Sylvania Takes a Breath

I am often surprised by my children. This is usually due to Brendan but occasionally Beverley manages to raise my brows. The latest surprise was in relation to Mellowdene Day. For those that don’t recall, this annual tradition is to highlight the things that make us grateful. Every few years there is a formal event but mostly it is celebrated within families, often supported by school projects and similar. Beverley’s choice this year was slightly unusual.

“My gratitude project is going to be about the Pause,” she said.

“Paws?” I replied, raising my arms.

“No daddy,” she laughed. “The Pause. The ageing thing.”

“Oh.” I wasn’t sure how to react. Granted, I hadn’t given it much thought, but an inexplicable glitch in time’s progress wasn’t an obvious subject for gratitude.

 

Perhaps I should explain. It may be, after all, a purely Sylvanian thing.

Legend has it that, from time to time, there are periods when Sylvanians stop ageing. It isn’t permanent but when it occurs no-one is sure how long it will last. I understand it doesn’t happen often. My parents and grandparents didn’t encounter this phenomena and it had slowly become little more than a fairy tale. As I said, an apparent legend – until it happened to us.

We’re not sure exactly when it started. We know Russell had learned to walk and had started to attend nursery, so it was some time after that. Nobody noticed at first. I’m not sure how long it was before some folk became aware and the conversations began. Our age bands weren’t shifting. Years passed, but crittizens remained the same age.

Of course, we are Sylvanians. No one panicked. A few researched the legends and it became common assumption that it was a temporary thing that would conclude whenever it was ready. Life goes on. The “Pause”, as it became known, was just part of life. In no time it was accepted and, if not forgotten, then ignored in favour of day-to-day activities.

I don’t think the Sylvanian Research Group have a scientific explanation for the Pause. I don't think even Aristotle Treefellow knows. Those with a more spiritual leaning say it’s something to do with the land itself. Rowena Moss’s sister – Morwenna Deerheart – is interested in mysticism. As she puts it, “Sylvania is taking a breath.”

 

It’s as good a reason as any. But that didn’t explain why Beverley thought it was a subject for gratitude. I asked her for her reasons.

“I know people don’t think about it anymore,” she said. “We get along with our lives and that’s fine. But we are incredibly lucky and I think we should be more grateful about that.”

“Go on, pudding. I’m listening.”

 

“We get more time to enjoy our age bands, more than any generation in living memory. Babies can enjoy their innocence and the love of their families. Children have longer to have fun, longer to learn things, longer to spend time on tricky school stuff until they understand it. Parents can enjoy their families longer, spending time with their children before they grow and leave home. The same goes for grandparents. We should be grateful for all this.”

She had a good point. One of which I was in danger of forgetting. Minor concerns such as wondering when Russell would eventually start talking were nothing. We would enjoy our families whilst Sylvania was taking its breath.

 

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Note: If you're wondering about birthdays, so were we at first. Most choose not to use the passing years as indicators; I once heard a child say, "It's my eighth birthday tomorrow. That will be the fifth one!" That sort of makes sense - imagine a fifty year old child - although that's an extreme example. From the scant records, a Pause won't last that long.

Some others won't let the Pause spoil the chance to celebrate significant birthdays. If you remember Horatio Seadog avoiding a Howlaree in one of my earlier tales, he knew that many of his canine acquaintances would still mark the years and celebrate his ansept with gusto. How could they miss such an opportunity? 

That's why you'll rarely hear me explicitly refer to someone's age. It's too confusing!

 

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