Berries with milk is a favourite of my father’s. I fail to see the appeal here, though I do like both, just separately. But raspberries with milk are also sweet memories to me, memories of those warm summer nights, darkness cooling down the steaming earth, flies and mosquitoes circling around the lamp (isn't it an ultimate attribute of a hot summer?), appetite coming finally after the heat is gone. Taste of childhood, this is what raspberries with milk are to me, even if I don’t eat them that way.
Now that I have my little boy, I want to pass on this feeling to him, wrap him up in summer and warmth and sunshine. The colours remind me so much of raspberries, sometimes slightly crushed and giving their juice to milk, making it pinkish.
I wonder now, what he would say to raspberries – we haven’t started with solids, yet. He’s still a baby, I mean, baby baby, just drinking milk and knowing nothing about all the other tastes in the world. I want him to stay like this, forever, so that I can make him blanket after blanket after blanket to wrap him up in.
But down to (knitting) earth: it’s just a Babette-ish square, I will simply go on until the size looks like something we could use. It’s loads of fun, though, watching the colour emerge – as the rows are getting longer, the colour changes vary. It’s just like watching your child grow – you miss what you leave behind, but there’s more waiting for you, never letting you get bored or long for the past. Always something to look forward to. Just like watching your children day after day after day...
