This has been a most loving Mothering Sunday, so loving I hardly know where to start with it!
The two presents that are pictured here came from my two daughters. The first was from my eldest and was typical of her. For years I have been using a purse so old it should have been in the museum long since! Packed with notes, coins, cards, messages and so much paraphernalia, it was literally falling to pieces and extremely difficult to open and shut. And the new, stylish red purse was a gift typical of my Mary, who is loving and practical and has been caring for me for a very long time now. Salut!
The second present came from my second daughter, who has an eye (as you can see) for colour and style and is another of my carers.
This dress fits like a dream and one day I hope I shall be able to wear it at an event. Something to cross my fingers for and look forward to. And like the purse in my elder daughters case, this present fits my second daughters style, she is another caring creature with a creative eye.
The serious thinking part of this blog came from a kindly thought from my new agent. He had promised to send me a copy of the cover of an old book that is being brought out for the second time. I had said to him fairly casually that I might not be around to see it in print and he tried to comfort me by saying he was sure I would be. I thanked him for his kindness, but inside the murkier aspects of my brain I was thinking and thinking hard.
When you reach a ridiculous age like 92 you tend not to look forward to very much and to avoid thinking too hard about the situation you are actually in. But you’re in it, nevertheless and you have to cope with it and accept it. I have four or five ‘conditions’, none of which are curable or treatable, all of which could finish me off, one of which will.
I shall use my purse and wear my dress and go on writing such novels that I can. For being 92 doesn’t seem to have much effect on my creative abilities. The trouble is, as I keep telling myself, thing’s ain’t what they seem.
On to book 32 and with luck, upwards! Greetings fellow writers and special love to all my lovely family, who keep me going and love me and feed me and look after me. I know the answers to the Beatles song. Will you still need me? Will you still feed me? When I’m 92.