Month: June 2017

Mitzi Bytes by Kerry Clare | edge of evening

Mitzi Bytes

The day was wide open before them, which could go either way. Elastic enough to hold all the things they’d fill it with, or gaping wide and bloated–it would depend on the kids’ temperaments and her own. Everything was still possible from where she was lying now, though, and she relished the moment. The whole house quiet, life as she knew it. This, this, this.Mitzi Bytes by Kerry Clare I‘d been looking forward to meeting Mitzi ever since I first heard about her. But Mitzi, it turns out, is kind of elusive. Although she’s been blogging since the final years of the last century, and has even had a couple of moderately successful books published, no one but her creator knows Mitzi Bytes’s true identity. No one, that is, until Sarah Lundy gets an email from the mysterious Jane Q: “Guess what–this game is over. You’re officially found out.” If I were to make a list of the things that I love in books, Mitzi Bytes would have them all. Feisty children; domestic mess; the sense of …

Astrantia Roma | edge of evening

Solstice in three parts

A couple of weekends ago I went to Bath with friends. We were there to celebrate A-M’s 50th birthday. I remember, so clearly, trying to leave the house for her 40th birthday party, at a community centre five minutes up the road from our Colliers Wood flat. T was a little under two weeks old. I was sitting on the bed feeding her and each time I thought that she was finished & I would be able to slip out, a blush of pink would rise on her face, clouding to red & a curl of displeasure would appear around her mouth, before she again began to cry & I again began to feed her. Late, sometime after nine, I did slip out and felt all the strange vulnerability one feels out in the world postpartum, without an obvious pregnancy or a tiny baby to signal to people that they shouldn’t knock into you, should treat you with an exaggerated care and concern. I must’ve stayed less than half an hour. A decade later and …

elderflower blossom | edge of evening

Gone camping

It sometimes seems to me an enormous act of hubris, the planning we do for the coming year in those short December days after Christmas. But plan we do. Sitting on either end of the sofa, sipping coffee. Alone with a notebook. We talk of holidays and milestones; dreams and desires; the simple things that we would like more or less of in the months to come. They’re not usually grand plans. Some new meals in the rotation; early nights in January; a plan to spend more evenings reading or playing the guitar. Yet, still, I wonder if the Gods are watching. The small but persistant thought: just let us all still be here this time next year. That is the baseline, the everything, the true extent of my ambition. This year, we did make bigger plans. Shifts in the balance of our days; a move towards a more equal share in the work of home and the work of the world. And then we backed away from those plans, postponing but not abandoning, in favour of …