Bru's Musings

I remember my mother sitting up late into the night reading and munching on chips; this was her routine many nights, into the wee hours after we had all gone to bed. I now know that she was escaping - running away from home, from the pressures of life, from worry, from dissatisfaction, from the demands of an emotionally needy girl-child, from rambunctious boys. These hours were spent in other less-demanding worlds. Nights when she was too exhausted to sleep, knowing she had to get up early the next morning but unable to let go of those precious few hours that were her own.

I follow her footsteps just a bit too closely, I think. It's nearly midnight and I've just put the finishing touches on a santa costume for my Boy's play tomorrow and put on a load of laundry, yet all I want to do is sink into my latest book when I really need to get some sleep. But for just a few moments I can escape, running down paths where I've never been, meeting people who intrigue me; just for a few moments I can run away from home.