Something about bees

I was reading in the garden while the toddler played by himself. Beside my rug, in the grass, I saw a bee. It was moving slowly, I could see that it wasn’t well, then it was still.

I was reading, “What should I do with my life?” I’d mentioned this book to my boyfriend and been eager to point out, “It’s not a self-help book or anything.”

It’s not a self-help book at all, and it’s not the sort of book I usually read. There I go again… Why am I being so defensive about this? Maybe it’s because I have an interesting job, a lovely family and I live in a big house  by the sea. I shouldn’t need to wonder what to do with my life, I should be celebrating my luck that life is full.

The bee problem bothers me, I’m sure it bothers most people. I looked at that dead bee and remembered the documentary I’d seen about the bees dying. It showed beekeepers who loved what they did, their life was their bees, when the bees got sick it seemed their life was over.

No one knows why the bees are dying. I felt sad for the little bee who died beside me in the grass, but more sad because it feels like a hopeless mystery. The bees have everything they need but still they die.

I started thinking about my stickers again. The first sticker I stuck was a bee. I probably made a bee because it was colourful and easy to draw. I was simply entertaining my daughter, not  in the mood to draw at all. I’d bought her a sticker-making toy to ease my guilt at leaving her dad,  it cost more than her usual pocket-money. It turned out to be the best £8.99 I’ve spent. She soon stopped using it, but it became my favourite toy.

I found the bee sticker in my pocket and I stuck it beside the tube station escalator on the way to work. I liked  my bee, it brightened my day, so I did it again. I made more bees and kept sticking. I was soon fighting a battle with the Tooting Bec tube station cleaners who removed my stickers every night. I would just stick a new bee each morning as I headed down that escalator.

I tried other stickers, but I kept returning to bees. I sometimes wondered, “Why bees?” I decided it might be to do with being busy like a bee. I was working and bringing up my daughter on my own, it was a busy time, but I still found time to make a sticker each day.

Now I’m wondering again about bees, what do they mean? If I can find out what the bees mean it feels like I might know what to do with my life. What a strange thing to think.

I can’t ask the bees, can I? If only it was that simple.

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