Francis Gay

Gorgeous baby Erin proves the world’s youngest miracle worker

Chrissie told me about a miracle that brought about another miracle. Chrissie’s mum and future mum-in-law fell out about something silly years before her marriage. All through the courtship they never talked, at the wedding reception they sat at opposite ends of the hall. As Chrissie and her husband settled into married life, the dispute between their mothers was a constant shadow.

Then baby Erin arrived. Visiting times were flexible in the hospital but Chrissie pretended they weren’t. “Bring Mum along at half past seven,” she told her dad. She told her husband to tell his mum the same time.

Both women stiffened and bristled when they found themselves in the same room. So, Chrissie lay Erin between them and went for a cup of tea. Sure enough, 10 minutes later Erin had melted their hard hearts and the two grans were laughing about how beautiful she was.

Not a bad start to your life, young Erin!

If I pop in to see Elsie I usually find out that Josh has been in earlier.

If I phone Benny to see if he needs any shopping brought round I usually find Josh has beaten me to it. I remember asking him why. He said it all stemmed from something his dad said.

When Josh was 16, his dad reckoned he could tell what Josh had done in the day by following the trail he’d left.

If he’d been at football his kit would be left outside the shower. If he’d had toast the bread bag would be left open.

If he’d been the last to leave the house, the door would be unlocked. So, ever since then Josh has been leaving more positive clues for people track him by.

It seems we all leave a trail behind. Let’s be like Josh and make it a trail worth following. I had walked past the gate with Harry a week ago. Then, it had lain across the gateway, in a sad state of disrepair.

We guessed the mother who lived there wanted some sort of barrier between her children and the car park.

When we walked past it yesterday, it had new hinges, a new clasp, and was fixed firmly to the gate-post. I noticed the way he ignored it and took a chance.

“You know the adults who live there could have fixed that, if they weren’t spending their money on other things. The landlord could have fixed it. It’s his responsibility, after all.”

After a moment’s thought, Harry asked: “If those children had come to harm, would I have been content saying they were someone else’s responsibility? And should I base what I do, or don’t do, on other people’s character – or on my own?”

I gave the gate a kick and declared it sturdy. Just like Harry’s character.

School’s out, hip hip hooray, Families lucky enough to holiday, Bucket and spade, fun times away, Enjoying summer’s happiest days, Until leaves fall and trees are bare, Memories are treasured, they will always be there.

Iain is a makes baskets. I love watching him create intricate patterns with steamsoftened willow.

It’s a trade he learned young, at his mother’s suggestion after repeatedly breaking her old shopping baskets. Now, it’s how he makes his living.

He tells me the toughest weaving job he ever took on was for a theatre company. They wanted one well woven basket and one badly woven one for a stage production.

“The good basket was easy,” he told me, “but the bad one! My hands worked against me and kept fixing my supposed mistakes without me knowing it!”

Eventually he managed.

Isn’t it interesting how our habitual practices become us? Let’s practise those good habits until, as happened with Iain, we couldn’t do bad work even if we wanted to.