Skip to main content

Left or Right?

“Meanings is not important,"said the BFG. "I cannot be right all the time. Quite often I is left instead of right.” 

I am not a night person.

My daughter does not really like being read to.

Combined, this means I rarely have the energy to read to her and she reluctantly listens when I do dig deep and find some energy.

We have found a solution.

She has started reading to me.

"Take a bite and I am positive you will be shouting out oh how scrumdiddlyumptious this wonderveg is!” 


The BFG by Roald Dahl is a book I have never read before and it is rather exhausting.  His brilliant bending of every word he touches requires concentration. My daughter speculated that he did not use autocorrect.  Explaining to her that autocorrect was not invented when he wrote it was really difficult.

She has got the stretch left in her brain to accomodate these inventions, I adore falling asleep to these verbal contortions.

"Titchy little snapperwhippers like you should not be higgling around with an old sage and onions who is hundreds of years more than you.” 

The RED print was her suggestion.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

A Small Craft

I accompanied my mother-in-law to an appointment this week. On the paper, preparing her for the appointment, it invited her bring along something to read or a small craft. As soon as I heard about this invitation to bring a small craft into an otherwise austere waiting area, my mind started to do bouncing somersaults in many different directions. Googly eyes? Glue gun? Feathers? Play clay? Friendship braclets?

The words coming out of my mouth

  These days I wear a mask. I don't wear a mask all of the time, only when I am indoors or unavoidably up close with people who I don't usually interact with.  I wear one when I am ordering things, or buying things or attempting to enjoy some form of public entertainment.  I cannot rely on reading others lips. My lips are hidden. We ask each other to repeat.  We move our eyes or our whole heads to try and enunciate more clearly.  I say fewer words, more carefully chosen words behind the mask. Sometimes that is helpful, sometimes that just causes more confusion. I walked into the woods. I did not need a mask.  I only saw a few other people and they were distanced. Masks were unnecessary. After so much talking and not talking and avoiding talking out loud I am forced to examine when I speak and when I choose not to. This is not a bad thing since I can be an insufferable chatter box, just a new thing for my brain to adjust itself to. When I am not standing aro...

Bringing her back

 As the first anniversary finally passed, I exhaled.  The sadness still nibbled away at the edges, but not clawing deep into my chest like it had been with varying degrees of ferocity in the twelve months previously.  She died in early summer, so I plunged into ocean and lakes and ate fruit straight from the plant.  The grief became softer, the folk songs carried me along in the potato patch we planted in therapy. But then, I started to miss her.  The deep grief kept her so close and now as the pressure eased, so did her presence.  I held my breath and decided to be really sad this morning just to see her face.  To sit in her prescence.  My breath became jagged as I cried for her, for us.   This Taylor Swift cover  by Marc Maron broke me right open this morning.  Here's to staying broken open enough to keep your loved ones close. And then, I walked into her garden. The garden she envisionied, planted over and over and still pre...