Alive
Birthday party in the garden. Joyce had it right, "write to capture the collage of life. We are all composites-intricate parts of the whole."
Home.
It's half-past twelve and the rest of the house is asleep while I work on my latest shawl. I can hear the frogs croaking outside and the breeze from the fan is cool on my otherwise hot skin. As I knit, I am reminded of the many evenings I have stayed awake in this house in Diamond Vale, while my grandparents were asleep, and I'd be up late studying for an exam I had to take at Providence Girls Catholic School or I would have been writing a story or something. Sometimes, I just stayed up late to watch television, and in those days, there were only two television stations! There is something about this house that holds me with so much love. Maybe it's the fact that I spent four years here, maybe it's because it's my grandparent's house, maybe it's because it's in the land of my ancestors - maybe it's a combination of all that and more, but I truly do feel at peace here. I was so sick when I was in Denmark. My job really stressed me out. My body felt...
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