So then I worked out what age she will become on the appointed day and set to wondering what I was doing on my own equivalent all those years ago. Where was I living? With whom? How was I making my way in the world and in what general conditions? It all came back very easily and led me to think of all the phases I’ve passed through since then – the people, the activities, the changes, the successes and failures, the gains and losses, the romances and separations, the house moves etc, etc. And they all seemed so very short.
There were several close ladies involved in this otherwise unremarkable odyssey, and I felt an urge to write something for posterity with the title:
The Lay of the Lost Ladies
Has a ring to it, doesn’t it? I like titles which have a ring to them. I won’t bother, of course. The Lay (or its archaic original ‘Lai’ from Norman French) is a form of poetry which has it’s origins in the 13th century. I gather they were usually very long and required to be written in a prescribed form. I have enough difficulty writing a simple blog post these days, and I was never a poet anyway, so I think the Lay can be true to its name and join the other good ideas which will forever lie on stony ground.
* * *
It’s been a bad day today; depressingly inclement weather and one malfunction after another. I hate it when things don’t work as they should. It makes me feel rattled. To me, a malfunctioning machine or other appliance is akin to having a serious chest infection so that even the act of breathing is painful. It appears a lack of functional perfection is yet another neurosis to which I’m prey, and the more complex we make our functional artefacts, the more they seem prone to glitches and breakdowns.
Interesting note:
When I came to post this, my internet dropped out. Methinks the universe is being a little mischievous today.
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