It’s been just under a year since Arty daughter came back to live with us for some rest and recouperation. She obviously hasn’t had any, as that seems to be in short supply here but to mark here annivesary with us she’s leaving. This is not sad or door slamming, though; she has cleverly got herself accepted (again) to the Art School she should have gone to in the first place in the beautiful city of Bath.
It has been quite lovely to see her re-emerge from the little, tight, emotional cocoon she was in when she arrived to this beautiful, pixie cropped butterfly she has become. And she doesn’t even smell of pasties.
So the Artist and myself will be back to just having Lachlantheboy in the house – perhaps it will feel strange for a bit or perhaps we’ll breathe a temporary sigh of relief as we get used to having just a little bit more space in the house. Whatever happens I know that I will be looking forward to Christmas when we are all back together again.
I suppose in the New Year, Surrealo Son (perhaps I should just call him Hembo here like the rest of the world) will start thinking about his future in earnest; where will that take him?
The answer, my friend, is probably blowing around in the wind somewhere.
I know that Lachlantheboy will miss them dreadfully; he always does but I’m proud that, despite my dad’s concerns (he, too, was much younger than his siblings) they all remain close and obviously fond of each other. A reason to believe I may have been on the right track all along.
My blog has seen various levels of activity over the last seven years and when I started it back on aol hometown I didn’t think that it would have documented so much trauma. Life then seemed quite idyllic and perhaps I am having some of those same feelings of hope. Or perhaps I just have the freedom and space to think at the moment. It feels like an indulgence.
Of course, with the work I was doing previously, it would have been difficult and inappropriate to comment on the www about the things I was dealing with, something that at least one of my previous employers should have borne in mind but I am not bitter or twisted; well perhaps only a tad, only enough to leave a metaphorical eggy burp.
It really all has been a blessing of sorts. I will not give credit to my changed life to anyone apart from myself. To those who might wish to, I say they cannot claim that they knew it would be for the best. The fact is that they didn’t really know or care; I know that it has saved me and therefore saved our little piece of the universe.
I can’t adequately express the tsunami of change that has hit us and every so often, it seems, hits us again. What I can tell you is that I am glad that we are all still here bobbing, slightly dishevelled, surrounded by the flotsam and jetsam of “normal” life.