My Dad was born in 1948, three years after Armistice day. He grew up in post war England, and he didn't tell very many stories about his childhood, so I feel like maybe it was grim. He did tell us tales of playing with the wombles of Wimbledon common, close to his home, but I … Continue reading On remembering.
Prince is gone, and I am crying. Every so often, I would put on some of his songs and immediately be transported to a world where gender was irrelevant, feelings were real, sex was an emotion and music was the only thing that mattered. I remember my Dad playing purple rain. I was a little … Continue reading On what it sounds like when doves cry
So, I turned forty today. Which is a milestone birthday in most peoples worlds, and one of those occasions we are supposed to face with the kind of dread usually reserved for when we see dementors headed our way in the wizarding world. But honestly... I am fine with it. I haven't really engaged in … Continue reading On turning forty.