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R and I walk on the beach in the midst of the madness, when everything seams chaotic, a little shaky, a little uncertain. The wind whips up more questions and the future seems hazy. R’s hand slips into mine and

I’m relieved now that my brain has calmed down a little and I’m no longer wandering the house at night. My cats are staring at me with gold owl eyes. They’ve had two months of peaceful nights and suddenly there’s

One of my most favourite old books is falling apart. It is a small, leather bound, 1907 book-of-the- heart written by Elbert Hubbard called White Hyacinths. Before it eventually disintegrates I mean to frame the first page; it read: If

I confess that I’m really reluctant to put up the seven foot inflatable Santa – complete with motorcycle, sidecar and shades . It’s not that I don’t like him, I do, we all do, makes us laugh, but as anyone