Just as I was beginning to get ready to take off my black clothes, and maybe do something dumb and lighthearted, well, events intervened again. My Granddad died. He was old, he'd been ill, it was (as far as it ever is) expected .... but expected to be next year sometime, not now. I thought I would have the chance to give him another couple of presents at least (I didn't go and see him much, but I liked to send him things). I found out when my dad left a message on my phone, Monday morning. Joy. So, there I was, having contacted all my family I humanly could (one sister left to go but, hey, three out of four ain't bad) sitting there, wondering: should I try for the chirpy strip I'd planned? Use a strip I'd written but not run yet? Pull out one of the scripts I'd rejected for being too black? Forget the weekly strip and run a nice picture of a fluffy kitten instead? Unfortunately no fluffy ktten available, so I fetch up mining my memories of poor Granddad instead, and turning that into a strip, feeling strange, am I heartless? Discovered I could barely remember what he looked like, just his hands, large and heavy, thick knuckles, and the sound of his voice, and the rattle of seeds in the packet as he taught me how to plant vegetables.
Things I like to do:
tread on acorns