This weeks eye spy compliments of bugs and pop is a two for the price of one deal. Something in Bloom and Scars. It is winter here at the moment so the only blooming going on is all the creating in my wee space and lovely winter cooking smells coming from the kitchen.
Scars though I have a few. No photos today partly because I don't know who has the camera and partly cause I am not convinced that seeing them would enrich anyones lives. But a wee list -
The ones I notice the most especially as I swim regularly for exercise are those love marks my children left behind many years ago. Transforming my trim and tidy wee body into the womens body it is today. I have a love hate relationship with my stretch marks, they don't fit the picture I have in my mind for how my body looks and yet I also know that they mark an important transition in my life.
I have a great scar on one of my fingers from a day I was helping a friend in the garden and sliced my finger with a serrated saw. I probably should have done something about it at the time but I had to pick up the kids and cook tea and.... consequently I have a scar.
Going back in time I have a burn mark on my elbow from a burn as a child, but I have no recollection of it. I am sure it was traumatic for my mother.
One scar I do remember receiving I collected while playing a very exciting game of dodge the cushion. Aged about 7 or 8 I guess, visiting friends there were probably at least seven kids needing entertaining. A game started where we had to run from the kitchen to the other side of the lounge to one of the bedrooms without being hit by a cushion thrown by one of the adults. I am guessing the weather kept us inside. It was great fun, full of anticipation, fear and triumph. We had all made it across the room with squeals and laughter. In the second round during my dash to safety, one of the flying cushions collected me with force and I fell right onto the corner of the chest freezer that was just outside the kitchen. I don't remember any pain or the blood but I do remember the bright light as I sat in the Doctors chair as he stitched up a wound on my forehead. No butterfly stitching in those days, we are talking needle and thread. It was a great wound for showing off to my friends, and I am pretty sure that the grown ups felt so guilty about what had happened that I got what I wanted for the rest of the day.
As a parent it has been strange to be on the other side as both my girls have broken their arms and had various bumps and bruises. Their memories are much more oriented around their favourite top that had to be cut off, what colour their cast was or that they got to choose what to have for tea that night (some mother guilt in action). I remember the sadness I felt the first time the first born fell and cut her lip in such a way I knew it would scar, that perfect precious skin marked, now I look at that scar and remember that moment in time, not the accident but that wee kids enthusiatic energy, running and giggling until she fell and then in my arms crying. I remember a time when a cuddle from Mum could just about cure everything. I look at their scars and my scars and notice the passage of time and reflect that as we grow we will collect a few scars like bookmarks in the story of our life. Oh how profound, I'll stop now before I wax on anymore all lyrical like... Thanks for coming with me on this wee indulgent journey.
Stacy's letter of retirement
1 year ago