After Thanksgiving, I waxed nostalgic about canned pumpkin. My friend who writes at Calypte’s Scanner Diary, told me where I might find some. And today, Sarge comes home from Christmas shopping with two cans of this lovely stuff: I like how the light is shining on the can. As if it’s been sent by the Gods of Canned Pumpkin. Or my Nana.…
And so, I’m friends with my Dad. On Facebook and in real life. After I posted my post yesterday, he posted this on Facebook: It pays to be friends with your Dad, people. It means a lot. It means, amongst many other things, that any baby picture of you he decides to share will be of the non-embarrassing sort. You hope. I love you, Dad.…
And so, last weekend I started a healthy eating kick. For me, this meant leaving the lettuce and onions and one or two peppers on Saturday’s burger, and not having sour sweets while watching Tin Tin at the cinema. I took fruit-bars to work and came home to rice-cakes and grapes. I may have asked Sarge to boil spinach pasta and then left the tomato chucks in the sauce. I was doing pretty well. And then Thursday happened. I’ve told…
And so, I’m ‘doing’ NaNoWriMo this year. We have always had a strange relationship. Past attempts have seen me bang out 20,000 words and then well, edit them. Note to self and others: Don’t. Do. That. I have a penchant for abandoning projects in favour of others which I think ‘sound better’, and I don’t finish anything. Except really short stories or ‘novel excerpts’. Novel excerpts are short stories that wouldn’t shut up. See, I don’t like writing that sounds…
Wherein I get fresh air and new perspectives, remember promises and maybe change my mind. Edinburgh – Glasgow, holiday o’clock. Sarge turns on all the lights in our bedroom to make sure I am actually awake. We have cupcakes for breakfast. They are neither red nor velvet. I put on striped socks, a museum t-shirt and a Mom-made sweater. We take a taxi to the train station and get there with time to spare. This time I actually booked ramp…
