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Managed to do a bit of work this morning, but didn’t make much progress. Hoping that Monday turns out to be a 12 hour day of non-stop writing and inspiration.
I took the kids out to fly the kite this afternoon and it was a perfect blustery day. We got some good height on the thing, but then my daughter started moving towards the only two trees on the rec. I called for her to get back but she said it was the kite not her, that was moving that way (fair enough up to a point) and the string wrapped itself around both trees. I assumed we were fucked but I managed to tease the string away from the branches and the kite was free from one of the trees. It looked like I’d get it away easily but then it moved and became stuck at the top of the second tree. I thought we might have to leave it there or that the string would break, but like a hero I managed to tug it free and we were off again.
I don’t know what the average lifespan of a kite is, but I imagine it’s a bit like being a pilot during the war. Two missions survived wouldn’t be a bad result.
We had been out with this kite earlier in the year and I remember it being a life affirming trip, tinged with a bit of sadness and sure enough it was back in February (on Valentine’s Day) ten days before my operation, where I was wondering if I was making memories for my daughter. She might not remember much about her dad, taken before his time, but she’d remember that day we flew a kite. So it was bitter sweet and mildly self-indulgent, but one of my favourite memories of being a day, not least because at that point I was really appreciating how precious time with my kids was (now I am probably going to be all right, I no longer give a fuck obvs).
Today wasn’t tinged with the threat of imminent death, so perhaps wasn’t quite as emotionally intense as last time. But in many ways it’s preferable just to have fun without considering your own mortality and how your kids will remember you (if at all).
Then we came home and carved pumpkins. I didn’t even think about turning them into cumpkins or dumpkins or Trumpkins so I must be getting more mature. Of the four pumpkins mine was maybe the third best, though my son’s one, although unsymmetrical and strange, was probably more artistically interesting than my basic effort.
The pumpkins had been in the garage for a few days and I they had started to degrade a bit. At least I don’t remember scooping out the contents of pumpkins being quite so wet and slimy. It was a mildly gross hour or so. And I wondered how many people end up in A and E every Halloweens day having spiked themselves carving pumpkins. It’s not zero, is it? What an incredibly dangerous tradition this is.
Still better than having to eat pumpkin.
And out round the village trick and treating, after last year’s Covid-dampened squib (
though the Halloween trail was fun). Luckily the weather held out (after a morning downpour) but it was very dark, even in the early evening and the street lights in our village are not great. The kids are now both old enough to make the most of this crazy day where they get free sweets from strangers and we all had fun. My son didn’t want to hold my hand, saying he was a big boy now, not wanting to look like a baby in front of his friends. He’s only just four, so I felt a bit sad that this is happening already, but hopefully it’s just a one off for now.
Both kids cried because one house had run out of sweets, even though they had a big bag each full of sugary swag. There’s always a way to swing things to life being unfair.
It was good to get back to spooky normality and this is a great village for stuff like this.
