Colour rivers

I just had a very slight argument, but what I think was a good conversation, with Kate about house stuff tonight. It's funny how someone can be feeling and experiencing so much behind their skin and bones, yet when you're just standing in the kitchen, stirring soup, talking and watching them, you'd never know. It's as if we are walls that surround a whole river of swirling colours, which other people just have to guess at, at the best of times. Colours are so hard to describe with words. Sometimes conversations like that make me think that the original issue is almost irrelevant, and that the act of sincerely trying to understand someone's colours behind their wall is more important. I suppose that's part of the beauty of intimate relationships; you have someone who learns all your colours and makes an effort to stay updated.

If all goes as planned, one of my form group kids will return to school tomorrow for the first time after his mum died at the end of last term. I am overwhelmed by the thought of what kind of colours might be surging around in his little frame. I have no idea what to say to him. And I hate to think of him being isolated in what he's feeling. But it's hard to know how to approach such a topic with a teenage boy. I guess i'll just open my mouth and see what comes out.

So that I don't end on a sad note, here is a photograph of a photograph of my dad wearing Nick's rockstar sunglasses, which he left down at Lorne. My goodness, my parents are hilarious. They crack me up sometimes. It is possible that I actually have the best parents in the world. Better do some marking.