The other day I had also seen an Instagram post by a writer in which she discusses her parents as parental inspirations for two of her characters. My parents – especially my late mother – particularly on my mind due also to the names of the house sellers, seeing her post got me thinking. Parents, eh?
So it is a new era now in some ways. Change is inevitable in life.
Her parents came over in the 1920s from what is today the Republic of Ireland. She had also spent some of her childhood back there, including some of early World War II, under the care of an aunt. To the end of her life, those childhood years living in Ireland were special and happy memories for her...
Presumably - and we hope - today will not be THE last day. But every morning, every day now, I suspect, could be that day. We brace ourselves so we are not shocked.
Nothing in that "interview" with the duchess was more upsetting, I felt, really, than her stating she had wished not to live any longer.
When I saw that article mentioned on Instagram again yesterday, I started to think about my own pandemic relationships.
I took a moment to be alone with her: I kissed her now lifeless forehead, and paused as I thought briefly on how while her troubles were mercifully over our lives going forward would never be the same...
Aged 89, my father-in-law died unexpectedly early Monday morning (nothing to do with the stupid virus insofar as we know) at his home here in London.
"Everyone writes books now": In an innocent and not nasty way, an elderly aunt said that to me a few years back. In a way, she was right.
Pondering time may be unnerving and even scary. Naturally, though, it goes by - as a famous song declares. It is inescapable.
But in all of that is also at least GREAT potential material for a writer. LOL!
I admit I have never so had the s-it scared out of me as I have felt at times since March. I did not even feel the same about my father's 2014 heart failure (from which he recovered), or even my mother's and my uncle's deaths in 2015. These have been the most unsettling weeks in my life.
My cousin in New Jersey, prompted I gather from all of our exchanges about her daughter's writings, emailed me that she had the other day bought ALL of my novels.
Simply having a story to tell is not enough.
So much for "privacy," and "controlling" and "protecting" your personal data, eh?
The holiday happiness all around me was not making me happier; it was getting on my nerves. I'm unhappy with certain other extended "family" so-called relationships as well. Other life issues are also frustrating me. It all became an angry jumble, bubbling under my surface as the day wore on. I was "overheating."