Tuesday, May 10, 2011

Working, simple pleasures and coming home.

1. My mother comes and plays with Alec for a few hours -- I sit and write. I feel like myself again. Once she leaves, though, I'm glad to be a mother again, though.

2. He's easily pleased, that Alec. A paper bag keeps him occupied while we get lunch. You can shake it, and wave it, and when you squeeze it, there's a scrunchy noise. Then you can drop it on the floor, and people will come and give it back to you.

3. I wonder where they've got to? And then I hear the gate clang.

Hoarders, flowers and technology.

1. In a low voice he reels off the names of the muscles where I have been hoarding all this tension. 2. He comes home with posies of flowers...