Dear Diary, Life has returned to normal. No man intruding upon my refined and private life. Once again my concentrations can be subliminal; recording the changes in the seasons, the shifting light, the antics of Greensmith and Redshaw, interspersed no doubt by unrehearsed moments of madness starring Niece.
Speaking of Niece, she appears to be in a state of confusion this morning. Two hours before sunrise pans and dishes clashed and clanged in the kitchen; her usual reedy singing was silent, replaced by tuneless whistling. Knowing there are moments in one's life that are best handled with kid gloves I decided on a healthy breakfast of a banana. Luckily I have an electric kettle in my living area, which allowed me my two cups of coffee, essential to put me on track for the day.
A book may prove my best friend today! Dear Diary it could be surmised that I am revisiting my childhood in my reading material. Earlier in the year the local bookshop prominently displayed, near the counter, an illustrated copy of Robert Louis Stevenson's "Treasure Island". I was entranced with the artwork, delicate water coloured plates illustrating the story. In my young days "Treasure Island", along with "Huckleberry Finn" by Mark Twain, and "Little Women" by Louisa M Alcott consisted of words, pages of words that may have included a pencil-line sketch at the beginning of each chapter. It is strange how the reading of what was essentially a child's book takes on a completely different persona when read later in life. Every chapter is a revelation; new landscapes are encountered with the second reading.
But wait! Dear Diary, there is a fissure of excitement in the kitchen. A heart-rending cry! I must investigate.
Later
Dear Diary, My entrance to the kitchen coincided with Niece flinging open the back door. I had not heard a knock; it was too early for vacuum cleaner salesmen or peddlers of religious literature. A tall, leggy, attractive young lady stood on the step. Her companion, looking unsure not only of his reason for being present, but also at the reception they were likely to encounter, engaged my mind into top gear.
Niece's man hurried into the kitchen, a look of utmost surprise on his face. He had good reason!
The young lady was dressed impeccably in tailored black trousers with creases back and front, a rose pink blouse that accentuated her long blonde hair tied back with a black satin bow, and a tanned complexion inferred she spent time outdoors, while slung carelessly over her arm, was a black jacket. I noticed a wonderful ruby brooch nestling on its lapel. But it wasn't the clothes that completely captured my attention. This young woman was a younger version of Niece!
I wracked my brain for an answer. No distant cousin came immediately to mind. Who was this woman? Why was Niece in such a tizz? Did she know of the visit?
So many questions Dear Diary, and by the tears and laughter, I was not going to find an answer immediately.
Speaking of Niece, she appears to be in a state of confusion this morning. Two hours before sunrise pans and dishes clashed and clanged in the kitchen; her usual reedy singing was silent, replaced by tuneless whistling. Knowing there are moments in one's life that are best handled with kid gloves I decided on a healthy breakfast of a banana. Luckily I have an electric kettle in my living area, which allowed me my two cups of coffee, essential to put me on track for the day.
A book may prove my best friend today! Dear Diary it could be surmised that I am revisiting my childhood in my reading material. Earlier in the year the local bookshop prominently displayed, near the counter, an illustrated copy of Robert Louis Stevenson's "Treasure Island". I was entranced with the artwork, delicate water coloured plates illustrating the story. In my young days "Treasure Island", along with "Huckleberry Finn" by Mark Twain, and "Little Women" by Louisa M Alcott consisted of words, pages of words that may have included a pencil-line sketch at the beginning of each chapter. It is strange how the reading of what was essentially a child's book takes on a completely different persona when read later in life. Every chapter is a revelation; new landscapes are encountered with the second reading.
But wait! Dear Diary, there is a fissure of excitement in the kitchen. A heart-rending cry! I must investigate.
Later
Dear Diary, My entrance to the kitchen coincided with Niece flinging open the back door. I had not heard a knock; it was too early for vacuum cleaner salesmen or peddlers of religious literature. A tall, leggy, attractive young lady stood on the step. Her companion, looking unsure not only of his reason for being present, but also at the reception they were likely to encounter, engaged my mind into top gear.
Niece's man hurried into the kitchen, a look of utmost surprise on his face. He had good reason!
The young lady was dressed impeccably in tailored black trousers with creases back and front, a rose pink blouse that accentuated her long blonde hair tied back with a black satin bow, and a tanned complexion inferred she spent time outdoors, while slung carelessly over her arm, was a black jacket. I noticed a wonderful ruby brooch nestling on its lapel. But it wasn't the clothes that completely captured my attention. This young woman was a younger version of Niece!
I wracked my brain for an answer. No distant cousin came immediately to mind. Who was this woman? Why was Niece in such a tizz? Did she know of the visit?
So many questions Dear Diary, and by the tears and laughter, I was not going to find an answer immediately.
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