FF – Vacation 2020

Thank you to Sandra Crook for this week’s photo. Maybe it’s the mood I’m in, but it struck me this way, so here’s a fairly say-what-you-see response from me for Friday Fiction. Critique away!

https://castelsarrasin.wordpress.com/

Vacation 2020

Sandy was so excited to be going on holiday, she even joined in the bus transfer sing-a-long. She needed this break, after all the drama with Jackson: to lie on the beach and swim in the pool, to read, flirt and sip cocktails alone in the sun.

The hotel was smaller and shabbier than she’d expected, but it didn’t dent her excitement. The water was calling to her. After checking in, Sandy stepped out onto the pool deck. Stinky black seaweed covered the ground and clung to her sandals. Then she saw the sign: “Desole – la piscine est ferme”.

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FF – Choice

Another quick Friday Fiction to celebrate being home alone today. Thank you to Rochelle, who has sustained the group for so long and so wisely, and to J Hardy Carroll for this intriguing photograph. The link to my story is something of a rabbit warren of tangents, but here it is. Your comments and critique are welcome.

Choice

Josie passed another brown-bagged sandwich into outstretched hands.

“Thank you,” said the woman, tucking it into a worn-out backpack hidden in the bushes behind her. “I’ll have it when I’m done.” She waved Josie away and struck a pose, aimed at a black car approaching slowly.

****

Dad turned the phone towards her and she caught a glimpse of a torn backpack underneath a chilling headline: The Kingston Ripper Strikes Again.

“Why do they do it? They must know the risks, especially now.”

Josie took a deep breath. “If you were starving, wouldn’t you sell the only thing you had left?”

 

 

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FF – Freedom

Waking before the kids for the first time in a while, it occurred to me that it was Wednesday and I could use the time to join in Friday Fictioneers for the first time in years. The prompt is one I’ve used before (see my previous story here: https://elmowrites.wordpress.com/2013/12/18/friday-fictioneers-dreams/) but I decided to make up a new one. I’ve missed my favourite character, Melanie, so I let her have her say about the picture this time and my story is below. Your comments and critique are welcome.

The central FF post is here: https://rochellewisoff.com/2020/07/29/31-july-2020/ with a link to other stories. Thank you again to Jean L. Hays for the photo.

dolphin_01

Freedom

I want to swim with dolphins, but we should let them go free.

We’re caged ourselves now. No parks, no school, no visiting Mummy. Dolphins have been trapped like this forever: staring at the ocean through the bars of a cage.

They say swimming with dolphins makes you feel free, but how can you feel free in a cage? I want to jump off the back of a fishing boat when a pod comes by, and splash through the waves and hang onto a fin when I’m tired, like Daddy carrying me home from school back when there was school.

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I Need A Haircut

Today, we got the clippers out and all three boys braved my previously-untested hair dressing skills. I used to cut my own when I couldn’t afford for someone else to do it, but that was in the distant past and didn’t necessarily yield the best results. Since I don’t want a buzzcut, my locks are as yet unmolested. It’s a couple of months since they had anything done, so they are getting scraggy and the ends have started to split. I need a hair cut.

But in a very real sense, I do not need a haircut. When people protest about lockdown, the closure of hair salons seems to serve as a posterchild for the restriction of our liberties. After all, it’s not something you can really do yourself, especially if you live alone, and most people of all genders and walks of life are used to having “smart” “styled” hair. We see it as a necessity.

It’s not though, is it? The concept of smart, styled hair is very new in the course of human endeavour. As much as the stars and stylists of the screen seem to ignore this, most people weren’t having a regular cut and blow dry >100 years ago (Sorry, “Last Kingdom”), and if the apocalpyse came, we wouldn’t still be made up and coiffured while we fought rival tribes and races for land and food. (I’m looking at you “The 100”.)

Finan..... I call him Yum Yum lol (With images) | The last kingdom ...Clarke Griffin - Wikipedia

Even when I was a kid, your hair was probably cut by your parents, possibly using a pudding bowl as a guide. 200+ years ago, while the upper classes wore wigs to avoid the issue, most people probably kept their own hair either very long or very short (the better for keeping clean and lice-free too).

It’s not just new, it’s also Western. On volunteer trips to Ghana and Nepal, respectively, Jon and I met whole orphanages full of shaven-headed children (boys and girls alike). They didn’t notice or mind, they weren’t hankering after pony-tails, braids or bangs. There is no money for fashion when there isn’t enough money for food.

But even when there is the money, fashion is fickle. Smart and stylish are just words, which we have applied to the same thing for long enough that we’ve forgotten they can change. I doubt many Saxon warriors looked like Finan, and I doubt many post-apocolapse amazons will match Clarke. They would look at picutres of us with curiosity. But they wouldn’t necessarily consider our fashions superior, any more than most of us hanker after mullets, perms etc.

If the covid-cut comes your way, consider it a new way to explore yourself, express yourself, and redefine “style”. Maybe I’ll get that buzz cut after all!

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Lockdown so far

Seven weeks ago, when I collected the boys from school, I knew it would be for 3 weeks and maybe more. Having had a few days’ practice at homeschooling via one-day teacher strikes, we talked over what they had (and hadn’t!) enjoyed and rejigged the schedule a bit, took a week off for March Break, then hit the ground running (ish). Since then, we’ve tweaked the plan and replaced some of Mummy’s work ideas with the stuff sent out from school.

I am lucky. Even before the pandemic, it would have been hard to claim I was far down the privilege ladder, but I have to acknowledge my Pandemic Privilege in being financially secure, living in a house with a garden and separate room (even if it doesn’t have a door) for Jon to work from home, having no job myself so that I can focus on the kids, having no need for either of us to engage with other people except for shopping, having the people I love most right here in my household, being used to using skype etc for grandparent and friend communications… etc. This is not to boast, I am just acknowledging that when I say I’m doing well, it is in the context that I am bloody fortunate.

But for the most part, I am doing well. Parenting has never been something that came naturally to me, and I would certainly never pretend that what works for us would or should work for anyone else. I miss school. I miss the break from being constantly talked to, constantly touched, constantly relied upon. I miss the opportunity to write both rambling blog posts and concise content (two short paragraphs this afternoon took me 25 minutes because they were written in between a thousand interuptions and I wanted them to be tight). I miss talking to my friends and my husband without anyone saying “What? Why did you say that? Who’s on the phone?” and then stealing it and hiding it under a cushion while I yell at the person on the other end not to hang up. I miss work, even though I didn’t do very much of it.

But for the most part, we are doing well. We have found a balance that mostly works, most of the time. That is structured enough that my structure-craving boys and I feel safely cocooned in our regime, and flexible enough that if they just don’t feel like working today, we can play 96 games of monopoly and Zombie Kids, and then they can run out into the garden and whack each other with cardboard swords while I watch some crap on Netflix and clean the bathrooms.

It turns out that why I am not a natural parent, I might to some extent be a natural teacher. Or at least a natural maker-of-interesting-worksheets, which isn’t necessarily the same thing. I’m NOT enjoying class control. The patience it takes to watch a child lounge around, groaning because you have just asked him to add a period (full stop) to a sentence he’s written but he is soooo tiiiireeeddd mmuuuuummmy… that patience is not something I was blessed with. But I enjoy learning and I love to watch and guide the boys in their discoveries. It’s a thrill when they get caught up in a project I’ve set (or even one I’ve passed on from their teachers), and it’s great exercise for my brain to create the projects while they are asleep.

So, mainly for the sake of posterity, but also because I have been totally amazed by how many things capture their interest and how much they can do… here is a list of just some of the things we have fit into the first 7 weeks of lockdown…
OUTSIDE
1) Chalk. Walking around the neighbourhood is the most exercise most of us get these days, but I find it hard to walk for the sake of walking. A destination helps, and making that the home of one of their friends helps them stay connected. So we walk there, we leave chalk messages or trails and we walk home again. It’s made even more exciting by the prospect of friends reciprocating a few days later!
2) Backyard play. Jon made the boys a swingball set and I bought them a plastic baseball bat. They have rediscovered their climber / slide and when the oven arrived in a huge new box, they extended their fort and play who-knows-what outside happily for 30-60 minutes every couple of days. Sometimes they borrow a pair of scissors to trim the fir trees. Sometimes they take the lid off the sand box – they particularly enjoyed the first few weeks when it was very wet and they could build dams and rivers and occasionally Mummy appeared to teach them about strong foundations and adding weirs for overflow.
3) Sometimes we walk up to the trainline and scream for the duration of a passing train. The boys are much louder than a modern engine, so the neighbours probably hate this one, but sometimes everyone needs to drop the ‘indoor voice’ requirement for a minute!
4) Mapping project. I printed a googe map of the ‘hood and set Sebastian a project to mark lots of houses and shops we know. Then he had some extra challenges – like visiting a number of places without doubling back on himself, or only turning right (or going straight on). We tested them out on our neighbourhood walks and talked about the effect of these extra rules.
5) Biking. I’d like to say Dominic has taken advantage of this extra parent time to ditch the training wheels, but instead he’s regressed to a trike, which he now confidently rides around the whole area, while his bike (with training wheels still attached) languishes forgotten. Mummy and Daddy might have to figure out some impetus for that particular challenge.
INSIDE
1) Screen time rules have been slightly relaxed, but mostly for ‘educational’ activities and keeping in contact with friends. Both boys have taken to Messenger Kids and WhatsApp calls with their friends, and enjoy exploring a few websites / apps with games on. Dominic will play any amount of Starfall.com and the Monkey Preschool app, Sebastian uses Starfall as well as the work set by his teacher. They have both watched countless hours of someone else playing Luigi’s Mansion on youtube. It doesn’t seem to occur to either of them to ask us to buy the game for them to play themselves!
2) We got a couple of extra board games for Easter (Robot Turtles and Zombie Kids Evolution). The latter in particular is at a perfect level for them to BOTH play, with or without us. We are also required to play several games a day of these, Monopoly, Game of Life, Rat Race, Cribbage, Snakes and Ladders, Scrabble, Memory… etc I love board games, but even I find this level of playing exhausting, and very few of the games appeal to both boys so which adult is involved has to play two different games simultaneously. It appears to be a huge way that Sebastian measures love though, and although the boys are handling the lockdown very well, it’s important to me to give him that extra attention and recognition when I can.
3) Tapping into this love of board games, I have discovered Sebastian loves doing projects to discover more about them and about the strategies behind them. So I’ve written him worksheets guiding him through complicated probability questions and tactics (likelihood of dice rolls, rates of return on investment, different incomes for different career choices, etc). They are one of our favourite parts of homeschool.
4) School started sending work for the boys a few weeks in. Their reading is on getepic.com, which means it’s on a screen. Sebastian quickly started to complain of sore eyes and headaches, so we’ve stopped that in favour of reading real books. Luckily I managed to get a few books at his level at Walmart and we have plenty of books that are a little easier that he can dip into. It means his teacher isn’t ‘witnessing’ his reading, but I am happy that it’s happening at least to some extent. Dominic is getting on OK on epic, probably because his books are a lot shorter so it’s less intensive reading time.
S gets Math homework on screen too, through ca.ixl.com. Math is a subject he finds easy, so he sails through the set work and can occasionally be persuaded to try something at a higher level. D’s math is games and counting – and he’s teaching himself multiplication because the ‘game’ he is desperate to play is in the Grade 3 section of Starfall.
S’s main language project is writing a Mr Men story, which he’s enjoying and doing a great job on. Dominic gets poem comprehensions each week and some fun ‘science’ experiments, which we generally all do together. Yesterday’s ‘mystery ice cubes’ (I’d frozen tiny toys into each one) was a real hit.
5) Science is popular with both boys and once a week we drag Daddy out of the basement to ‘teach’ for an hour or so, usually using one of the Science Kits the kids have had for months but rarely had the time to dig into. This lesson gives Mummy a desperately-needed hour off supervision duty and the three of them enjoy making a mess much more than I do. Glow-in-the-dark slime, ‘alien blood’, bouncy balls and bath bombs are just a few of their creations. With me, they have baked brownies, made beautiful birthday cards for Daddy and for a few friends and this week we melted some discounted Easter chocolate and made heart-shaped chocolates with homemade jelly filling.
6) On the subject of unused gifts, we’ve been collecting the boys’ Little Passports envelopes unopned on a shelf for a few months. Just before Lockdown, I was about to cancel their subscriptions, but we are finally finding time to focus on them now. Dominic’s most recent included a velcro weather chart, which he’s enjoying updating each day. April is the best month for weather charting in Toronto, becuase it’s the most varied. We often use all the symbols over the course of one afternoon!
7) There’s plenty of play too. The kids like to build forts on the furniture, build lego, play with their toys, chase each other around and just generally let their creativity flow. It’s a bit of a break for me, although I’m unable to completely relax because I am always on the lookout for declining tempers and imminent battles, but at least it allows me to clean or check on a friend or neighbour. At weekends, Jon and I try to give the boys an hour or two apart, but otherwise they are togehter 100% of the time and it occasionally results in drama. I am grateful, though, that for the most part it seems to have cemented their friendship and support for each other.

And what about mental health? So many of my parent-friends are reporting real dramas from their kids, that I have to take my hat off to our boys, who have mostly slid into the ‘new normal’ as if they’ve been doing it all their lives. Their energy / enthusiasm for homeschool comes and goes, and they are slightly more clingy than usual, with Sebastian’s board game habits at least partly just an excuse for parent attention and Dominic frequently deciding he is a baby sloth (and in need of carrying around). But for the most part they are on a fairly even keel. We’re being careful with their emotions and have worked hard to smooth the transition and downplay any fears about the world outside, but I feel they deserve a lot of the credit for even tempers and willingness to adapt.
For me, that constant sense of being ‘on duty’ is the hardest thing about parenting, it always was. A close second is finding the balance between the loving, supportive side of parenting and the disciplining, challenging side. Lockdown has intensified both problems. This week, they haven’t felt like schoolwork of any kind. It’s been hard to know when to insist they at least try and when to let them kick back and relax. There is no universal answer and each situation has to be taken on its merits, but that is the challenge and at the moment it crops up 100 times per day.
I miss my friends and the chance to kick back, but I am trying to have calls and even the occasional distance-chat, and I miss the gym but the boys and I do a dance party every day and even when they lie around, I jump about like a fool.
For the most part, then, I’m doing OK. Jon said the other day that I was “strangely calm” about all this, and I am. I can’t do anything about the bigger picture and I am doing all I can about the smaller one. I am luckier, in so many ways, than so many others and focussing on that helps. My life has changed but it also hasn’t, and not all the changes are for the worse.

And the weather is getting warmer, which always improves my mood.

(I’ll try to add pictures later; writing this post over the last 2 days has completely used anything approaching spare time I don’t have.)

 

 

A Note On Privilege
Privilege is a funny thing. Many people seem to react to their own privilege with either guilt or defensiveness; to me, acknowledging my privilege isn’t to apoligse for it or to dismiss the struggles that we faced and face or that fact that lots of people have it better than we do. To me, noting my own fortune brings only a sense of duty – to acknowledge it, and to attempt to improve things for those who weren’t dealt a flush.

Privilege is a lot like playing cards actually. If you get dealt a crappy hand, you can still win. You need a lot of work and skill and a little bit of luck along the way, but you can still win. And if you’re dealt a great hand you can still fluff it up and end up losing the game through bad luck or bad judgement. But the odds are stacked in favour of the guy with the better hand, and to watch a single round and then claim he won purely through his own skill would be missing the part the deal had to play. The relative skill of two players simply cannot be properly measured if they are consistently dealt unbalanced cards.

In cards, the deals are balanced by playing multiple rounds and by careful shuffling. In life, if we only get one round and we cannot guard against the imbalance of luck, we should instead guard against the error of judging a man by the cards he is dealt.

 

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Covid-19

I never thought I’d renew this blog in circumstances anything like this, and yet here I am posting twice in two days, on a topic that’s entered our collective consciousness so swiftly and completely. I promise not to bombard you with Covid-19 ramblings every day – if I manage to reinvigorate this blog I’ll try to keep the old emphasis on fiction first and foremost, because I for one need the escapism!

But I’ve been thinking something about the disease and this seems as good a place as any to record those thoughts.

Covid-19 Crisis

As modern Westerners, we’re not used to large-scale crises on our own doorstep. We read about them on the news and in history books, we feel sympathy and we may even be inspired to act, but it’s hard to empathise and the actions we take almost never jeapordise our own wellbeing. We are removed, and we are safe.

This taken-for-granted sense of safety has been apparent to me twice before in my life. In 2001, I watched the USA reeling from a terrorist attack on their own shores. It was shocking and terrible for all of us, the world over, but as a Brit, I was surprised by the depth of the reaction of Americans. And then I realised – I had grown up with a constant awareness of terrorism in my community. Although I had never (mercifully) witnessed it myself, I knew every time I went into a city centre, to a concert or on a train, that there could be an IRA bomb, or at least an evacuation, and I had seen the effects on the news when they happened. I hadn’t grown up scared, but nor did I find it mind-blowing that terrorists had attacked and killed people. Americans I knew didn’t seem to have the same level of normalisation to this type of violence, so their grief and fear and shock were heightened by genuine surprise that it had happened at all.
Then in 2009, I lay down for bed on a Sunday night and felt an intense pain in my chest. I couldn’t inhale fully and we rushed to the hospital for what I think was my first trip to A&E (the ER). I received treatment, stayed overnight and was home the next day with a diagnosis of Pulmonary Embolism and the medication to make it better. On Wednesday, I got the train to work. I lasted a couple of hours, then went home and stayed away for almost 6 months. It seems crazy now that I went into work on that Wednesday, but I genuinely had no idea I could be that ill. I’d never had more than a couple of days off at a time, and I know I now had the drugs to make me better. It was several weeks before I came to terms with the fact that I was really quite ill, and probably a couple of months before it really sank in that I wasn’t immortal.
All of which is a long way of analogising what the Western world is going through at the moment. Most of us, for the first time ever, find ourselves in an actual, day-to-day, community-wide crisis. There is something we can do, but it’s completely messed up the things we took for granted – popping out for cream just because we’ve decided to have cake for dinner, sending the kids to school or taking them to the park, buying enough bread to feed the carb-monsters’ daily cravings…
We are the ones who look on and help (or don’t), we are communities where one person gets terrible news and the rest of us rally round; this is not a place where everyone gets terrible news and the capacity for rallying is severely diminished by the need to stay away. We aren’t those people who queue for bread, wear face masks in the street and celebrate finding toilet paper in the store. Those people live in the history books and in the ‘Third World’.
And yet here we are.
We are learning to live with this new normal, and we will, because we are human beings and those people have much to teach us about the human capacity for resilience in the face of ongoing, universal crisis. But let’s not expect to go to work on Wednesday, or to carry penknives in our hand luggage for a long time to come.
We’re in this together… 6 feet apart.
Virus-free. www.avg.com

 

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Covenant

After a long (looong) hiatus, I have been inspired by an old writing buddy to pop back and post about an old, fictional friend. Melanie never ages, so she is still 7ish, but now Sebastian is 7 too; he wasn’t born when she started being 7 in my head. Yesterday we chalked our walk (and those of some friends we are missing!) – the blue writing above it is hard to read but says “We’re in this together”.

 

rainbow

Covenant

When I stuck the last red heart to the living room window it made a complete rainbow of hearts and I couldn’t see so much of the street outside. For a whole week now, we’ve been stuck here, in the house, waiting. Waiting for the government to say we can go out again? Waiting to get bored? That’s happened already. Just waiting, I guess. Every day, I’ve folded and cut and pasted up tissue paper hearts of a different colour. Now the rainbow is done and I’ll have to think of something else to do with the long hours indoors.

Looking out of the window doesn’t help really. There’s nothing to see. A few people wearing those little blue paper masks. They wear those at the hospital a lot, but they’re everywhere. Do they really help? Does the invisible enemy really care about a tiny scrap of paper?

Mrs Mwana has put up a rainbow too. Mrs Mwana always has amazing sweets that she keeps in a little jar and now the wrappers shine their colours across the street. “It’s like hugging,” Mrs Mwana said, “Put something in your window each day and I will do the same. That way we know each other is there.”

I said we should do a rainbow because the rainbow is the symbol of God’s covenant not to kill all the people again in a massive flood. Mrs Mwana doesn’t believe in God, so she said “I’m not sure about God, sweetheart, but this is our covenant. You and me.”

Mrs Mwana’s rainbow has stopped at the orange line. I should go across and check she’s OK, but Daddy said nobody was allowed to go outside or touch each other. It’s why we can’t visit Mummy at the hospital any more. Not even to say goodnight.

I wonder what Mummy is doing right now. Sleeping, probably, Mummy spends a lot of time sleeping. Last week, I was watching Mummy sleeping and I wondered how they would know when she died. Would she really look any different? I asked Mrs Mwana. Mrs Mwana said not to worry, the doctors would know. Then she said “And when it happens, you come and see me so that we can say goodbye to her spirit.”

Except now I can’t even hug Mummy goodnight and I can’t visit Mrs Mwana and if Mummy does die, there’ll be no way to say goodbye to her spirit because I’m locked in this stupid house with this stupid rainbow that doesn’t even block out the weird, broken world or the horrible virus that’s flooding across the planet to kill everyone I love.

I want tear down the hearts, because God broke his covenant and Mrs Mwana broke her covenant or she’s lying dead in her kitchen and can’t even tell me. Then I see something moving in her window. Mrs Mwana is taping red sweet wrappers over the top of the orange ones. She sees me and points upwards to where a cloud catches the light from her sweet wrappers, or maybe it’s God, painting his promise back onto the sky.

 

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A return to Friday fiction

Hi there,

This blog has been quiet so long, I bet you wondered if I was ever coming back. I did too. But here I am, possibly for a one-off, possibly for a sporadic return to the fold. We’ll have to wait and see. Those little boys whose births were announced here 2.5 and almost 5 years ago are growing, and growing up and definitely keeping me busy. Here they are in a forest, up to some cute mischief!

But I’m really ere to share a story, to try my hand at getting back into the Friday Fiction party, and for that, I present to you a picture (Copyright Sarah Potter) and 100 words of story. I’m not happy with any of my current ideas for a title – feel free to suggest one if you are inspired. Either way, I welcome your constructive critique, I’m a bit rusting on writing, editing and what-have-you, so I’m sure there’ll be plenty to say!

For Sale: Baby shoes. Never worn.

The line flew unbidden into Alice’s head as she stared at Joey’s old boots, stuffed away and forgotten when summer called for sandals. She’d spent so much of their marriage cleaning up after him, it’d probably been her, but she couldn’t remember. Occasionally he’d swept through the house and made it look like she never put any effort in at all; annoying her even more.

A spider dashed out and shot across her hand.

“Oh Joey,”  Tears washed black spots onto the shoes again. “I wish you’d come back and piss me off again.”

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FF – Gilded Cage

Another post from afar, hence the lack of photo and the haste of writing / posting. You can see it at Rochelle’s FF homepage. Your comments and feedback are welcome.

Gilded Cage

It was a storyline that filled his wife’s shelves in the library: forbidden love. A girl of lowly birth who falls for the son of a Duke, but is forced to marry a blusterer while her true love enters a ‘proper’ marriage with a woman his social equal.

Teddy wondered if Diane’s sympathies for the lovers ever stepped off the page; if she ever thought of him and the gilded cage that she represented. He did, daily. And every time he read a story about Lois’ horse breeding business, he wondered whether his story would share the novels’ happy ending.

****

A brief extroduction…

Our excellent prompt photo this week, courtesy of J Hardy Carroll, reminded me of a thought that’s been mulling about in my head recently regarding the British royal family: Prince Charles and Camilla really need a better spin doctor. Because theirs is a love story.

Years ago, ten years before he had even met Lady Diana Spencer, the young Prince Charles met and fell in love with Camilla. The match was frowned upon and eventually he was married off to Di while she was dispatched to Captain Parker-Bowles. Maybe they went willingly, maybe not; we can never know.

The story we have been sold is that that should have been an end to it: Charles should have accepted his lot, and with it his beautiful, upper class and appropriate wife, leaving the less ‘correct’ Camilla in his past. But love stories don’t run like that, and in fiction most of us don’t want them too. Furthermore, until really very recently, royal Princes weren’t expected to be faithful to the trophy wives chosen for them by ‘the machine’ – and the trophy wives weren’t expected to mind. Charles and Diana happened to live at a tough time for the royal family, when automatic deference was dead, but people still wanted them to be greater than human and without our failings or feelings. Under intense scrutiny and modern expectations, I suggest neither came out particularly spotless. I certainly don’t defend any party’s actions during their respective first marriages.

But Diana has been dead 20 years and Charles has now fulfilled the romantic, love story ambition of a happy ending. He and Camilla may not be innocent, or beautiful, or particularly easy to put on a pedestal, but I suspect they are better for each other than either’s first spouse ever was, and I for one , wish them all the very best in the final act of their love story.

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FF – Footprints

My photo this week, but I’m out and about so I’ll have to catch up properly in a couple of weeks. Also means I can’t add the image from here, but you can see it on Rochelle’s ff homepage.

 

Footprints

The years ticked past as she sat rocking baby after baby through the cries of hunger, teething and fearful dreams. Each one grew, learned to walk, then talk and then push her gently away.

They returned, when the pain or fear or joys heaped upon them by the world were too great for their broadening shoulders to bear. And she, faithful comforter and trusted confidente, embraced them each time anew.

Then one day her chair rocked empty. Gathered around it, they saw for the first time the grooves her feet had worn into the floor, as she had etched footprints on their hearts.

 

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