Saturday Rituals.

When I was little, strawberry blonde curls and those pools of blue, I spent Saturday morning, snuggled in your bed watching David Frost with you.

Then I grew.

Next came a cuppa in bed, by now I’ve aged I’m ten instead. The little black and white screen, cartoons now snuggled at your feet, there in your bed I watched them with you.

Then I grew.

Hangovers came next before the legal age, but never did you show a bit of rage. Tea for me tea for her, and her and her. Cartoons gone, the morning news, I’d sit and watch just me and you.

Then I grew.

And Saturdays became a blur as I scurried round to be ready for work. Tea on the side and toast going pop. The morning sun and me and you.

Then I grew.

Wings to fly the nest, history they call the rest. Saturdays were truly gone, now they always felt so wrong. Another day for dinner and tea, just you and me, me and you.

Then I grew.

I grew and grew and grew some more. Travelled away to another shore. The miles betweens us to far for a simple knock at the door. I grew and grew and grew some more.

Saturday morning as the sun cracks the morning sky I boil the kettle grab a cup, dial your number and patiently wait. First comes the white noise silence as you slip on the hearing aid….’Hello. Hello. Hello…ahh gotcha, alrite love.’
For sixty precious minutes we put the world to rights as we sip on tea. We talk politics and religion and atrocities and life, sometimes you simply give me advise. My Saturdays are long gone, but the cycle repeats, every Saturday without fail as the day begins, loud speaker on…..

‘Hello my Princess.’
‘Hello, Gandad. Love you Gandad.’
‘Love you more.’
‘Love you to the moon Gandad.’
‘Love you to the moon and stars Princess.’
(Girlish giggling.)
‘Love you to the moon and stars and back and to the sun Gandad, and to infinity too.’

My Saturdays curled up watching David Frost are gone, but hearing this declarations of love, Saturday no longer feels so wrong.

Karen Hayward ©2016.

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