Friday, March 01, 2013
Flowers and things
This is a completely irrelevant picture of flowers that my colleagues gave me as part of my retirement present. I found it while looking at pictures of what was happening just before Grandson was born, a year and a half ago and I thought it deserved looking at again since the flowers were so lovely. Delphiniums remind me of my childhood garden and of the A A Milne poem about the "dormouse who lived in a bed / Of delphiniums (blue) and geraniums (red)". It was rather a sad poem and used to worry me when I was little. In fact it still does, slightly. They dug up his flowers and planted crysanthemums (yellow and white) instead and he had to lie with his eyes shut, imagining his delphiniums and geraniums.
If you feel that I'm burbling somewhat it's because I. cannot. settle. to. anything. because. Granddaughter. aka. Volume. 2. has. not. yet. put. in. an. appearance. She was due on Monday past and so far nothing has happened so I suppose she's not scandalously late yet but I'm SO STRESSED. It's much easier (well, of course it's not but it seems so just at the moment) to have a baby oneself than to wait around for something to happen to one's beloved child.
I've just been watching the Eddie Izzard programme in which he supposedly traces his ancestry via his DNA. It's all a bit contrived but did remind me of how adventurous all our ancestors must have been. Somehow mine* got themselves gradually from Africa to Scotland, which is quite a distance with (presumably, even then) water in the way. I myself am feeble in the extreme and would probably still be sitting under a tree thinking it was a bit hot.
As I've said before, in addition to being a wimp, I don't understand wanderlust. I'd say it wasn't in my DNA except obviously that can't be true. Maybe if I lived somewhere unpleasant, I'd be different. But Scotland is so beautiful, the climate is so easy to live in and almost all my friends are here - why would I want to go anywhere else? And yet people do move countries from perfectly nice ones to other perfectly nice ones. I know there are often practical reasons but... . I suppose, though, if all my children were elsewhere, I might consider it. Unfortunately though, the two who have gone away have moved in different directions.
I ramble, though. Sorry. Can't concentrate. Need to see that baby and know that everything is all right. Not made of stern stuff. (Bites nails, chews lips, shifts nervously in chair. This may go on for days and days yet. Gah.)
* - to clarify - my own known ancestors are Scottish through and through (except one Irishman) as far back as the 1700s, which is where the trail stops. I'm talking about the improbable woman in Africa from whom we're all said to be descended. I don't understand this. What were all the other women doing while she was procreating on our behalf? A particularly intricate piece of patchwork?