seeing the humanity and joy in our everyday
And did you also know that you can still see the living proof of the seas on the London Green Belt? I did not. Continue reading “Round ocean pebbles”
This post is for you.
My wake up call came at 1am, that is, one o’clock in the morning. Continue reading “On World Mental Health Day”
I am one of those annoying people who never breaks a leg, a hand or a finger; never has a cold, or if they do, they just make it go away; and never, I mean, NEVER, takes medication.
This is my poor attempt at reproducing the amazing work of the charity I am featuring today.
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I remember the reception room, flooded with light. Light reflecting on the bookcase vitrines, light dancing on the crystal glassware on the table.
Pawel’s mobile rang and for some reason he didn’t take the call in the main room. He went upstairs. I remember thinking he was gone for ages and that it was peculiar that he had left the room. Premonition? He came down eventually and he was changed. A few months later, a common friend told me she couldn’t recognise Pawel – that he had gotten old all of a sudden. Continue reading “The End”
After a year of daily lunchbox packing, there followed a blissful break when my 2 older children were in ‘infants’ – that part of schooling when you benefit from free meals. My 3rd child, a baby, finally rejoiced some undivided attention and maybe a few more elaborate meals.
September last year I found myself back on the lunchbox wagon. Continue reading “On Lunchboxes”
‘So I’m supposed to tell you my story, no guidelines… That’s going to be hard! I do not know where to start.
My father passed away when I was ten years old and I was brought up by my mum and my two older sisters. They moved out of home and I went into boarding school for a while. My father had been my best friend. Continue reading “On the artist”
She was fifty years old, she had the bluest eyes and thick short hair. We never spoke much. Back then, we each spoke different languages. She liked to sit in her chair by the window, in the tiny kitchen, with a permanent coffee in her hand and sometimes a cigarette. I often stayed in the kitchen with her. I would take pictures and listen. Sometimes I would wash up. Ania loved to cook but hated washing up. Continue reading “On Love”