Washing up

Billie the baby is six years old.
She is just finishing her diary entry.
"How do you spell Miss Mandy?"
She asks.
Her grip is correct and her writing deft and efficient.
As a teacher and her Mum,
I feel a bubble of pride warm my chest.
Now what to do?
Her earnest little face asks.
"Would you like to help me with the dishes?"
Her answer beams from her face,
And my chest again re-inflates.
Aprons donned and a small chair reversed acts as stool.
The rinse water, child's blood-warm.
She uses a bottle washer to help the rinsing process.
And carefully places each glass and utensil into the dish rack,
Up side down.
She is meticulous.
I watch the mid morning sun pick up the flecks in the rinse water.
I breath in and inwardly smile,
At this perfect Summer idyll.

Generational Disappointment

It seems I belong to a family,
Who suffers a terrible inheritance.
For some of us it is genetic.
For others,
Environmental.
It is born of unmet expectations,
Insecurities,
Insincerity,
But mostly,
A clash of cultures.

The objective but confused culture of the Aspergian.
Diagnosed or not.
Versus those more emotionally volatile neurotypicals,
Who attempt to love us.
The result,
Is much like its cousin,
'Generational Poverty',
Which is similarly, a cultural construct.
'Generational Disappointment' is a deficit,
Affecting the soul,
Rather than the wallet.

Movie Night

After dinner and teeth cleaning,
On a Friday night,
Seven attempt to sit comfortably,
On one three seater lounge.
They jostle for position.
Baby always scores the best seat,
Mummy's lap.
We have no T.V.
So laptop perched on a kiddies play chair,
Substitutes for the home cinema.
Portable speakers for Dolby Stereosonic sound.
Three dollar 'weekly hire' from the cafe.
No bandwidth for streaming,
But who needs the latest releases?
It is the latest to us.
Nightmares limit us to G ratings,
But it's cosy,
And we see most of the movie,
Between head movements.
And hear most of the dialogue,
Between the audience commentary.

The Simple Things

A sunny Winters day.

A gently ticklingly cool breeze.

A warm wooly jumper.

Soft dry ground.

A campfire.

Fresh mountain water.

Some happy pork sausages.

Bread, butter and tomato sauce.

Ham, cheese and baked beans,

And a jaffle iron.

Cast iron pan containing roasting chestnuts.

Kids, bikes, dogs and a treehouse.

All of these 'simple things',

Make a memorable day.

Fractured

I can't seem to fix this thing.
Though I have tried many times.
And my attempts seem only to have worsened the situation.
What fractured the relationship I still can't fathom.
I have known them my whole life.
Would never have thought them so judgemental.
Or that their good opinion once lost would be forever.
So after all these years,
The pain is raw.

The realisation that they will not always be around,
And reunion seems unattainable.
Upsets me beyond measure.
I know that the time will come when they could need me.
But maybe that need will be filled by a generation skipped.
All I know is the hopelessness and the sense of mourning
That despite being so close in proximity,
We seem to have lost each other forever.