My dad died more than half my life ago. I was young, impetuous, & missing the fences that come with age, karate, religious observance, marriage, & who knows what else. I went to the bad. It's only been two weeks but I've managed to so far counter that feeling of desperation with all of the fences I didn't have then, along with Angela Thirkell, my favorite middlebrow writer of English country manners in the mode of Trollope. I just reread Wild Strawberries, my first Thirkell & still one of my favorites.
I can kind of see that all my posts are going to be incomplete for a while.