Given that three-quarters of Lessons in Taxidermy was written in response to questions posed by Marisa, it is not surprising that our conversations over the last few days have inclined toward the intense.
Discussions about life, love, and work spill across breakfast, lunch, and dinner, concluding late every night when I send her off to her bed with a hot water bottle. She has an uncanny ability not only to sense what is on my mind, but also to sum up complicated issues I’ve been pondering for months.
Where writing is concerned we almost mirror each other – but she is always more succinct in describing the process.
Mostly, though, we laugh. We also read newspapers and books, lounge around, check email, listen to music, play with the boy, go for walks, work.
Normally when someone visits I feel that I haven’t done enough as a host. But Marisa isn’t a guest: she is family.
The other night my daughter was chattering with us about thirty-seven different topics at once and at some point said I have a blog for my internet junk and a paper journal for my private thoughts.
I replied I don’t put my private thoughts anywhere.
Her response was instant: Your private thoughts are boring!