Contemplative Woman

Where to start...

I remember that at the age of about eleven or twelve I decided to burn a little patch of winter grass on the verge opposite where I lived. Being the ringleader of a little band of followers, it was easy to persuade them that we do this. I needed their help to shield the match from being blown out. The intention was to burn a little patch only but the wind took it out of our control - panic ensued and the neighbours (mothers) were enlisted to help put out the flames before it ran wild into the farmland next to the verge. The efforts were in vain and I ran away.

With hindsight, I see this as a direct attempt to draw attention to myself - although the opposite appeared to be true at the time. Now, more than 50 years later, I see it as a kind of rebellious act to say what was unsayable: please, daddy, love me, acknowledge me, affirm me for being who I am, a little girl beginning to understand at some other level that her father was not emotionally available to her.