As the last post pointed out, this is the season for anniversaries.
I had a birthday, a blog birthday, a wedding anniversary and this week marked the 10th anniversary of the death of my best mate whose was Foatboy's godfather, though the jury is out on whether he did renounced the devil or not.
So it has been a strange week all round.
I wrote a long post about what he was, what he meant to me, how he drove me fucking insane at times. But in the end he is-was more than mere words on a page floating around the internet so I hit delete.
Instead I'll show you the clock that moved into the house this week, a circa 1850s American oak long case clock.
If Murray had managed to avoid his black dog this clock would be one of the things I'd be catching him trying to drag out of the house during one of his ever revolving moving in and moving outs.
We worked out one drunken night that the two of us were real family, how else could you account for the fact that we moved in and out of each other's houses, nursed each other during romantic disasters and illnesses and still loved each other madly.
Next post there will be some stitching action, including Squidy, the crochet cat toy.
4 comments:
Sometimes words just aren't enough - are they?
Those family members you find are precious for whatever time you have them.
Defining the characters that pass through our lives in words is easy.
For those that are bigger more full than that,the ones that envelope and entwine us (even for a short period). A snapshot in words seems less than they are and thus falls short.
Hugs.
Sad but beautiful. Precious.
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