||[Aug. 17th, 2007|11:13 am]
My daughter is on her way to visit my mother. And while she's there she plans to put flowers on my father's grave. She just rang from the M25 to ask if she'd entered the right postcode into her Tom Tom.|
She's having an article published- about growing up as a witch's daughter. It's good that her memories are so positive. She remembers things I'd completely forgotten- like how we made a model boat as part of a spell to promote peace in the Middle East and how it fell apart even as I was explaining it to her.
She left out the story of how she "laid healing hands" on a dying gerbil and had it running round its cage again. She didn't think her readers would believe her.
It's strange reading about yourself as a character in someone else's story.
Family piety is a lovely thing.