“Nobody takes care of it, I guess.  That’s not very good.”

“But they’re nice and colourful!”

“Well, that’s looking on the bright side…”

Suddenly she changes the topic.  ”Can you use chopsticks with your left hand?”

“No… well I never really tried.”

“I can.”

I’m impressed.  ”Do you know what its called when you can use your left hand just as well as your right hand?”

“What?”

“Its… no, its too big a word for you,” I said in a teasing voice.

“Oh… tell me, pretty please.”

“Its… um…. [long pause] … no, its too complicated.”

“Come on, I really want to know.”

“OK… its ambidextrous.”

“Aaaam bi dex trous”, she repeats, trying it out, and obviously pleased by its verbal texture.

“Thats it.”

Did you just make that up?” she asks, suspiciously.

“No, I promise.”

“Pinkie promise?” she asks, holding out her little finger.  In her circles, entwining pinky fingers while promising bestows a higher degree of solemnity.

“OK, pinkie promise.”

Later same day…

I asked: “How do you spell ambidextrous?”

“A..m..b……i…d..e…..x…t…r..o..u..s?”

“Yes, that’s right!  How did you know?”  I doubted she’d seen the word written anywhere.

“I just sounded it out.”

“OK, how do you spell… vegetable.”

“V..e..g…d…a…b..l..e?”

“Why are the soldiers fighting?” she asked.

How to explain?

“Well, there are lots of bad men in Afghanistan. The American soldiers are there trying to get rid of them. When they win, they’ll go home.”

The TV showed US soldiers taking cover from attacks.

“Those soldiers are very brave,” I remarked.

“Did you ever fight like that?”

“Oh no – I never went to a war!” I had been in cadets at school, and very briefly in the Army Reserve. I think she had seen a photo from my Army Reserve days.

“Why not? Weren’t you brave enough?” she asked, fully sincere.

“No, I wasn’t a real soldier.”

She seemed disappointed.

“Do you know who was? Grandpa Malcolm. He was very brave. He fought in Vietnam. You’ve heard of Vietnam, right?”

She nodded, but she seemed mystified as to why there would be a war there. Fair enough.

Then the inevitable question: “Did he kill anyone?”

“We don’t know. Mostly he built bridges and roads and airfields and hospitals.” Dad had been an Army engineer.

“Why build those things in a war?”

A reasonable question. “Well, the soldiers need them. And the people who live there need them too.”

One day, when she’s old enough to appreciate it, I’ll take Lillian to the War Memorial in Canberra, to see their displays about Vietnam. And then to visit Dad in the military section of the cemetery in Woden.

Here’s one in texta:

And one in ink and paper:

When I pointed out that the nuts were large compared with the leaves (usually eucalyptus leaves are much larger) she looked at me as if I really just didn’t get it.  Its just a drawing, she pointed out.

Lillian looked disbelieving.  ”That’s not from our bees!” she said.

“How do you know?”

“If it was from our bees, the writing would have been eensy-teensy.  And it would have been written in honey, not ink.  Or maybe they would have used their stings to scratch out a message. “

Can’t argue with that!

Anyway, inspired by the bees’ card, Lillian created her own “Welcome home” cards: