I am not a great writer. Not a particularly good one either but I do have a firm belief – even utter reverence – for words. Whenever I come across a beautiful sentence, a string of words arranged in an unusual or striking manner, I can bask in it at length, reading and re-reading it, going back to it, letting it swirl in my head. Sometimes I can be more attached to individual sentences than to a whole body of work.
I have come to the conclusion I would be quite happy never having to work for money another day in my life. So – I am grateful it’s the weekend (although I am working most of it and it’s pouring with rain). At least I will be marching with thousands of fellow women while the new President starts rearranging the furniture in the White House. To cheer myself up, here are a couple of wonderful people and some dreamy things.
The omens didn’t start auspicious. First, I got lost around LAX trying to find the parking lot where I was fixated my Jemima would spend a couple of nights. It turned…
The surface of my desk is made of heavy ceramic tiles that remind me of the Mediterranean. In reality, it was meant as a garden table but its sunny disposition makes it the perfect desk, one that, as heavy as it is, has been trailing me for the last 20 years. If I look up from it, a framed poster that sofa girl discovered on-line reminds me that “Shopping counts as cardio”. At my feet, the dogs nap on the rug, lulled by the soft purring of the keyboard.
I have been pulled in a million different directions in the last few weeks. The life of a freelancer who has to pick up jobs whenever they appear. And of a step-mother, frantically looking for an apartment for her daughter. And a planner, trying to put a vacation together, while running a household, managing an unsteady income, all the while worrying about the health of a close relative. Life, really, just a bit sped up.