Saturday, December 22, 2012

Too tired to blog tonight

(it's been a manic month so far although I'm not complaining)


I thought I would just like to note that there is nothing quite like walking down the road with a son who has been sulking at you for a while but suddenly lays his head on your hand (while walking!) because, dammit, you've been AWOL all month and he's only six and you're all the mother he has.

He's all the son I have too, all my winter sunshine and summer cheer. I hope he always knows it, even when we fight and he denies it. I hope when we're not talking he remembers how I never turned away a caress or a hug or a kiss. Or denied him one. And if he doesn't remember it, I will, because he is the only person in my life who has ever put me first. That has to count for something.

Sunday, December 09, 2012

Sending up thanks

... for Dipali. Not because she took on an errand I could have squeezed into my schedule tomorrow but because having somebody randomly do something just because they could is something I treasure.

My friends bestest. All of them.

Now to figure out a place to store 25 litre cartons of carrot juice.

(Also sending up thanks for boundless optimism, Georgette Heyers and not having to cook, clean or keep house any longer.)

Thursday, December 06, 2012

Murphy came knocking today

And upset everything that he possibly could.

Who went and told him I started the day well, now? Come on, 'fess up. He's asking who he should visit next.


More Than Me

I received this letter in my email:

More Than Me, an education and girls' empowerment non-profit is gaining notoriety through its guerrilla-style marketing, inspiring hundreds of people to write "I am Abigail" on their foreheads and post their photos on Facebook.

This really begs the question, "Who the heck is Abigail?"

Abigail was an orphan in West Point, Liberia. You may have read her in a previous article here on the Huffington Post. At six, she was left with prostitutes. She learned to work the streets in order to get access to drinking water and food. Education was not an option.

Then Abigail met Katie Meyler, the founder of More Than Me, an organization dedicated to getting girls off the streets and into schools. Katie and Abigail became fast friends, and More Than Me has raised the money to put Abigail through school. She is learning to bake, and aspires to one day be a Senator, so she can, in turn, help other girls like her. 

So, why are all these people also "Abigail"?

Abigail could be you. Abigail could be your sister, your niece, your student, or your neighbor. Remember, we live in a global community; there is no "me" without "we", Abigail is because you are, and you are because Abigail is.

Join the community. When you've done that, help the community grow by spreading our story. And most of all, get inspired.

Take 15 seconds (yes, just 15 seconds) to make the lives of these girls a bit better by doing two very simple and extremely meaningful things: VOTE NOW through 4th December for Abigail and girls like her at and... then share it with others. (Maybe even make your OWN “I am Abigail” picture!)

Thank you, 
Mini Verma

If you would like to help them win the funding you know what to do. (Go vote.)

Wednesday, December 05, 2012

The last two days

I've been feeling very brittle. Like I dare not stand too close to other people.

I have been extraordinarily productive though.

An unexpected conversation set the seal, sort of, on this brittleness. I thought it was a happy partnership, but it wasn't. They aren't even together any more.


A bad habit I have got into this year is that of comparing my marriage to others I see. Even when I do know better. Well, I have decided to do so no longer, no least because what's left to compare? Maybe others just put up a better show or have learnt to negotiate better or do whatever it is that works for them.

However, I am not any of these women and I have certainly not married anybody like their husbands. So no more comparisons. My story is mine alone and since I'm not comparing, I am free to script it my way.


A few times these last two days I wondered if I dared hope of anything beyond a lifetime of loneliness ahead of me. Today I find my boundless optimism reasserting itself in a most alarming sort of way.

[For the future me who will read this and wonder what it was all about and wish I had been a lot less cryptic -- It is December 2012 and I'm smack bang in the middle of Ciudades Paralelas.]

Saturday, December 01, 2012

The Rights of The Reader

You can click on the imag to see a larger version, I think.

If you are having problems reading, here are The 10 Rights of The Reader:

1. The right not to read.
2. The right to skip.
3. The right not to finish a book.
4. The right to read it again.
5. The right to read anything.
6. The right to mistake a book for real life.
7. The right to read anywhere.
8. The right to dip in.
9. The right to read out loud.
10. The right to be quiet.

10 rights -- 1 warning: Don't make fun of people who don't read -- or they never will.

[I am posting this because of late some blogger friends and I have been discussing the reading habits of our children.]