The stories of my life
The stories of my life
This week I went to the Royal Easter Show with my daughter Lulu. We always get on well at the show as we generally like the same things.
As I wandered around the show surrounded by the young and old all enjoying the sights, I reflected on my years going to the Show.
Sisters. Many of us have one or more sisters. Some have sisters and brothers. Our relationship with our siblings go from very good to very bad and all the points in between.
I have one sister, Jane. No brothers. Jane is nearly eight years younger than me.
Maybe some of you have seen my daughter Sarah’s beautiful dog Fifi. I must tell you the background about Sarah’s dog.
When we were in living in Hong Kong, Sarah was about ten years old. A friend of mine was leaving her job as an assistant at the Canadian Embassy.
I was reading an article recently on what one woman thought of being “older”. It made me think about what it meant to me and here is the outcome of my thoughts on getting older.
“Older” is a rather interesting word. When we get to a certain age,
New York….We were off to New York. Paul, my husband, got a job on a newspaper in New York. He flew off within a week and I was left to pack up and rent out our home in Sydney. The children had to leave their schools and me my job.
Throughout our lives, many of us have lived in one or two homes and others – many houses. Some small and some large. I have been lucky (although many will say unlucky) that I have lived in many houses in six different countries over the past fifty plus years.
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