I once asked my mother, rather cheekily when I was 20, what it was like to be 60. I expected to be chased out of the room for my impudence. Instead she looked at me with those two-tone eyes of hers that made it seem she could see straight through you, and answered me. And I really wished she hadn't:
Well it's just like being 16, you know. You're always the same person inside.
My mother was a very wise woman and she knew she this was not the response I wanted. It was however the response I needed and I never forgot it.
There are many ways in which life changes but, wherever you go, to the ends of the universe, there you are! Same old you.
Pack light, people! There's a lot to carry.
Winter Blue
It was winter and a blue snow fell again covering the plains of this insignificant planet in a fine cobalt dusting of fresh, deep powder. Janey liked to kick it around exposing the light blue layer beneath the darker surface; jumping, leaving little tracks and sky-skids all over the place. Our igloo stood out pink this time of year, glowing warm within, half way up the Mont. Our closest neighbour was miles away down in the valley where it never snowed and his igloo shone yellow on ubiquitous grey. Farther away I could see the comforting white and green of the hydro-polydomes.
“Where’s Janey?” I asked.
“Outside playing,” said Joel.
I stepped out too. “Janey! Not too far, now. Don’t wander too far!”
“Let her alone, Miriam. She’s okay. There’s no harm going to come to her out there and Dog is with her.”
Dog was the robot friend she’d got last Christmas. They were inseparable and it was a great comfort to me. Botdogs are so reliable. Looking at the orange of the sky I knew it wouldn’t be long until the next precipitation. More blue dust. It would fall until midwinter and then purple flowers with turquoise leaves would bloom in its rich dirt. I looked forward to spring.
Janey came running back all
breathless. “It’s beautiful, Mummy, isn’t it?” she squealed.
“Tell me again about the snow in Montana.”
“Well, it’s a
great deal colder than this snow, and very deep and white; so bright
it could blind you,” I said. “And tremendous dark trees grow out
of it, and when you roll it, it sticks together into a ball and—”
“—makes a snowman!” Janey had seen pictures of snowmen but you couldn’t build a snowman with this chilly dust. She lay down and flapped her little arms leaving a light blue imprint on all that inkiness. She reminded me so much of my little brother — same excitable nature, same sweet face. An angel. Someday I would tell her about Jamie. Whenever she was ready. Whenever she asked.
I imagine him sometimes, still perfect in the snow where he was lost. I see my father and our friends searching; calling. I see my mother weeping. I feel the cold fear that gripped my heart. I see again the spring blossoming sad. Why did I turn my back? Why did I build that snowman? Why?
I was five. And all that was on a different planet and so very, very long ago but some lessons are never forgotten though one’s tracks are soon covered.
