Fashionable, Busy and Very Hard-Working

I’m at my parents’ place in Yorkshire, helping them pack up to move house.

We’ve done it a fair few times before, but there are always small shocks in store.  Going through your belongings means coming upon objects – and memories – that have been buried a long time.  Sometimes you’re reminded of someone no longer in your life, finding cocktail napkins, shopping lists, candle holders that would mean nothing to anyone but you – but you, and the person it connects you with.

I also found a box filled with pictures of a very young me!

Here I am wearing a jumper with my name embroidered on it, over the Osh Kosh overalls I wore every single day, topped off by a really tremendous hat.  This is only one of many remarkable fashion statements documented.

Here I am, interrupted during a game which apparently required my rabbit puppet, the cordless telephone and my dog, Dudley.

Here is a series that illustrate a story that still gets told by my family.

When I was 3 1/2 we stayed at my Uncle’s house in Massachusetts.  I was thrilled by the snow, and by all the stuff that accompanies it – the coats and boots, and the giant plastic shovels.  When my Uncle set to clearing his very long driveway, I shouted “I HELP” and ran out after him.

My parents watched from the kitchen as my Uncle shoveled and shoveled along his very long drive.  I kept pace behind him, shoveling like crazy.

It was very tiring.

And when my Uncle had finished he turned around – he and I were both very proud of ourselves – and saw that as he’d been working hard shoveling the drive, I’d been working just as hard filling it in.


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