tales from a small room

I’ve been thinking a lot about when I was a little child. Re-living memories, trying to remember how I felt during certain experiences and also thinking about how all of these combined moments brought me to where I am today. Things are a little confused today (this week, this month…) with my thoughts, but I’m letting things be and not fighting it.

My Dad returns from Poland soon after helping organise Dziadek’s funeral with my Uncle and family. He will hopefully bring home with him some Krówki that I always request when he travels back home. They are handmade a couple of streets away from my Aunt’s house in Milanówek. I taste them and I’m instantly a little kid again.

My little niece (possibly nephew?) will be born in a few weeks. This is all very exciting and I’m looking forward to meeting her. What will she be like? What if she doesn’t like me?
It makes me sad that she will be the first in our family not to have known Dziadek and will only know him through photographs and stories. I never got to meet my Mum’s father but she says that I would have really liked him.

I’ll leave you with some entries from Witold Riedel’s archives that I’ve been really enjoying. The last one especially, I distinctly remember my Mum telling a variation of this story to my brother and I when we were young.

+ That bird in front of the National Gallery…
+ The bear
+ 360×360x117
+ About a hand

In my scattered current state, these posts were calming. or something. have a read…
take care.
xo