From Diane Setterfield's The Thirteenth Tale

People disappear when they die. Their voices, their laughter, the warmth of their breath. Their flesh. Eventually their bones. All living mempry of them ceases. This is both dreadful and natural. Yet for some there is an exception to this annihilation. For in the books they write they continut to exist. We can rediscover them. Their humour, their tone of voice, their moods. Through the written word they can anger you or make you happy. They can comfort you. They can perplex you. They can alter you. All this, even though they are dead. Like flies in amber, like corpses frozen in ice, that which according to the laws of nature should pass away is, by the miracle of ink on paper, preserved. It is a kind of magic.

--Diane Setterfield



Sunday, January 17, 2010

I'm turning into one of those blog-once-a-month-if-you're-lucky people. I don't really think that the knowledge of what I've become will actually spur me to any type of action*. Here comes the reason I don't really blog more... my baby. She will start to climb my lap and pound the keyboard with the golf ball she just dug up from the toy box.
But I can leave you with some pictures of our life recently... or I would if I could. Blogger would like me to PAY to upload more pictures. Which I will not do. But you can view them yourself by following the link:
TO MY OTHER PICASA



*Unless I get a laptop with the ability to blog and upload pictures that I take with me everyday to work. Which will mean LOADS more to carry each way... and I am already known for the number of bags and the amount of stuff that I bring with me on a regular basis. I don't think I have the strength , emotionally or physically for more bags.
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