I am reading a very lovely book, The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Society. It is pure, gentle escapism. Yesterday, on the plane, I got through a hefty portion, and there were a couple of short passages that rattled in my heart.
'When my son Ian died, visitors offering their condolences, meaning to comfort me, said, 'Life goes on.' What nonsense I thought, of course it doesn't. It's death that goes on; Ian is dead now and will be dead tomorrow and next year and for ever. There is no end to that. But perhaps there will be an end to the sorrow of it. Sorrow has washed over the world like the waters of the Deluge, and it will take time to recede.'
'Have you ever noticed that when your mind is awakened or drawn to someone new, that person's name suddenly pops up everywhere? My friend Sophie calls it coincidence, and Reverend Simpless calls it grace. He thinks that if someone cares deeply about someone or something new one throws a kind of energy out into the world, and 'fruitfulness' is drawn in.'
I can't keep count of the number of unrelated Bear references I've bumped into these past four months.
'Jane had no more strength than a cat then, but she knew her mind. She wanted Eli to go. Other ladies were dithering, and they were frantic with talk, but Jane told Elizabeth to keep them away. 'I don't want to hear them fuss', she said. 'It's bad for the baby.' Jane had an idea that babies knew everything that happened around them, even before they were born.'