Echoes of What Was

I've been walking quite a bit lately.

Laundry to be done, that's a mile each way. The Met (a fancy name for a small food store) is another mile walk to and from the flat. When I'm going to the library, I am starting to walk at least half the distance... not that it saves me bus fare, but, it's a nice stroll.

Okay, it's not a nice stroll... I walk down a busy street, still, I walk.

I'll take the train, then walk the half mile into the main street when I go to the theatre, something I've been in the habit of doing lately. The sky has been blue, with lots of long, streaming clouds. Sharp winds are steady, keeping me wrapped in my scarves, coat buttoned, my faithful black gloves on my hands.

I have to wear the black.. I lost a red one at Loo's on the High Street and the brand new pair of brown ones I bought on the street last Friday didn't even make it to the Ferry before they disappeared. I try, I really, really do. It's amazing, when you think about it... I organise houses and offices; able to tell you where any piece of paper is, once I've touched it, yet... I lose my own things on a regular basis.

I'm walking, and thinking... putting together something I want to write. I have it mapped out in my head, I can see the entire film... I know the dialog, the costumes, the plot, the scenery... all of it. It's getting it onto paper that is difficult. Moving it from this vault in my head into the computer is harder than I realised... I've not attempted this sort of writing before, beyond a monologue... and, I find myself admiring those who do script writing more and more.

I've had some things come up that will make a wave in my world... not something I'm looking forward to, but, something I have to deal with in my own way. Something that will place me where I was before in a sense, having learned much, laughed a great deal, and sorry to see things change.

I'll move on.. I've got a great photo of my Dad smiling at me right now... Bud Buckley is singing his heart out while I type... and The Investment has told me he plans on doing this in the summer.

Life is good, yes, indeed.



Our Neville Fact:


News has arrived from the U of K that Our Margaret has broken her wrist while learning to clog. Neville is all aflutter trying to take care of the house while Our Margaret has her arm in a cast, and is unable to cook. Lately, tea consists of beans on toast and quite often Chinese take-away. Margaret would love a chicken vindaloo, but, Neville has boycotted the local Indian eatery ever since they forgot to include lime-pickle with his last order of papadums, causing him no great fury when he was forced to have them with only the mango chutney they provided.