The station master took the little wooden step away from the first class wagon and slapped the door closed.
Just then she appeared, running, out of breath ,yelling ‘wait, wait, please wait!’
She had three suitcases which made running difficult.
The whole picture was not very ladylike or dignified but she was so pretty that no one would have bothered to berate her.
That beautiful she was..
And that little red hat, askew now, the angle too perky to be ladylike was most endearing.
Jacque fell in love.
Then and there.
He got up and ran to help her.
He had been waiting for the next train.
The station master opened again the first class door. He helped her up and Jacques now loaded with all the luggage followed her.
Immediatly the train started to move…
Oh well, fate..thought Jacques.
He lifted his hat and said : ” Jacques , at your service”.

No way…this writer is not into confessions.
I am though, willing to listen to yours. Just go ahead.
Maybe one of your confessions will be also secretly one of mine but l will not tell you. Why should l?
I don’t want to confess that sometimes l dream of writing a book.
And l don’t want to confess that the next minute l doubt that l will be able to.
And the next next minute l think  l should not put myself down.
And after all these confessions, l think nobody would be interested anymore.
No l don’t confess

How do we !
We know very little so what we know, we know because we studied.
What we don’t know is much more than the ‘we know’ part.
But dont worry, we have Einsteins who do the knowing for us.
Or at least they think they know. You know ?
And if l personally don’t know, I Google. Even though l know that the all knowing internet is full of lies.
And sometimes it is easier to pretend not to know what we know…..

That woman isn’t who l thought she would be…
Those were my first thoughts.
How disappointing, how devastating.
I had worked towards this moment all my life.
In the beginning it had seemed impossible, hopeless and many were the days l had wanted to give up.
But something kept pushing me, telling me it would be worth all the work, that l deserved to have what everybody has.
Perhaps l had made her into something unrealistic during these long years of searching…
So l squared my shoulders and took a deep breath.
My husband gave me a nod and squeezed my hand, whispering:
‘Go on, go on then..go and meet your birth mother’.

‘God, let me see…its been a few days since l heard from her inspector. You see we were in contact on an irregular base..friends..no ties..no obligations you see’.
‘Which day was the last you ask.’
‘God I don’t remember, you see, I don’t even remember what I ate yesterday so…’
‘Okay okay, which day ,let me see..Monday l had bridge club, so it was.not Monday. No. Tuesday…umm I visited a sick friend, you see she is all alone and also getting on in age so…okay okay I got it inspector.
Where was l, oh yes the sick friend, well , ummm,what ? You haven’t got the whole day?. I understand I understand..ah Wednesday l was the whole day home..my arthritis played up and than I always stay home..so maybe it was Wednesday when she phoned..but then again it could have been Thursday, because….inspector ?….inspector…?