Monday, March 9, 2009

My index card will be blank

I'm worried. I know I said that only grown-ups frown at snow, but I'm starting, I am. I'm frowning. I'm truly sick and tired of snow.

Oslo hasn't seen this much of it since the 80s, apparently. And with the little one coming, I can't sleigh or skate or ski or do any of the fun stuff to do with winter. I don't want winter anymore, I want spring and blossoming trees and lemon sorbet.

But does this mean I'm a grown-up now? I also woke up at 8.30 without an alarm this morning, which hasn't happened since I was five and decided that no, I didn't want to go to kindergarten, I wanted to sleep in. Another sign.

I guess it means you can't see me anymore, Gwen and Bamse and Mario and all my loved ones who are in the Inners now, perhaps gathering in the Observatory, feeding my index card to the Memory Machine, expecting a glimpse of me sitting in my usual window seat at Påfyll pretending to write, but really blogging. For the first time, it won't work. The mirror will remain cloudy and the machine will spit out my card again, and it'll be blank. There is no child by the name of Tone Almhjell anymore. So sad.

But on the upside, I finished chapter 16 yesterday. Phew. On the upside there's spring just around the corner, blossoms and all. And on the upside, a new index card for an entirely new child will be written out come August, and mine will only be missed now and then by a round eyed, mute cat, a gutsy, little gerbil and a much cuddled teddy with a flat button in place of his left eye.


Heidi said...

Your card won't be blank. It'll just be filed in a different place, with a new card paper-clipped to it. You can still pull it out and find it when you need to.

p.s. I had a gutsy little hamster. I adored her and doted on her, and when she died at the ripe old age of 2.5, she was buried in the quintessential pet funeral. Shoebox interred in the backyard, torrential rainstorm, pile of jonquils on the gravesite. Sigh.

tone almhjell said...

I had to put little Gwen to sleep because she had started getting cramps. And stupidly, when the vet asked if I wanted to be there, I thought, yes, it would probably be better for Gwen to have someone familiar hold her, so okay.

I couldn't sleep for weeks afterwards. I felt like a monster. afer some time, I even called the vet to ask what it actually felt like, getting that shot.

Later, writing a little story for my sister, set in a fantasy world, with Gwen as one of two main characters, felt really, really good.

Still does, I suppose, though the story has deepened and outgrown this episode a long time ago.

Li:ne said...

You will never completely grow up, don't worry.

Just think about your jitters when christmas is approaching. And the way the smallest, pretty thing can mean the world to you on a regular wednesday afternoon, even it cost less than a bag of chips.

That's when they can see you on your card, and they will know when to look.


Laini Taylor said...

Tone, it doesn't mean anything! With an imagination like yours, it'll take more than a bad winter to turn you into a "grownup"!! I love the winter and even the rainy dreary long spring we have here, but I am starting to look ahead to sunshine. Yesterday it was so cold we finally built a fire, only the chimney had gotten blocked somehow since we never make fires, and we smoked the house! Today we keep saying, "Smells like sausages."

Sunshine would be good, just about now. Then you can walk barefoot in grass, something no grownup would ever do!

tone almhjell said...

That's true, Laini. Barefoot is good.

The memory machine works that way in my story, the day you don't know how to play anymore, your card can't be read. But the great thing is that your child spark, that mysterious wonderful energy that kids possess, doesn't disappear - it goes into the fabric of the Inners and is really the magic from of which that realm is made.

So I actually suspect that my card has been blank for a while (I still remember rigging up all my barbies to play, dressing them up, arranging the furniture, deciding on a (quite dramatic) scenario, and then - nothing. Nothing ensued. But then the boy I liked rang the doorbell, and the dolls and lack of games were instantly forgotten. Swoosh, gone, and not even missed, not for many years).

And just to clarify, Gwen the kitten, who is named for Gwen in my story, who is named for my sweet, little gerbil, is doing just fine.

Laini Taylor said...

Oh, good. When I read that about Gwen, I worried. I had to read the comments a few times to realize it was a gerbil you were referring to!