WILD THING

The night Max wore his wolf suit and made mischief of one kind and another, his mother called him WILD THING and Max said, I'LL EAT YOU UP so he was sent to bed without eating anything.

That very night in Max's room a forest grew and grew and grew until the ceiling hung with vines... and an ocean tumbled by with a private boat for Max and he sailed off through night and day and in and out of weeks and almost over a year to the place where the wild things are...

I bought this book for my nephew Rafael long before he was ready and when he arrived this autumn, I still wasn't sure, but almost the first words he spoke to any of us were, "I'm goin' EAT You All Up!" And Max was already in Raf and Raf was Max.

But Max is in me too. The place of the Wild Things is the place I entered the night after my eye operation. It took over three hours and when I woke, my body was doing something very strange.

'And now', cried Max, 'let the Wild Rumpus start!'

I have a theory about why I reacted so wildly post waking from anaesthesia. Our brain doesn't completely shut down during anaesthesia, even if the CNS is paralysed, and it felt as though I was simply continuing my rumpus through those hours of desperately trying to get away from the pain. I was almost jack knifing off the bed, spasming every few seconds, then minutes, then longer passages. When my speech was less slurred I requested the lovely Irish nurse minding me to keep me in the recovery room so Mum wouldn't have to worry about this as well. Karen made me laugh by teasing me and calling me Nemo, because I was flapping about so.

Pain is an animal and I became Queen of the Wild Things that night. With nothing to numb the localised site of surgery, I was facing down something with sharp and terrible claws minute after minute for almost a year until it was morning and I saw the surgeon again and he numbed my eye for a brief, beautiful few seconds.

'Now stop!' Max said, and sent the Wild Things off to bed without their supper and Max, the King of all the Wild Things was lonely and wanted to be where someone loved him best of all. Then from all around from far away across the world he smelled good things to eat. So he gave up being King of Where The Wild Things Are...

I am still sailing in the boat of pain, but feeling grateful for every day spent with the people who love me best of all and keep my supper hot and make me cups of tea and most of all, for the memory of a small figure with curly hair and a wild look in his eye as he commands or cajoles, 'Aunty Shai, tell me 'tory!' and then when I begin with 'Once upon a time', tucking himself neatly into my lap with a sigh and the occasional tap tap of his fingers against my skin keeping time to the rhythm of a tale spun just for him.

BEFORE AUTUMN

Hasn't this been the most unexpected summer? A full summer for me, filled with new experiences, most of them wonderful, some sad. I went to the beach with my cousins and 'crabbed' for the first time - humane crabbing - we put 'em all back...

The seagulls were out in force, and the beach huts delectable...

No, I did not leap into the bracing (c-c-c-c-cold) sea, but watched others bravely attempt the waves as I read Plath on the pebbles and chose a few jewel like blue shells. And on another day, when the weather was warmer I toasted my first marshmallows and was offered a quail's egg by my five year old cousin Oli, who also spent the day teaching me about the ways and practises of hornets, dragonflies, and various birds whose names I shamefully cannot remember now (good thing he doesn't read my blog...)

The summer has been full of animals enjoying the heat and the rain too, at Shepreth Wildlife park - a place I'd never been to until the arrival of my nephew...

The days of this precious visit from the Singaporeans has meant a rare reunion of the brothers and myself with babies everywhere and a LOT of 'tories. Most of my nephew's 'tories require someone eating someone else up, but I try to work in some vegetarian tales too - of tigers and leopards eating potatoes and 'trawberries... I have also tried to lightly warn Rafael that I might have to go away to see the doctor, but how can you prepare a two year old for the return of his Aunty Shai with a pirate patch covering one bloody eye? Maybe I could ask the blue eyed surgeon for a friendly Gruffalo patch? Children live entirely in the moment so Rafa will simply have to work it out when he sees me although am not sure how long the operation will take. Wish me luck today, me hearties.

A BUTTERFLY TRAVELS

On the 24th of August, a few days after my birthday, my grandmother passed away. I haven't felt much like blogging or tweeting but Vera, my grandmother, loved my blog and used to sit with my ipad and 'catch up' on a year's worth of missed posts when she came to stay. She lived in Vancouver and spent her summers in England. Which meant we almost always spent our birthdays together, unless she was on the razzle in London, as opposed to her quieter, gentler, oh let's face it, more boring days in Cambridge. But she would have approved this birthday of mine...

There was a picnic by a pond, there were loved ones who brought food and drink and a very chocolatey cake... there was a beautiful spaniel - my grandmother loved dogs...

The twins visited briefly, incognito, but highly fashionable in their Aunty Shai's hot pink and neon green pashminas (there were marauding wasps hovering nearby)...

And my mother sent flowers despite being thousands of miles away at her own mother's bedside...

I was taken out for drinks and dinner by dear cousins and at night, under unseen stars and a cool rain, I slept in the gypsy caravan on the farm...

Vera had visited the farm a few years ago and would have thoroughly approved my temporary living arrangements. A kettle, albeit decorative, a cosy bed, and thundering rain all around...

In the morning, with a hot cup of tea, bread and cheese, I opened my beloved friend Mary's gift (I like saving birthday presents to leak into the next day) only to discover the same book I had taken the night before to read in the caravan! Mary often knows my mind before I do. Luckily mine was a library book, so I now have my own copy of Barbara Pym's 'Jane and Prudence'...

 

The day of my grandmother's passing I met two ladies on the farm, who through a very rapid exchange of conversation, asked if I would teach their Creative Writing class, their usual teacher having just left. I think my grandmother was trying to get me a job! Happy travels darling Vera. Know you will continue to be loved.