A letter from home

I’ve had a busy week away from the laptop, and that’s why I haven’t blogged.

What I’m reading -

Jeanette Winterson’s memoir – Why be happy when you could be normal. Brilliant in all kinds of ways.

What I’m doing at home -

Practising my sax, gardening, playing Scrabble (on and off-line) watching old DVDs of M*A*S*H when I want to lie back and vegetate (as we still don’t have a telly.)

What I’ve been doing other places -

Attending a spiritual review day at Bakewell Quaker Meeting;

Taking my grandson Gil to the Sheffield Fire Station Museum, because it is one of his favourite places and the rest of his family are sick of going;

Attending my first AGM of the National Autistic Society, which was interesting and enjoyable, (and I sold a few copies of BUT I TOLD YOU LAST YEAR THAT I LOVED YOU, as well. If you’ve read the book, you’ll know why it is relevant.) The charity is impressive. It does a huge range of good work which if I list I will miss something out, but includes advice and support for everyone affected by autism, running schools for autistic children and young people, supplying training for parents, carers, employers and professionals in understanding autism and how to deal with people on the autism spectrum (which includes people with Asperger syndrome.) Lastly, it lobbies parliament about the rights and the needs of people on the autism spectrum.

My quote for the day -

This arose in an hours-long conversation I had this week with an old friend I have not seen for years. We are both mothers, and being mothers we always include in any catch-up chat a run-down of the health and happiness of our children. The tenuous nature of such a summation is nowhere better expressed than in the last paragraph of Carol Shields’ novel Unless -

"Day by day Norah is recovering at home, coming alive, atom by atom, and shyly planning her way on a conjectural map. It is bliss to see, though Tom and I have not yet permitted ourselves wild rejoicing. We watch her closely, and pretend not to. She may do science next fall at McGill, or else linguistics. She is still considering this. Right now she is sleeping. They are all sleeping, even Pet, sprawled on the kitchen floor, warm in his beautiful coat of fur. It is after midnight, late in the month of March."