The Cousins Wreck Aunty Elsa’s Stuff

the boys.png

Aunty Elsa’s room is a haven of possibilities, treasure and unexpected items that the babies are not allowed to have. The door will not shut because there are three thousand pairs of shoes stored behind it and so the boys always have a guaranteed entry to the forbidden. In this room there are many things but best of all are the snow globes, heavy and cold and breakable. Even a gentle movement will dislodge the magic winter inside each one. They must be magic, and the glass is always worth tasting to find out if such divinity is also edible. But there is more. There are cards and pencils and books and phone chargers, sometimes even a phone itself and that cool slab of glass against an infant ear means important involvement in family concerns. Once there was a bag of lollies, a bag of bliss, and Aunty Elsa did not get there in time to rescue those. Aunty Elsa is 18, she is a Bohemian Rhapsody, kind and colourful, unconventional and unafraid. The cousins drink in the rich world of their Aunt, the books and the ideas and the argument and chaos and year 12 and they eat pita bread with hummus and hear about the importance of regarding the planet and each other with care and they too become richer and enriched and richer…

Elsa.png

 

Max and the Ukulele

photo

One of the Aunts is not feeling well. She consoles herself playing some music to Max who is now six months old and sitting up, sitting on his own bottom and leaning over his feet,  making a tripod of triumph.  He experiences every note of that ukulele as a direct and liquid strike upon his sensibilities for he trembles and inhales noisily and he wants the strings and the sounds, he wants the small and gleaming hip of that instrument in his mouth, on his tongue. He would swallow the notes. He would breathe in the wood and the shine of that lovely ukulele.

He is being sung a love song and he is in love with the love song. He clutches his Aunt’s moving hands, leans over the instrument, he places dribble directly across its stringed wrist.

It is hard to keep still amongst a love song, between a ukulele and a real singing voice.