Friday, July 4

 We have Archie staying with us at the moment.  Jamie and Nera had a big party to attend last night and dropped Archie off with us so he wouldn't be home alone.  Normally, we leave the back door slightly ajar for him in case he needs to go to the yard overnight but the weather is too cold so Marilyn closed the door and put down mats for him to use if he was desperate.  He wasn't happy about that so woke her up early this morning to tell her to get up, he was desperate.

The weather is very cold and we'll certainly be staying home today.

I note that it is July 4 and that is usually a day of celebration in the US.  However, I wonder whether their celebrations today will have a touch of desperation about them.  The holiday, supposedly, is to celebrate their independence and yet twice now they have voluntarily handed over the rule of their country to a would-be dictator.  Makes you wonder whether they might have been better sticking with Britain; then they might have turned out more like Canada or Australia, and that would have been no bad thing.

Today's story is a more recent one. The first lines are from a song by Judy Collins.

RUNNING AWAY FROM HOME                                                              MARCH 14, 2024

My father always promised us that we would live in France.  We’d go boating on the Seine and I would learn to dance.  To a young girl, growing up in the shadow of the Port Kembla steelworks, it was a gloriously romantic notion.  We didn’t have TV in those days but I haunted the library looking for picture books about France and its capital.  Madeleine was my hero. As well, I demanded to be taken to the pictures if a film remotely connected with France was being shown.  I must have seen An American in Paris five or six times, and I loved The Red Balloon and Mon Oncle with Jacques Tati.

Somehow, I convinced myself that, on my seventh birthday, my father would, with a flourish, produce the long-awaited tickets which would magically transport my family to the enchanted city of my dreams.  Imagine my disappointment when my father sat me down and said in a soft voice,

“Happy birthday, sweetheart and we hope you have a wonderful day.  Sadly, there is no birthday present this year.  You know that I’ve been on strike for weeks and there just isn’t the money available for extras.  But, when we’re back at work, I’ll make it up to you.”

It was like I had been slapped in the face.  “But what about moving to Paris?” I burst out.  “You promised we would move there and I would have dancing lessons.”

His voice hardened.  “Those dreams will have to be put on hold and, anyway, you’re a big girl now and you know that sometimes promises aren’t real.  Living in Paris is a dream and dreams don’t always come true.”

I went to the room I shared with my big sister and threw myself on my bed, crying in disappointment.  I would show them. I would run away and then they’d be sorry.  I scrabbled around under my sister’s bed until I found the backpack she had taken to the last school camp.  I would fill that with all the things I would need to look after myself and I’d move away.  Then they’d be sorry.

I quickly found my spare pyjamas and a jumper in case it got cold, a few socks and handkerchiefs, and my slippers.  I dragged the backpack into the kitchen and thought about what else I would need.  Opening the fridge, looking at what was there. 

“Mum, can I take this leftover jelly”.

“Yes, dear.  What are you going to put it in?”

“Oh, I don’t know.  Do you have a plastic bag?”  Then I noticed some leftover cooked sausages.  They would be handy as I hadn’t thought about how I would cook things.

In the pantry I found a few small bags of chips and some crunchy bars.  I thought a bit more and realised I would need something to drink.  Mum wouldn’t ever buy me soft drinks but there was a carton of milk in the pantry.  That would be handy although the thought of drinking warm milk made me feel sick.

My big brother came in about then, rubbing his hair.  “It’s starting to rain out there.  I think we’re in for a stormy night.  What’s this backpack doing in the middle of the kitchen floor?”

 

“Oh, Cheryl is running away and we’re helping her gather the stuff she will need if she’s going to survive on her own.”

Oh, good” my brother replied. “It will be good to have one fewer person in the house.  That will make a little bit more room for the rest of us … and, one less mouth to feed.  But you’ll need something to protect you if you are attacked during the night.  I can lend you my folding army knife.  It’s very sharp, so be careful.  And I have a compass and a pair of binoculars you can borrow.  It’s a shame I won’t have time to show you how to use them but I’m sure you’ll work it out.”

He walked over to the window, pulled the curtain aside and looked out.  “That rain has really set in.  I wouldn’t let a dog out in that. That reminds me.”  He turned to me and asked, “Have you organised some shelter for bad weather?”

“Don’t worry about me,”  I said.  “I’ll be OK.”

”I’ll sure you will be, dear,” said my mother. “But I can’t stand here talking.  I have to start making tonight’s dessert: French crepes with warm caramel sauce and ice-cream.”

“Crepes?” I thought, and rain. Maybe this is not such a good idea.

“I think I’ll stay one more night,” I said, “And see how I feel in the morning.”

“That’s nice, dear,” said my mother.