The problem with being old – or as old as I am – is that there’s an overabundance of memories.
I used, when it all kicked off, to send myself emails as things occured to me. (I still do.) And now, sometimes when I am looking for other things, I find them. They give me a jolt – I have usually forgotten the incidents and thoughts. And they make me cry. Continue reading That Was The Good News.
I have been dreading the empty nest. For over 20 years I have been a mother, and really, nothing else. This was a mistake on many levels, but there we are. Now my twins are 18 and off to uni. Continue reading Staring Loneliness In The Face. And Loving It.
For years – more than 20 – I cooked for the family. Five of us. More or less everything we ate, until the children went to school and had lunch there. My husband used to eat out on expenses during the day and when travelling on business (supposedly). Continue reading First the Lasagne, now the Fruit Bowl
Twelve hours or more I am out of the house these days; long days at work and an extensive commute. I arrive home tired, have to shop, cook, iron and so on, deal with rats and leaking roofs and the tax office, and – this week – my son forgetting to turn up to one of his exams, which necessitates more paperwork and cost than you would imagine. I try to squeeze in time to write another chapter of the book, already behind schedule, but luckily with an understanding publisher. Continue reading Having a Dog and Barking Yourself
I remember reading that if you are writing a book, you should remove all but three descriptions of dreams. And then, when you edit, you should remove those. Continue reading A Rose By Any Other Name