Letters to Grandfather

A semi-autobiographical story. Sarah Phillips's grandfather has just passed away. She copes with the loss by writing in a diary like she is writing to him.

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7. 29 September 2013

Dear Grandad,

Sorry about that last entry.  I know that probably worried you.

You’re probably wondering what brought that on.  Well, yesterday I was in the town centre at the one of the local cafés, and I saw a couple there talking, making eyes at each other and generally giving very public displays of affection. It made me wish that I had a boyfriend of my own.  Why is when you see a couple being happy and all lovey-dovey together that you feel empty inside?  Or am I the only one that feels like that?

Anyway, my weekend has been pretty quiet.  I went for a walk in the nature reserve down the road.  I saw a little grey squirrel up in the tree by the river gnawing on a nut.  I could squirrels for hours.  Unfortunately I think it saw me, or heard me, as it suddenly dropped the nut and dashed higher up into the tree.  They are funny little things.  They have so much character.  I can see why Beatrix Potter made them into characters for some of her children’s stories.  It’s a shame that there aren’t as many red squirrels about now.  I don’t know if you remember but one of my favourite Beatrix Potter stories was the Tale of Squirrel Nutkin.  Oh, he was such a naughty little thing.  I remember that when I stayed at yours and Granny’s house you read it to me before bed I laughed myself silly when the Old Brown owl bit his tail off.

I don’t know why, but walking in woods around home always makes me feel better when I’m upset.  There’s something about making the short trek in the different times of day at different times of the year that makes the woods look different; in the morning when there’s mist from the river; in the afternoon when the sun is at its peak and in the early evening when the sun is just starting to go down.  I especially love it when the flowers and leaves are just starting to come out, when the leaves are turning and when everything is blanketed in snow.  Right now the blackberries on the hedgerows have almost turned black; almost time for picking.  Mum will probably be sending me with a plastic bag next week so she can put them in a crumble or a pie-crust.

Just thinking about that reminds me of the things I used to do in your kitchen with Granny.  I recently found a recipe for blackberry brandy.  I was thinking of giving it a go and seeing what it tastes like.

Anyway, tomorrow I’ve got an important lecture in class tomorrow, so I think I should turn in.  I’ll write again tomorrow.

 

Love,

Sarah

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