Good Intentions

These days, my hours are full of good intentions. I make lists of things I need to tick off. I get some done, I tick some off, and some sit for the next day, or the next. Or sometimes they stay on there for weeks.

I lose time doing things that just eat time. Hanging the washing out. Sitting down for a session of puzzles. Chasing a wandering baby. Good intentions.

Lately I've been thinking about my grandmother a lot. There's a house I like walking past in our neighbourhood. It reminds me of her house. A bounty of fat roses. And my goodness, you wouldn't believe the beautiful delicacy of these roses. The Doctor and I breathe in their sweetness. It takes me back to when I was small. And I miss her. I remember when we were small and she'd ask us to empty the tea leaves onto her beloved roses. I miss her.

It's like my brain switches off - and I think - yeah I'd like to ring Nonny and chat with her. And then I remember I can't. So I switch back to when I could chat with her.

I remember one conversation in particular - I was studying at uni and had an assignment on sati. I was, as usual, winging it with my lastminute.com assignment, and had no idea what I was going to write my essay about. Lo and behold, my grandmother had a wealth of knowledge. And when I say wealth, she was like a vault - but she was willing to share. She chatted to me about everything she knew about sati, and after that conversation I went away feeling more confident I could do it. She had a knack for that.

She loved words. She loved roses. She loved tea. And she was wickedly good at cryptic crosswords. I remember being small and when my parents went out, Nonny and Patty used to babysit me. We'd sit up on Friday nights and watch the proms on ABC. Does anyone else remember those? Afterwards I'd go to bed in the guest room, snuggled under a pink silk feather duvet, listening to the TV.

But my most favourite latest memory of her is of her and the Doctor. He'd lie on her bed. I know he can't remember her. But I will always remember what joy she had for her great-grandchildren.

Thankfully my house is blissfully disorganised. From time to time I find birthday cards, or Christmas cards strewn around in different places. Hidden in tea cups. In the ribbon cupboard. Next to my bed. I love opening them up and finding her familiar handwriting.

I know these photos are crazy bad. Taken in half-light, half-rush; but the thing is, this garden's lush and blooming with my memories. I can't go past without taking a deep inhale of these roses.

And with good intentions, I'm going to say it out loud. I'd like to start my own rose garden.