Jul
28
Every so often, I take a break from my regular fiction reads, and delve into a bit of chick lit for a “mental break.” At the beginning of the year, I read Getting Rid of Matthew, and was so surprised with the read, that I considered optioning the book. (But stopped when I learned that the author is a celebrity in the UK, and figured the rights must have been bought up as part of the book publishing deal.)
Recently, I read another British author’s version of being a thirties-single something (no reason why I keep going to Brit books; I think they just have the most interesting book covers) and was equally impressed. The Egg Race by Polly Williams. At one point in the read, the story made me stop, sit up (in bed) and have a think. And then, a revelation.
There’s no “elation” in relationsham. Read more
Apr
16
Over the weekend, I was persuaded to accompany a friend to a small fête attended by people I hadn’t seen in almost ten years. The get-togeth was incredibly fun; catching-up with old friends, picking up where we had last left off as if no time had passed among us.
Well, for some of us.
For some of us, not only was there time among us, but a baby too. Big, beautiful, sighing, gurgling, sleepy-eyed babies, shaken and stirred, to stay up past their bed times with the rest of us.
Throughout the eve the babies, were coddled, caressed, cooed, blown on, bobbed and twirled around in front of the childless, for amusement. The men especially held the fort with folded arms in makeshift swings for baby, moving around the party in total jubilation of their new pride and joy.
That’s when the disconnect happened. Seeing boys with babies instead of married couples with children. Seeing boys with accessories instead of new families. Read more
