Ruth's Real Life

At a lunch recently, our hostess asked us to tell a childhood story of Christmas.. I was caught unawares by the sudden prickle of tears brought by the deep memory that came unbidden. It was Christmas Eve. The boys were off doing whatever it is boys do at the seaside: searching for crabs in rock pools; swimming out beyond the waves; coming home salt and sun bleached. The girl, even at seven, didn’t mind being alone. The garden that encircled the holiday cottage was a tropical tangle of banana trees, Frangipani and Hibiscus. Shadowed wings flitted through the trees. Lizards, faster than her reaching fingers, slid into cracks and crevices as she approached, but it wasn’t the lizards that she wanted. Her hair, free for once of the tight, white bow that her grandmother insisted on, swung over her eyes as she bent to look for her treasure. It had to be a certain size, small enough to fit into the packet hidden under her pillow. The narrow, silver packet was covered in green and re...

Grand Passion     I would like to be loved. I’m not asking for GRAND PASSION, Moonlit romance Or a knight in shining armour. I’d just like to hear Someone else Breathing In The Darkness                         Ruth Everson There’s nothing wrong with passion. When I ease into the wrinkled winter of my life I’ll remember the heat of a slow kiss. The smile on my face won’t be in anticipation of red jelly and custard after a supper of mince and mashed vegetables. It will be the memory of a hand trailing skin-sparks across my back. We all have a fundamental need to be loved, but passionate love seems to be transitory.   Psychologists claim that we stay in the passionate stage of love for a maximum of two years, after that reality kicks in. The radiance of new love blinds us to the things that The Beloved does that...