Recovery Mode

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Over dinner last night here in London, without warning my mother-in-law observed that she believes the week over in France helped me a lot. She remarked that she felt all I’d gone through with my mother’s and my uncle’s deaths in October and the weeks after in the U.S. trying to cope with the aftermath, particularly with my dad’s grief over Mom, had naturally tired me out. She believed that stress had been showing on my face (in a weariness), but felt I now looked better than I’d had in months.

Naturally only others really know what I “look like,” but, yes, I said, I’d loved last week; that I like France goes without saying, but that visit had been a true distraction. It had been fun, restful, and taken my mind largely off the sadness on the other side of the Atlantic. Relaxing lunches like this certainly played a part:

A French pizza. A lunch last week. [Photo by me, 2016.]
A French pizza. A lunch last week. [Photo by me, 2016.]

Unfortunately, I don’t know if this selfie captures me “looking better” in the way she claims. I just can’t seem to take these things very well. In any event, at the very least it does catch me looking, uh, as if I don’t know how to do this. ๐Ÿ˜‰

Another attempted selfie. [Photo by me, 2016.]
Another attempted selfie. [Photo by me, 2016.]

Yep, I think I’ll stick to writing. (I just realized my uncle died four months ago today. I’ll never forget all of the authoring encouragement he’d given me as a long-time novelist himself.) I’m more comfortable with words. I’m certainly not a “self-portrait” taker. ๐Ÿ™‚

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