snapshots

I wish I had a camera! Though the only thing about having a camera is I find it hard to just experience experiences because I'm so busy trying to capture them. So maybe it's better this way, sometimes.

It was Ciara's Solstice party one week late last night. We got to camp this year - last year her smallest's sudden illness deflated celebrations, and then at the make-up party Olivia got burned by a sparkler and decided she wanted to go home. So I promised next year, and finally, we did it!

Ciara's house is so beautiful. You can see all about it here. And the surrounding scenery is incredible - her house by the sea is ringed by trees and mountains. You can see (and buy!) her view here. It makes her place so very special. I haven't known her that long, and it's been a quiet and partially sad year in her family - but I still feel that glad excitement and happiness walking around the corner of her house into her garden that I feel going to visit my godparents' house - a place I've been going to all my life. Down the hill, and over the bridge, and there it is, pretty and welcoming. The atmosphere of Ciara's house is too, warm and sunny and crammed with beauty and interest, from the family photos all over the walls to the old books to the postcards and art. It feels right, and it's hard to leave. I makes me miss my family home too - the trees and flowers and mountains and the smell of the open, wide sky.

As for the sadness, I came round the corner of the house and the first sight I met was a little boy Bodhi's age, who lost his father last year, playing sweetly in the sand under the swing. A rush of sorrow swept over me that I had to put away, because, you know. So hard, so sad.

But then there was also Ciara in burnt orange, and Annah in her jewelled eyeshadow and gorgeous cleavage and beautiful healthy food and sunshine, and Bodhi sliding face first into the mud - he spent the whole time with a permanently begrimed face. I drank, I heaped his birth story on one of the home birth association people and got good advice. I talked and ate and smiled at the kids and met old friends.

The three beautiful long haired girls standing in a row eating my pretty cupcakes in pink and blue wrappers, wearing eye masks in sparkling colours was a sight to behold. I wish I had that shot - I may have to reproduce it (which will be no problem - I was mixing a bowl of eggs this morning and one of the girls appeared by my side and asked, 'are you making more cupcakes?!' at ten in the morning.).

The bonfire was a delight to Bodhi, he sat in front of it with me, entranced, delighted, quiet. He saw the North star and gasped and pointed with one hand, rubbing my arm with the other, 'It's so beautiful, Mama, isn't it so beautiful? It's so beautiful, look!' And we cuddled and looked at the fire in quiet sweetness. And then he and Olivia cuddled under the duvet and fell asleep in an instant. And he did a whole day with no nappy on without accident.

I put them to bed in the little nest I'd made in our tent, duvets and pillows and a gentle glow from the fire and the rising full moon. Later I crept in and snuggled into their warmth and tried to block out the sounds of the fledgling teenagers' excitement so I could listen to the push and shush and sway of the sea a few metres away.

But first I sat by the fire and thought about arms around me, someone at my back to lean on, the way the smell of beer on their breath would feel like sixteen again, brand new. And how sitting in the night and looking at the fire is something that people need to do, still, perhaps because we have done it for so long. Warmth, and consumption, and a centre around which to place ourselves, in the dark.

Coffee and scrambled eggs and mushrooms and toast, and the little kids collecting all the empties and pushing them to the gate in the toy tractor, and wanting to bring their uncle breakfast in bed, vying for the plate, and washing all the cars in a delighted, sudsy, fervent enthusiasm.

It was meant to rain but instead it was blissfully sunny, and warm late into the evening, and again today. Ciara keeps promising that each year will be the last party - but I think she knows she's not really allowed do any more than threaten.