My Foster Mother Calls Out Of The Blue

Today I stay home.  There’s shed loads of admin to do.  Part of the process of being an artist is being able to deal with the administrative responsibility. I do have agents and project managers but there is still administration.  I could do with a PA and will in future employ one. Half of the sklill of administration is about letting go, the other half is about getting stuff done.  I’m on it. The office is cleared and piles of A4 paper is assembled in neat military piles. It dawns that this is a two day job rather than one.  I push the troublesome  tasks  back into the second day as far as they will go.   

A curious  event occurs in early afternoon.  I have a friend request on facebook.  It’s Mrs  Catherine Greenwood, my foster mother of the first eleven years.  It’s a bolt from theblue. She calls on the phone and and I walk in the garden as we speak.  It’s the first time in many years .  I am, as I have ever been, interested to hear anything  Catherinehas to say about the eleven year old boy who she and her husband placed intocare.  

With no one to discuss or clarify or remember,  the  time (of then) is frozen inside me rather than thawed.  She says she would like to meet to talk and has in fact been coming to Waterloo for years. Waterloo is  right next to The Southbank Centre.  So on saying goodbye I m left waiting for that  call. She is very emotional and tells me she may cry. I understand crying and suggest that if she come see me she may want to make sure she sees someone afterwards.

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