What if our children are all super-bright and I can’t understand what they’re saying and they look down on me because I haven’t got a PhD?
Linus might come over. He might not. Either way is fine. Either way, his decision is about himself, not about you. You are not responsible for his feelings.
In honor of my goddaughter’s christening, I will perform ‘The Real Slim Shady,’ by Eminem,” he says confidently.
The trouble with me is, I can’t let things go.
She says screens are the cigarettes of our age. They’re toxic, and we’re only going to realize the damage they’re doing when it’s too late.
So I’m biding my time, like a surfer waiting for a wave. I’m pretty good at surfing, as it happens, and I know the wave will come. When the moment is right, I’ll get Demeter’s attention. She’ll look at my stuff, everything will click, and I’ll start riding my life. Not paddling, paddling, paddling, like I am right now.
We’ll always have jazz.
You can’t go back in time and do life a different way.
People drive by in their colorful convertibles with the roof down, looking all relaxed and friendly, as if you might stroll up to them while they’re pausing at the light and start a conversation. It’s the opposite of Britain, where everyone’s in their own self-contained metal box, swearing at the rain.
But nothing changes if nothing changes. I saw that slogan on a T-shirt the other day, and it really resonated. I’ve changed. My horizons have shifted, And if I want to keep growing and changing, I need to challenge myself.
Which is just grief, I guess. I’ve decided that grief is like a newborn baby. It knocks you for six. It takes over your brain with its incessant cry. It stops you sleeping or eating or functioning, and everyone says, “Hang in there, it gets easier.” What they don’t say is, “Two years on, you’ll think it’s got easier, but then, out of the blue, you’ll hear a certain tune in the supermarket and start sobbing.
You sound like Darth Vader,” I say bluntly. Elinor doesn’t even flinch. “So be it,” she says, and sips her water. That is totally a Darth Vader thing to say. Next she’ll be ordering the destruction of a thousand innocent Jedi younglings.
In fact, her whole demeanor is calmer. It’s creepy. It’s like she’s had Botox of the soul.
And the truth is, the country is very cool. It’s absolutely the new town.
See how I stopped mid-sentence? I can do it too. When I don’t necessarily want to reveal the exact thought I’m having.
My aunt grows special rhubarb in dark sheds. They keep it dark and warm all winter and harvest it by candlelight and it’s the best stuff. She sells it for a fortune, btw.
But the trouble with asking your subconscious what it wants is, it just laughs at you and says, ‘Work it out for yourself, moron.
The other person always has a point, Listen to each other, and you’ll hear it.
That girl is going to go far. I have no idea in which direction- but she’ll go far.
It’s OK to be private. It’s OK to say no. It’s OK to say, ‘I’m not going to share that’.