As I watched my son walk purposely ahead of me along the lane, I realised that this moment will be a distant memory before I know it.
He has two years left at primary school, but I’m more than aware how time can fly. His next oldest sister has joined their other sister at secondary, this September. I’m growing used to the idea of only one child to pick up from school and walk back along our lane.
Catching up with the day’s news.
Putting the world to rights.
I want to capture all these moments in my memory. Ready to pull out when I need them most.
How that day, I collected blackberries, from the hedgerows, for a crumble I had promised their father before he left. While my sweet, nine year old gathered blackberries for juice to share with his dog. He knows that she likes the taste.
Both of us delivered. Apple and blackberry crumble served with custard. There were second helpings.
I want to remember the moment I grabbed to add stitches to her quilt, while waiting for Eldest to weave out from her after-school club. Knowing she’ll come out in deep conversation with a friend. Slightly loitering to finish. Turning to another. Then she’ll smile and wave goodbye. Flinging herself into the car and checking for treats that I’ve remembered to bring.
In the meantime, I sew and admire the wonderful green landscaped school she and her sister go to. Where they have to check for farm tractors or cows being herded down a green lane that they cross, as they head for further playing fields. Not many other buildings around the campus. Just farm land.
Noticing the crisp white lines on the nearby field, marking out a pitch. How long before it needs marking again. The generous number of bins, leaving no excuse for litter. Middle daughter says that they are every 10 metres. I’m not sure about that.
Noticing the car parked ahead, waiting for a sixth former to finish class. L- plate on back and mother moved over to passenger seat. A sticker in the back explaining in an amusing way why the car may be slow. A black box. Restricted speed. Gutted.
That will be us in three years’ time. Gulp.
Back home, in the garden. The sunflowers’ time is almost up. The plan is to harvest and store them. Putting one head out on the bird table each month. Not quite enough for each month, but six will provide a treat during the coldest months.
I can still take a moment to enjoy the two surprise sunflowers in the kitchen garden. Planted by birds. Elegance and a touch of sadness that the growing year is passing.
Taking a moment to notice several more hidden pumpkins growing to sizes that I never anticipated. More pumpkin recipes required.
Back in my sewing room, I’ve left a skirt cut out on the ironing board. I’m undecided. When I cut this out, – was it two years ago – my hips were slightly narrower. I know that I’m more active in autumn, so there is a good chance I’ll lose it again. The uncertainty hampers my progress.
Not helped maybe by my marathon baking session that morning. Cooker is scheduled to be out of action maybe for a few days while repairs are completed. I grab the moment to bake for the weekend. Granola for breakfast. Butternut squash for supper. Cookies and two different kinds of cake to satisfy even my fussy eaters. Figs dried for later use.
I’m organized. I sit at the kitchen table amending work spreadsheets. Relying on the timer to prompt me to slide trays in and out of the oven. For one moment, I feel truly efficient.
I want to hold on to all these moments.
Mindful of each precious moment.