Bright monotones, Cee demands, and though I’d prefer the myriad nuances of stone, I hasten to obey.
On a personal note, apologies for being remiss about your comments and catching up with your posts. The countdown has begun in earnest and if I’m not stealing a few precious, and totally illicit, minutes reading “Bring up the Bodies” (Hilary Mantel’s scintillating Booker Award-winning continuum to the story of Thomas Cromwell and Henry VIII begun in “Wolf Hall“) which arrived from India the other day – I’m up to my elbows at my proper job – The Move.
A new life; a new location; letting go of the past – simplification is called for. I’m sorting books, writing lists, photographing furniture, taking measurements, culling, culling – and chucking out. The Girls are a bit anxious, and my mind’s beginning to frazzle with the minutiae and the reality. But things are moving ahead and I’m relieved I’ll not be homeless when I arrive – thanks to the generosity and understanding of a stranger from Melbourne, I’ve found an apartment in Cotton Tree I can afford to rent till my ‘stuff’ arrives – not only that, the chance to test-run what it might be like to live in town, where the river meets the sea.