Little big secrets: keeping them and giving them away

It’s human to have a secret, but it’s just as human to reveal it sooner or later.
Philip Roth

I used to think baring one’s soul was a by-product of being a writer.

And maybe it is. But not all writers are secret-sharers. I know writers who are keen observers of humankind but prefer to remain unobserved themselves. I admire them but can’t emulate them. Such people do well not to let me into their secrets. For while I’m a great sharer of my own, I’m a reluctant holder of others’.

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Photo by Kristina Flour on Unsplash

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Crushed raspberry moments: Giving yourself permission to shine

The last time I was house sitting in this rural pocket of Normandy, it was three years ago in the height of summer.

The raspberry canes in the vegetable patch yielded masses of delicious berries from July through to September. I would come up from the garden with my mouth and fingers stained deep crimson – ‘crushed raspberry’ – and my bowl full to overflowing with garden produce.

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The Reluctant Grandmother

I have never been especially keen on the idea of being a grandmother.

Periodically my children would threaten me with it just for fun. I’m way too young, I’d say. Turns out I’m not as young as I thought. Or as immune to the lure of a newborn: first born of my firstborn, unwitting trailblazer of a new generation of my family, tiny repository of untold hopes and dreams.

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Photo by Janko Ferlič on Unsplash

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