I snapped these pictures of Mum's china over the weekend. I suppose I should stopping calling it Mum's china since it's been mine for years now. The pink set was actually granny's not Mum's and the platinum set (which is my favourite) was a wedding gift to my parents from my uncle Eamonn.

I guess I'm thinking about family a lot this week. Mum and I skyped late one night and talked about my grandparents and I told her some stories I remembered about Grandad. He passed away when I was seven, but I still cry sometimes because I miss him.

I lost many family-members when I was young and my memories of them are like fractured light. They bounce off other objects and people. But, with Grandad, I have very direct memories. I remember him walking me to and from school (my first school). And I remember being in his garden. I remember his grey car and brown cardigan and the wind-up bird he let me play with.

I dropped an egg once and he told me not to cry over spilt milk and just shook his head when I tried to tell him it was an egg. I was sure he'd get mad later when he realized it wasn't just milk and so I kept on trying to tell him. I remember how earnest I felt and how he always took that earnestness seriously, not laughing at me.

I was feeling like I wanted to be looked after all week. Like having to do every last thing for myself alone is particularly hard right now. That it might be nice for somebody to have my back when I'm tired and sick. But then I thought about where Mum's china is now. And how nobody could have guessed anything about that. And I felt better for no reason.
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