I decide to get out and blow the cobwebs away, but there’s that ole’ pesky to do list rearing it’s scraggy head again.
Then sea makes me think of my mother. La mer. La mère. I wish I could ask her for tips with how to deal with it all. You know Life, Children, the Universe. In Capitals. Mothers are meant to know about these things, be the fountain of all wisdom, come out with the right words at the right time, wise words to pass on to their children.
I wish my mother was here. But she’s not. When I go to the cupboard where maternal wise words are stored, the cupboard is bare… Not a scrap. Not even a tin of baked beans. She’s not been around for a long long time.
As for wise words, well, I guess I’ll just have to make them up, or voyage into the blogosphere…