Yes, I’ve been a little remiss with the links lately. Who knew summer holidays, swimming lessons, stationery shopping and work (plus the usual busy-ness) would keep me run off my feet these last several weeks? Well, everyone, probably, but it still always comes as a surprise to me that there are not enough hours in the day.
We’re expecting a warm day today–not as warm as Perth, but still summery–and I hope to be able to pick the last of the boysenberries and pretend to get organised for another school week (but no doubt I’ll end up working and/or reading a book and patting the cat. Possibly taking the dog for a walk. Maybe eating some cake…)
I know, that is the way that our mother used to write to us when we were at boarding school. I’m seventy-four, so I feel rather motherly towards you, my younger, thirty-eight-year-self. I know you’ll indulge me.
I’d ask how you are, but of course, I know, and that’s the reason I’m writing. Despite your contentedness with your personal life, I know you worry about the future. You worry about the kind of world your children are going to live in. You’ve read so many articles and books which talk about how 2050 is the year that either makes us or breaks us, that you can’t imagine human life continuing beyond that point. You’re concerned, you feel frustrated, you want reassurance that everything is going to be alright.