It's 2 days after Christmas and my twin is not here with me; she died on August 30. I am considering this blog which has this wonderful artwork of tree roots and mermaids and trolls. I had it specially made because I love the idea of them and I could not bear the thought that they do not exist. But they really had nothing to do with my life which is perfectly ordinary and a bit painful at the moment.
My dog, Tiger, an overweight Maltese (he is registered as Giblet under my sister's name) is being very annoying, sticking his wet nose against my leg and begging to be carried. Avery witty name for a dog, we thought, but one he does not answer to because the whole family calls him Tiger. It is the name of every dog we have ever had . . . and every cat as well.
The name of the blog is a bit embarrassing; it implies magic and mysteries which I will impart to my captive audience. But I could not resist because I am a reader and dreamer of such. I thought I might just discard this blog and start a new one which would have been called Atwater or something as prosaic as where I live.
Atwater Village . . . it is a small town on the cusp of Los Angeles and Glendale. Until very recently, no one knew where it was. It was simpler to tell people that I lived in Glendale near the 5 Freeway and a mile or two from the Los Angeles Zoo. I am in a house which was built in the thirties; it is where my mother and my sister died. I expect I shall stop thinking of my house that way but I was just wondering what does happen behind the doors of homes and does anyone care?
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