This is my late father’s recipe for any roast he use to make for us though I must say my favourite is his roast turkey.
I looked out the window from my seat aboard the SAAB 340. Enormous land, but empty. Patches of greens and trees, but largely brown earth.
Eeyore, the sad one, should be sad no longer.
There is so much beauty in the imperfections of the frayed soul made whole again.
The show gives me hope nonetheless that ageing doesn’t have to be boring or disgraceful.
Writing is cathartic. It saves me from having the incessant monologues in my head.