Look at those two! Such a beautiful Pearly King and Queen! It’s hard to ignore them, isn’t it? On a bright, hot July day in Covent Garden they were a mouthful of freshly cleaned teeth sparkling in the crowd, willing all passersby to smile. Hard to be miserable in their presence, right? Kind of like Facebook life. Continue reading
This has been bothering me for a long, long time – the cost to you for remaining married to an alcoholic. I know you did your best in the early years of a lousy marriage to make a home for your big, new blended family. I know you tried hard to keep us as safe as you could but while you were doing that you lost yourself. Continue reading
I love the word Australopithecus. It just rolls off the tongue and the way it sweeps up on “pith” and spits to the end sums up my feelings about the healing professions – optimistically negative, extinct but alive, defeated but not down.
“Stop! Don’t say anything more or mom will blog about it!”
I am forbidden to tell you about a bit of dialogue between daughters when I came home one evening. Truth is, I’d have a hard time remembering it clearly as I was out celebrating my advancing decrepitude with a girlfriend but I do remember it was fascinating. But I promised and so I will not speak of it. Continue reading
Food is pleasure. Food is sexy. Food is fun. Most days I’d rather eat than have sex. Give me some Tandoori Chicken or a bowl of Pad Thai or a Shawarma with garlic fluff and I’m delerious, slavering and panting for more. I NEVER, EVER miss a meal. EVER. I am perplexed by people who claim “Oh I got so busy I forgot to eat.” WHaaaat?
Maybe I have issues with food. Maybe I don’t. Maybe I’m like most people when presented with a smorgasbord : I can’t choose and so I sample a dollop of everything. Maybe I lack self control. Maybe I should cut back. Or maybe I’m normal. Or maybe, just maybe, I should exercise a bit more and eat a bit less because there ain’t no cure for love and there ain’t no magic potion that will fix me if I gain weight. Continue reading
Squeak. Squeak. SQUEAK.
Damn that stair. It gives me away every single morning but if I’m quiet enough, if I can just tiptoe through the skimpy dawn I will have time. Something will occur to me. Some scrap I can work with and scribble down on the page and spin from. It will. I know it will. There is hope.
At this hour there is no duty. I leave the dishes in the sink (the dishwasher is broken) and open the kitchen blinds. The sky is revealing no secrets in this scant light. The day could go either way. Surely this will be the day the sun makes a peace offering? The coffee is unmade, there are crumbs on the kitchen table but mercifully no mouse in the trap. No plans made yet. The dog sleeps on his oversized bed one ear flopped open. The dog dish is empty. Continue reading
“I grow old…I grow old…
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.” (The Lovesong of J. Alfred Prufrock by T.S. Eliot)
This week I have been trembling with excitement. Sometimes when I’m lying in bed at night it feels like my heart is trying to make a break for it. Pound its way out of my chest, leave a slick red trail across the white sheets and thud its way out the door looking for a transplant victim. Searching for a younger body, one where the breasts don’t need a winch and the butt a double skin of Spanx to lift and separate the cheeks back into their discrete selves instead of the uniglobe amalgam of silly putty and orange peel they have become. Continue reading