Never talk openly to the kids…
The diary of a bemused Boomer
Never talk openly to the kids…
Mother is holding a glass jar of orange marmalade in her left hand while she lances a knife into the jars’ mouth with her right, nervously, as if she were extracting honey from a beehive. Her hands tremble so the knife ricochets back and forth against the glass as if she were playing a triangleContinue reading “Blue Suede Shoes”
I am making chocolate rice pudding when my Mother asks me if I plan to poison her. She’s crept up next to me at the stove and is pointing at the pudding with a wooden spoon. ‘Not yet. Though if you stir the pudding while I am trying to mix the rice with the meltedContinue reading “Rice pudding killed my Father”