Stumbling Into Heaven

After nearly six years, I can hardly call myself '.newly retired' any more. And all things must pass, though, as St Teresa added...

 There's nothing like the smell, then the taste, of fresh bread. Hot, straight out of the oven ( more likely the bread making machine to...

 As I write this, I am looking across to my son on sofa, with his dog. Yes, The Dog, of whom I have written before. He lies across my son...

 When The Dog was with us over Christmas and New Year, I was struck by his alertness to his master's presence, his master's absence....

 The crib scene was set out at one end of the coffee table, and the magi at the other, ready for them ( the magi) to move a few centimetres ...

 I'm reading Diana Athill's evocation of her privileged childhood in Norfolk. ( She knew many of the great writers of the 20th centu...

 I wonder how Jesus found it, coming back into crowds with their pressing needs, their inquisitiveness, their cynicism, their condemnation, ...