Metamorphosis

    No, I'm not turning into an insect . . . I didn't want to miss a day. I'm still finding my way. I reviewed this blog from the beginning and note how it is changing direction. I'm not sure if that is through the influence of other posts I've read or just the way I am. What I had intended was a rather introverted look at all the parts of my life. I could look at it chronologically. Various ideas I've had is to choose a vivid memory of each year of my life and relate that to what was going on in the world. I know some early memories have been suggested to me by my sister or by photographs. I have one somewhere of me sitting on top of a chicken coop that used to be at the top of the garden when we first moved to Kelvedon from Oxford in about 1952. I remember the dungarees I was wearing were green. I remember brown corduroy leggings I wore when dad took me for rides on his bike. I sat on a seat fixed to the cross-bar. I put my hands under his to keep them warm.

    I told the story of my visit to England. I travelled a little bit here, up to Colorado and New Mexico in May. Then I started taking pictures of some of the books which surround me here in this little room. I don't write about what is in the books. I spend a lot of time reading; but much of the reading is like chewing gum, I'm not really concentrating on what I'm reading. As you might tell from the books they are very much reading copies and I tend to read quite a bit of fiction.