seshat's blog post - 95% autobiographical

When Marianne opens her eyes, her mind is already bursting with excitement. She jumps out of bed, runs to her parents’ bedroom and barges in.
“I’m going to granddad today, right? When are we leaving? Is Hayley coming too? How many days can I stay?”

Her parents look at each other and smile: before they even have the chance to answer, she runs off again, to pack her things. Summer holidays are nearing their end and she is going to spend the last part of the summer at her grandfather’s house, as she does every year. As usual, her cousin Hayley will come too.

At 2 PM, her parents drop her off at her grandfather’s place, at last. Her cousin won’t be arriving until the evening, so granddad and granddaughter go for a bicycle ride together. She loves it, riding through the small villages and the countryside, so unlike the city where she lives. When she passes a mare and foal in a paddock, she can’t resist stopping and beckoning them to the fence. Her granddad pulls some weeds and grass from the side of the road and shows her how to offer it to the horses.

A few miles further, a canal stretches into the distance, flanked by two rows of tall poplars. They find the spot where the blackberries grow wild and drop their bikes alongside the road. The bushes are taller than she is, so she stays at the edge, looking for berries passers-by might have overlooked. Her granddad ventures deep into the brambles however, as if doesn't feel the thorns, to where the branches are still black and heavy. When he returns, he holds out a juice-stained hand filled with the plumpest blackberries, those that came off the stem with the slightest touch. Nothing could taste better than these juicy mouthfuls of summer, still warm with sunshine.

The fresh air has made them hungry, so they return to the house. As they pass some cornfields, the headwind overpowers Marianne and she leans forward as she struggles. Suddenly she feels a grandfatherly force pushing her forward with ease.

Dinner is simple, just bread with cold cuts and cheese, but it’s a feast after the tiring bike ride. That’s not all though: for her final slice of bread, her granddad reaches inside a cupboard. Not just a cupboard, but the cupboard, the legendary one brimming with all sorts of delights for little girls. This time, he chooses a pot of home-made strawberry jam. She spreads it on her bread as thick as she can, all the while being careful to not get any on her hands; she doesn’t like sticky fingers.

Hayley arrives after dinner and bright laughter is soon heard throughout the house as they retell their summer. After bedtime, lying side by side, the two cousins whisper to each other, confiding secrets that they will have forgotten by morning. Their grandfather in the next room can hear that they’re not asleep, but the soft sound of their murmuring soothes him.

When they wake up the next day, the sun is bright and their hearts soar.
“Granddad, granddad, can we build a tent in the garden, just like last year?”
He smiles and goes off at once, gathering the necessary materials. In an hour, his strong arms transform a pile of sticks, ropes and textile into an enchanting tent palace fit for two princesses. Under them and above them and around them, burgundy and ochre paisley blankets shield them from the world. The harsh sunlight is filtered so that only a warm glow penetrates. This is where their lunch is served, accompanied by home-made lemonade. As they imagine their wonderful world, birds singing in the background, only the occasional winged intruder disturbs the peace.
“Granddad, a wasp!” they cry out in unison.
And he comes rushing in to save them, as he always does.