When I set up this blog, we had know about my wife's pancreatic cancer for a couple of weeks. My intention was to chronicle the disconcerting mix of extreme intensity of feeling – stabs, pangs, floods, sears - with the general mundanity, even stillness of experience; to grieve for the fondly-imagined futures and glimpsed possibilities snuffed out by the diagnosis; and at the same time to tell the story of our 30-year relationship, and what came before, as best I could.
I decided to do it because my wife and I are writers by both inclination and profession and so hate to see a good story go to waste. I like to give shape to my life and experiences, by making things - pictures, gardens, pieces of writing of indeterminate species – and sharing them with the select few, thus suffusing myself with feelings of boundless altruism and worth and staving off loneliness while not subjecting myself to the criticism oifthe unpicked herd.
What I hadn't taken into account was that somehow I'd mislaid my facility with words. Just couldn't do it. But I did take photographs. So they will have to do for now. Once I've uploaded them to photobucket...
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