Leo was up bright and early this morning tinkling the ivories.
"Makes a nice change from the traditional meditation, Peaches!"
This morning's rendition was the Floral Dance; fluid notes danced up the stairs reminding me of the ribbon-tangled scene at the harvest supper. Our generation certainly lacked the agility of the primary school dancers. Imagine my surprise when the radio announced that Sir Terry Wogan had slipped away. I know that Leo's on the pulse but is he now a fully fledged Medium and channeling the velvet-toned Irish icon?
This January seems to be acting like a portal for the great and good. Hardly a day passes without news of another departure through the pearly gates, St Peter checking the boarding passes and allocating seats for the next act. Frankly, I'm exhausted with the emotional roller coaster, memories summoned like songs on a juke box and then hijacking my time at will. I'll have to call Cameron, health guru, for some tips on grounding...
How strange, Lola is being unusually silent this morning, not the ping of a text in sight. Ahh, Sir Terry may not be her generation but he is Irish, so she'll be mourning!
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