above is the house that my mum, her big brother Tom and sister Jenny lived in with my Granny and Grandpa (aka Mr & Mrs Lyttle). They tell about the tree climbs, their dad tripping down the stairs every time he went out at midnight to deliver a baby, mum once sneaking out of a side window to ring the school bell (big punishment!) and once a year parties. Now Gran lives in a smaller house, still white, a bit art deco and wonderful. I love Cathcart St.
Full of things I remember playingn with as a girl. soft velvet chairs (short legs) in the downstairs. I look for the same books on the shelves. Her library books stacked up above toy toy cupboard, Gran looking forward to watching the tennis, her finished cryptic crossword by 9am. Leaf tea, pill boxes. The smell of Goulburn water. Gran is 93. Smart, with a wonderful memory.
The garden is dryer, smaller (so it seems). The clock near the polished Broulee stones ticks, tocks. Kangaroos leaping in the bush block beyond. the compost piled in a pit on the way. book open on her lap. stools, old photos - keeping track of 12 great-grandchildren around the globe.
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