something that makes a statement of things I love and find beautiful. They represent me getting something completely impractical and bunging them in the centre of our kitchen table to gather dust. And be looked at. Just ‘cos.
I want more balls. I can never have enough. Ceramic are the best. They’re harder.
Must dash. Plane to greet and all that.