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



Tuesday, September 21, 2010

Binki's

Today Jaedyn was playing 'where's my binki? oh. there it is on the table, where I put it' when she saw me sitting there and said binki, binki, binki and put her binki down my shirt. All the binki's* were together.

Dang! I used to have boobs but they've been reduced** to the size of binkis...

*I have two binkis. Jaedyn named them (months ago) when she saw me get out of the shower.... makes one wonder about how much babies remember from when they are tiny.

** She weaned herself at 8 months. I never grew back.
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