Up up and Away.

My birthday included one meeting.
A box of Macaroons, a bottle of champagne, candles, soap and a tiny pink pistachio cake with coffee.
A walk down Tottenham Court Road, open mouthed at the newness of the tube and the loss of my youth.
Lunch in China town, with dumplings and garlic shoots.
Another meet in Soho.
A trip to the Odeon Leicester Square, where the dawter and I enjoyed ‘Beauty and The Beast’.
A top deck on the 38 bus to Hackney.
Supper in ‘The Diner’, which was so like America my guts churned at the noise and the tattooed waiters.
A meeting of the ‘oosbind, a walk to the car and then the anti-climax.
The actor had left his lights on and the battery had run flat. The AA were coming within the hour then changed it to outside the hour. The two sensible family members called a taxi and were intending on going back to the girls flat to get her keys to get her car to drive back and jump start the engine.
In the event the driver of the taxi opened his bonnet, connected the jump leads, was offered the journey’s fare and a packet of fags, but declined both. A most generous of acts.
We arrived home at 1.00a.m.
Saturday saw the last of the actor’s two shows. I cooked for friends. Roasted red pepper and sweet potato soup, cauliflower and peas in a spicy sauce, and danish pastries and why not?
The actor arrived home. Chekhov and Gorky finally put to bed.
Today was Mothering Sunday, a day that means as little to me as St. Cecilia’s day. However we drove to Brighton. I sat at the table and was given a beautiful magical mug, a big balloon, a chocolate cake and too much food in between. The grandchildren played their part, and we drove home with me clutching my birthday balloon.
We arrived home, full of bubbles and bliss, I opened the car door and the balloon slipped away. Over the trees, into the night sky. i stood with my torch trying to see it. The wind took it north.
I felt like a 3-year-old, dealing with my first loss.
My lovely big heart balloon gone, flying through the air, flying over fields and streams, flying over roads and byways. Journeying off on its own.
Clocks forward, primroses, daffodils, narcissi, magnolia trees, fading crocuses, potatoes in and newly planted Hollyhocks. My parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme, not to mention my marjoram, are flourishing, and the roses are budding nicely.
And as for me, I’m another year older, another year learning, another year, thankfully, alive.
How time flies – like my lost balloon.