Moving and Silence
Oh well.
We struggled up the gloomy stairs with collapsing boxes and clanking bags of pans trying to imagine the place to life.
I cried all the way back from Leeds when I took her there last year, but I do understand the teenagers' need to Move On and have a life of their own. The cats think I have disposed of her in some sinister way and they are giving me accusing looks. Offsprog 2 will have to get used to missing her all over again. There will be no freshly-baked cakes in the kitchen and no burst flour bags and sticky sugar bags decorating the worktops.
She has left so much stuff behind that I will have to make another trip next week.
I'm just waiting for Tony trumpet and Paul Sax- we are rehearsing here tonight which will put the frighteners on poor Judith next door I'm afraid. She makes un-noise; she's a manufacturer of silence: silent looks (perhaps she's a secret cat) silent gardening punctuated by the faintest of rustles, and silent arrival and departure in her silent car.
How does she do it?
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