Lynne Patrick
This post will be short, because I have to go to a funeral in half an hour. Not a close family member or dear friend, but someone I’ve known for more years than I care to admit to. She was strong and feisty, and she cheated the Grim Reaper several times, but she finally gave up the struggle a few days ago, after a long, rich and productive life.
Yesterday was spent largely in the company of a very small boy who is the latest addition to my husband’s side of the family. He is three years old, already bilingual in English and Hungarian and full of enthusiasm and curiosity about the world.
The end of one life, and the beginning of another.
And as these accidental juxtapositions do, it started a train of thought which was fuelled by Jeff’s post about beginnings and endings of books. It reminded me of something a writer friend often says when she starts a new book: it begins at the beginning, you know (approximately) where it will end up, and the exciting part is getting from one to the other. A beginning, a muddle and an end is the way she describes it.
Kind of a microcosm, or do I mean metaphor, for life, isn’t it?
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