Aftermath

My, but it's been a long time since I wrote here.

Turning intentions into accomplishments and getting my thoughts in order are proving difficult tasks at present, because even though I've been home for six days, I'm still feeling the effects of jet-lag. My brain is a jumble of holiday (vacation) memories mixed with thoughts of things I'm supposed to be doing, coupled with plans for projects I want to tackle but which are almost too overwhelming to contemplate.  I suppose I'm also just plain tired after travelling and living out of a suitcase for seventeen days.

Foremost in my mind is what is contained in a certain shoebox which my sister gave me to bring home. It is the latest addition to what is becoming a rather sizable family archive, although this is of more personal significance because the box contains letters written by my father to my mother between when they first met in 1949 and when he moved to London to live nearer to her.

My dad died when I was only thirteen, so I never got to know him as an adult, and these letters are an insight into how he thought, and what his life was like as a young man.  I've only read about half a dozen of them - less than a quarter of the total - but each one brings new insight and food for thought.  It's a pity the letters my mum wrote to him didn't survive.