How Time Goes Faster As You Get Older.blog

Carly was coming to the end of her wonderful and nurturing sabbatical trip to India. She’d started off in the north in Rajasthan​, but when it started getting cooler, she headed off southwards. All her kids had been out individually to see and stay with her. At her own expense. But that is nothing new she muses! They were still under 25 and all at Uni. She had one final month to go and decided she would head to Hampi – home to enormous boulders and huge numbers of Hindu temples. This was on her colleague​ - Eli’s recommendation. She did this out of duty as she felt she needed to pay Eli back. This was due to the real underlying truth of why she had persuaded Eli to let her have one of kittens. Eli’s cat had had a litter and Carly wasn’t all that truthful about why she was so keen to have one of these kittens.  

Carly’s family had recently re-homed a lovable canine rogue ​- Bryn​, from “All Dogs Matter”. But despite being told otherwise by the pet charity staff that he was fine with cats​, this clearly wasn’t the case. Bryn was a tri-colour collie who terrorised their cat StinkyMirandaTalulah (known as Mandy or Fatne) who sometimes found herself in his mouth. Never a cool look for a cat. Or really any good at all. Bryn had clearly been badly treated before and couldn’t manage stairs and kept trying to gobble up large garden pebbles. With love and affection, Carly and her family were able to help Bryn with this. He became a wonderful therapy dog and got so many brownie points in the local chemotherapy unit where he went weekly for patients to stroke. But clearly, he had a thing about cats that no ordinary amount of love, affection and clear boundaries could sort out.  

So, Carly brought home one of these kittens in an attempt to teach Bryn otherwise. His birth family called him Panda, on account of his multiple black and white splodges. But Boo, Carly’s daughter, didn’t like that name and called him Gus, short for Asparagus. For some bizarre and unfathomable reason, Boo and her brother took to calling Gus another name – Miss Kitty. ​This is strange for a male cat who isn’t having any binary or other gender issues. Anyway, Carly brought in a pet psychologist into the home. She took a toy kitten, similarly patterned to Gus​, and rubbed it in his scent. Then she presented it to Bryn. If he went snappy, snappy straightaway, then Gus would need to be returned. But he didn’t and so the training could begin. The family could teach Bryn to treat Gus with respect. This was all to do with testosterone. Well, that makes a change, laughed Carly. They had to buy an enormous cage for the kitten. The same size as Bryn’s. Carly would feed Gus inside his one with Bryn watching from the outside. If he desisted from going snappy, snappy then he would be rewarded with a couple of pieces of dried kitten food. Things went well and Bryn learnt to respect Gus​, who, like most cats, ended up in charge. Except for Carly. She really is in charge. All the time! Well so she thinks. Cats have another idea of who is boss… 

  

So​, as a token of her gratitude to Eli, Carly goes to Hampi. She actually stays in a place across the water called Anegundi. She saw lots of boulders and visited a few temples​, but really, she did what she always did during her sabbatical. Making things to fit with her theme. Purple, Spiral, Prime. She even had banana flower curry there as it was purple. She walked around singing Anegundi to the tune from “Fiddler on the Roof” called Anatevka. She isn’t sure why. They have the same number of syllables, and both begin with an A. But there is very little else that is similar. But it was amusing. Well, it was for Carly. Additionally, she did hum it pretty quietly, so she didn’t invite so many strange looks. 

  

Carly then arranged to stay at their sister site Andeshe, outside of Pune, near Mumbai (previously Bombay). The website made it look sublime and it would be a quiet and isolated place for her to complete her projects before returning to her normal hectic life in “The Smoke” (London). So, Carly left on an overnight bus to Andeshe which only had three rooms and she was the only guest. She was a bit hesitant to be so isolated. But she was welcomed by a wonderful Nepalese couple who were running the establishment​, Bishnu and Ganga. They spoke limited English, but Carly is tenacious, and she knew she would get by. She was worried, however, whether she could last three weeks by herself there? Oh and no phone signal or Wi-Fi. She quickly went to sort out a sim card and reader for her computer so she could continue to publish her blog. And then one morning, Meenaxi arrived. Phew. She was the owner’s mother and spoke impeccable English. They got on like a house on fire. Eating all their meals together and planning what they would eat. But for the bulk of the day, they did their own thing. Meenaxi sorting out her organic rice she grew at Andeshe and Carly making her stuff. Carly marvelled ​at how long any person could sift through this rice to prepare it for sale. She was impressed. She certainly would not be able to commit so many hours to something so very monotonous.   

  

Every morning before breakfast Carly and Meenaxi would do their own thing. Carly would do her yoga on the roof and run with Johnny the dog. Meanwhile​, Meenaxi would do her stretches and prayers. This arrangement suited them both and they sat down to a hearty breakfast. Carly was trying to complete her list of 133 (19 x 7) ideas for making things she had set herself for her sabbatical. Meenaxi suggested she help. One was balloon sculpturing. Rather than make various animals that entertainers do for small children at parties, Carly had a different idea. She had 53 purple balloons, and everyone helped blow them up. She noticed that even balloon blowing is cultural, and Indians blow it up to the side of their mouths! She then put all the balloons on the open water of the small freshwater pool and jumped in. The wind picked up and they all hopped out, popping on various prickly plants. It took longer to blow them up than for them all to come to a sudden bursting end. Carly collected a few of the ruptured balloons and “imprisoned” ​them in one of her A3 montages. Homage to a balloon monument! 

On another occasion, Meenaxi baked a banana bread. Carly decorated it with purple icing and ticked off both bread and cake making from her list! She also allowed Carly to use her very efficient treadle-foot sewing machine. This was the most efficient machine Carly had used in India. She was very pleased to be ploughing through so many projects. Zip, zap, zop went Carly working at an intense speed. Towards the end of her stay, Meenaxi invited Carly and some neighbours to a ceremony to celebrate the installation of a machine to prepare rice. It was a great, big ugly metal thing​, but Meenaxi decorated it with important Hindu symbols including swastikas. She was very careful to point out to Carly, who she knew was Jewish, that this was an ancient Hindu symbol, misappropriated by the Nazis who flipped it over. Carly was so touched that Meenaxi respectfully decided to explain all this to her.  

  

At the weekends, they returned to the bustling and busy town of Pune. Meenaxi to her son’s home and Carly to a hotel near the synagogue. It was fun for Carly to go there. On the Friday night there was only the caretaker and cantor who took the service and had come from Mumbai. At the end of the service, the cantor blessed Carly who felt very emotional and cried. No great surprise there. Carly is forever crying. Happy. Sad. Whatever. Carly is crying. The Saturday service was much busier. On the second weekend Carly brought along a fancy purple challah (bread) cover she had made for this warm community. She also made beetroot halva to share with them. She gave a short talk about the colour purple in the Old Testament. And explained that the food she had brought connected them. The beetroot was a typical staple of Ashkenazi Jews from the West where they ate borscht and halva was a favoured dessert of Sephardi Jews from the East.  

  

When Carly thinks back to her time in India it was chock full of people looking out for her and after her. It was such a special place. It was such a special time. Yes. So good. Carly is really grateful. And, of course, this has made Carly cry. Again.  

Carly really loves going on train journeys. She lives in London and has for all her life. The big smoke with lots of people and congestion. She really does know how to appreciate her life and see her friends who live all over the United Kingdom. She can hop on a train to rush off at speed through patchwork fields and emerald forests to leave her city. ​For her this feels the best way to travel. It is freeing and fun and gives you a different perspective. This is even more so abroad. The chaos and excitement of trains in India, the cleanliness and punctuality of trains in Switzerland and her very favourite journey going over gorges in Myanmar (whilst bouncing so high even she nearly hit the ceiling of the train!) And, let me tell you, Carly is not tall. No, actually. She is short and a bit fat. Like many middle-aged women. That tummy bulge just won’t go! 

  

Carly loves the easy effort afforded by train travel. Sitting there. Doing nothing sometimes. Carly isn’t very good at this. She is obsessed with being busy. But on a train, you can daydream as the train purrs along. Of course, sometimes journeys don’t go to plan. You can be stuck in a siding for hours and not ​be allowed off the train. Then Carly is seething. Don’t these train operatives know how busy and important she is? Clearly not​, as they would make exceptions and open a door so Carly can clamber to the nearest station and move on with her day. Never mind the signal failure. Someone else can sort that out and other customers can be inconvenienced​, but just not Carly. Then she realises she is just like everyone else. And it will get sorted. She breathes deeply and tries to practice some mindfulness meditation. Poorly to be honest. 

But she does wish she didn’t have a watch or a phone to obsessively check the time. She can work out relentlessly how many hours, minutes and even seconds she has been kept waiting. She is impressed with the customer service announcements. They rarely say anything of substance, but they are apologetic and at least sound contrite. They clearly have been on a railway-calming-customers-down course. She wonders how many days long it is? Do they practice announcements? Do they do role play? They often mention how you can claim travel costs back if your journey has been delayed by X minutes. Pach. Really does anyone actually do it? It will be a lot of effort and ​for a minimal amount of compensation. Certainly, too onerous for people as busy and important as Carly. 

  

Carly has an insatiable appetite for leaving London. Don’t get this wrong. She loves, loves, loves living in the capital. But she needs to be out of London, to not only truly appreciate it​, but also, she finds it too easy at home to get embroiled in low level nonsense. When she is away, she finds it so much easier to be truly creative. When she stays put​, which she has had to do in times of a pandemic, she feels she is constantly treading on hot coals. If she doesn’t escape soon on a train, she’ll burn her feet. She realises that being on a train and visiting any old friend that will let her stay, grounds her. She can be calm when she knows she has these trips planned.  

Carly does try to consider what this train obsession is all about. Well, firstly​, she is not keen on driving. She can drive well enough and has access to a car. It is not to appease her eco-warrior friends. No. Driving just isn’t relaxing. Trains are all about that motion. Pshtakoof, pshtakoof. It is those relaxing and repetitive movements that are so very satisfying. It reminds her of her favourite craft ​- knitting. Similarly, this is very relaxing and repetitive. After all​, there are only two stitches. Plain and purl. It is like a chant. The train sounds like someone is reciting a mantra that you can feel all over. Knitting feels like your hands are creating a yarn mantra. For Carly, who is thrilled by change, doing something that is defined by something very repetitive​, feels grounding. And of course, when she is on the train she can knit. She usually travels alone so no one interrupts her, and she can listen to one of her favourite podcasts and feel the train throughout her body and the yarn in her hands. How very sublime, she chuckles to herself! Then she feels she is a self-sealed bubble. She loves to try and work out the names of stations that they whizz past. But mostly she is just in a daze. A type of reverie. Trying to be. Rather than trying to do which her default setting. Carly ​usually bizzes about all day from 5am when she wakes up​, until she conks out in the evening.  

It is funny that she loves train journeys because of all the stories she used to read to her children Thomas the tank engine was her least favourite. So absolutely dull and tedious. She would save that for babysitters to read to them! 

  

Carly likes to sit facing the rear. This is partly because she likes to be different and alternative. She also feels sorry for the rear-facing seats. She has a bit of a thing for supporting the underdog. But also, it is nice to see where you’ve been. Not looking in the direction of where you are going. It is a sort of philosophical time travel. Which is best? Future or past? She knows she should try harder to be in the here and now​, rather than inexorable future planning or relentless unpacking and redistributing of the past. Sometimes she pushes her face up to the window, so her nose touches the glass to clock where she is right at the very moment of ‘now’). Hmmmmmmmmmmm, thinks Carly. Actually​, she is being really pretentious. ​Being in the now is just almost impossible. 

  

Sometimes Carly goes on trains when technically she wasn’t allowed. But Carly isn’t really one for silly rules. It was at the hight of the second wave of the Covid-19 pandemic when only essential travel was permitted. There were cordons of police at Euston station checking why customers were travelling. Carly would show her badge. She is a doctor of note and distinction. Well sort of. Anyway, having a title and a work badge was enough for her to be waved on into the station. She had a whole long story made up in case the police asked for more details. She was going to say she was visiting a patient in Daventry. This is because she is a world-expert in a rare genetic disorder. This is actually true. It is just her patients live near Reading and really, she didn’t need to visit them at this precise moment in time. But she got onto the train easily. She just needed her NHS badge and no explanation was required. Phew. Another small victory. Carly justifies that she needs to go on that train to improve her mental health with the outcome that she will be a better doctor and mother when she returns. She doesn’t want to have a row with the government about travel. She just needs to leave Euston and head up to the Midlands where her friend has kindly agreed to host her. And as for being a better mother. Really? Who is she kidding? Her kids are all adults and now all the damage has been done. Her parenting journey is nearly over and no visits on trains are going to appease her children of all the mistakes they continually remind her ​that she has made. Being a better doctor? Maybe. She isn’t sure this trip will change that. She has been qualified for over 30 years and working all the way through the pandemic in a hospital. A bit old now to learn new tricks. But for sure. Better mental health is good all round and going on train journeys is part of her recovery. Recovery? From what? Well just living – especially at the time of the pandemic which Carly thought was really there just to ruin her life. But she isn’t alone there! And really Carly isn’t ill. She just has an insatiable longing to go away. It didn’t matter much where. Her friend Sandra was happy to have her to stay as long as they snuck in through the garden entrance under cover of night. Sandra was happy to cook for Carly and let her stay in her spare room​, whilst Carly regaled her with stories to amuse her. 

  

Carly would mostly like to travel in the “quiet carriage” on the train. But she never could understand why others couldn’t follow this rule. She would often point out the signs to others​, but often they would laugh at her and make more noise.  And then most train companies removed these carriages as it was impossible to police them. So, Carly just had to be more mindful and not listen to the conversation of others. And she could always put on headphones and listen to educational podcasts. Trains have taught Carly lots of things. How to be calm in a crisis, how to plan her time and how to see the change in location and weather.  She could count the sheep and cows and horses. This made her relaxed and calm. She loved it when the train ran alongside a motorway. She could see who waswinning. The train or the cars? As Carly is very competitive by nature, she loved it when her train overtook all those polluting cars. That means Carly won in both the environmental realm and being the fastest. Double hit! Yay.  

  

Carly loves trains despite there being no nursery rhymes about them that she remembers. Row, row​, row your boat and the wheels on the bus are the only transport ones that spring to mind. But Carly’s memory has always been shocking. If it hadn’t been for the Trainline App she would have no idea where she’d been at all. Luckily, she remembers to look there. And it can help her know where to get on the train, change and get off. She hopes she doesn’t lose her phone. That really would be a disaster. That is pretty much the case for everyone as well. 

  

Lizzy and Sarah insisted I take Carlos with me to Oslo. It was a short trip with a small rucksack but that was ok! Carlos is not that big! We stayed for 3 nights with my good friend Astrid and on the middle night went to stay in a hammock outside Oslo in a forest with Toril as well. It was super fun and I can add it to my list of new activities – hammocking, surfing, paddle-boarding, goat herding and feeding, tangerine and orange picking to name a few!!

Adri is very good a finding crafting courses for us to go on. We went to a dotty mandala painting workshop in Jaffa with both Israeli and Arab women. There was a really lovely atmosphere. The instructor pre-paints the canvas and draws circles and lines faintly to help the painter. The second two I did at home using a purple background.

Then I found some very small ones to paint in purple and turn into dotty mandalas in an art shop in Hove. I even used tipex and some new metallic pens.

Chaya was quite interested to investigate. But probably only because she thought they would satisfy her hunger!

I managed to buy some more square canvases in Hove. So they were painted and dotted! And then I bought even more but this time used different paint which ended up being very thick. So I painted it in a spiral form. An alternative dotty mandala!

And then I found a large square canvas in the rubbish pile. It needed a little TLC and once I had painted it black it was as good as new. I also painted the back and made it into a halloween scene for the children (all 2 of them) in my building.

Next up paper making….

I spent some time in mid-August in both Hove and Hook. Whenever I could I hid myself away and made these 24 dreamcatcher montages using ink, metallic pens, paints, feathers, honesty petals, rose leaves, wooden flowers, butterflies and bugs, lavender, the die cut plastic from an old white Tatty Devine necklace that was beyond repair, nail varnish, puff paint, stick on jewels and butterflies, temporary tattoo transfers, leaves and mushroom stencils, embroidery thread and even some flesh from a damson plum – which one was that? (Clue – from Hook on 18/8/24)

When I was in York on my way back from Berwick-Upon-Tweed, I met my friend Paula and we went to a historic home and garden for lunch. The shop sold some small “Barbie-like” characters who were called Sassy, Kelly, Candice, Ginger, Lacy and Crystal. Obviously none were actually called Barbie and they held themselves in a rather bizarre position which looked like they were trying to make their breasts look even more enormous than they actually were. I decided it would be fun to position them with different medical equipment. Enjoy!

I was invited with two of my children to come to Sandbanks on a family holiday. I found Pez Barbie on the route down and my niece, Sabrina, informed me she is called Princess Peach. But never mind. She went all over the beach, around on the bus and ferry to Studland Bay. She had a huge amount of fun. Her pez sweets were a bit wet and salty at the end but who’s telling?!

I have become slightly obsessed with making paper dreamcatchers. Often the body is round and there are three or five hanging aspects which have “feathers” and something to weight them down. Often I use squares or other funny shapes for the body part and the weights can be a whole variety of objects. The “feathers” too. I usually glue but often embroider things on them. Once photographed they can be chosen by friends to keep. I like the fact that there is a range to choose from and I could never predict what people will like. For sure they like to have a choice. These 40 dreamcatchers were made in a four day period. They help me get my creative juices going for the day. I have used pens, pencils, ink, paint, nail varnish and puff paint. I have added buttons from Sarabeth and Phil, leaves and flowers from around Mallety, small purple, pink and white interconnecting bricks (plus-plus), a unicorn rubber I made into thin slices and wooden butterflies and bug painted purple.

The unicorns kept falling off so I caught them all additionally with embroidery thread.

Soon to be released – Carly loves train journeys!

So this time Carlos made it to France. I stayed in Mallety, near Limoges with the lovely and wonderful couple Fran and Phil and their assortment of 3 cats, 3 dogs and one tortoise. I eat wonderful food, drink gin and tonics and white wine but spend most of the day in the workshop. This time I made a bag from an old mumsy jacket, mended my bright orange silk evening bag from Accessorize, made 2 challah cloths (one for Betsy [nature] and one for Tania [beach huts]) – see my earlier blog on challah covers, and used the kantha machine to make new border for my bed using variegated purple and lilac thread. I also made 40 dreamcatchers on card – see the following blog!

Carlos went on a number of adventures around Mallety, mostly in Fran and Phil’s place with their animals and large amounts of stuff. A very photogenic and peaceful place.

Another post from Mallety coming very soon. 40 dreamcatchers!

  

Is Carly scary? Well now. That is a question. Clearly not the question. Also, this can hardly be The Question. That is more about the meaning of life and much more existential enquiries. But certainly, being scary, is something to consider. Carly has thought about whether this is a true statement of fact​, or a malicious fabrication over the years. To be honest, she hasn’t come to any sort of conclusion. The jury is out. Really this isn’t significant enough to go to a court and be heard by a judge. Mentioning juries is just a phrase or expression people use. Phew, thinks Carly. Got off that one. Whenever she hears a police siren, ​she is convinced they are out to catch her. No particular rhyme or reason. Just her guilty nature. Oh, and being naughty in general, for a considerable amount of time. 

  

So back to the question of whether Carly is scary. Well, a friend just phoned her. And Carly put that question to Agnes. Is she, Carly, scary? “In a word, yes” replied Agnes without hesitating or even drawing for breath. Agnes didn’t have any more to add on the subject. She wouldn’t have done very well on the Just-a-Minute radio quiz. But this wasn’t radio. This was real life. And Carly reflected on her friendship with her foxy silver haired divorcee friends. She fondly remembers the last day they all met. Gosh​, that was a memorable day. It was the last night Carly spent in her marital home. The day before the house was sold and she went to India on her four-month sabbatical. Earlier in that day, she had gone to get her orthodox Jewish divorce known as a Gett. There was lots of law and writing on parchment and rabbis. For sure they weren’t scared of her. Maybe overwhelmed by her crying. It was relentless and torrential. However, on reflection, Carly was glad there was some sort of physical ceremony to mark the end of her long marriage. Not just an email pinging into her inbox to mark the Decree Nisi and Decree Absolute, as it did for her civil divorce. ​ 

Back to the evening with her friends: Agnes, Elspeth and Isla. It was held as a celebration of women together. They all worked in health, and they all had kids. Isla one, Elspeth two, Carly three and Agnes four. Carly liked the pattern in this. The theme for the food was cucumbers and figs. Carly was hoping the phallic imagery is not lost. They sat in the now bare kitchen​, as the packers had been there all day loading up their lorry to put Carly’s stuff in storage. They had left behind the garden table, four chairs and a few pieces of cutlery and crockery. It felt like a cathartic time to have a themed last meal. It was lovely and enjoyed by all. 

Carly was a bit overwhelmed the next day ​- what should she take to India or leave behind and put into storage. So, she filled up three huge bags to take with her to Delhi. Now that really was silly. But Carly felt she was invincible and could go on the tube and change lines to get to Heathrow. But however scary or determined Carly is​, she still only has two hands. At King’s Cross when changing tube lines, the third bag trundled down the escalator and nearly crushed someone who had the misfortune to get on the escalator after her. At that moment Carly was mortified and pretty scared herself. Certainly sheepish, and not the least bit scary. She asked for help on the platforms subsequently and eventually made it to the airport with all her luggage.  

  

Carly has found a real knack for moving away from answering the question that has been set. “Is Carly scary?” Maybe she just doesn’t want to face her demons? Maybe she is too scared herself to face the real truth. No. come on. That would be ludicrous. For anyone to be scared of themselves. Yes, mused Carly, you could be scared of what you might do if goaded​ or compelled to act in a dangerous or foolish way. But Carly is a middle-aged woman of at least some sense. She is pretty good at knowing when she is having her cage rattled. She can put in measures to stop herself. Like trying to be mindful or walk away. When she is with her new boyfriend (‘not-so-new’, he says!), David​, and feels something needs to be discussed​, she takes her lovingly created talking stick and launches forth on the topic bothering her. Whilst holding the stick, David has to be silent and actively listening to her. She relishes the ability to get all the issues out on the table without interruption or assumptions being made. When you are angry or upset about something, it can be hard to focus. And Carly is no different. So, she has put things in place to contain herself. So, this answers the question of whether Carly is scared of Carly. She is not.  

  

But are others scared of Carly? And if they are scared, is it a little or a lot? If it justified or not? Could she rank the level of how scared they are? Are they a little afraid of her​, or terrified? Maybe they are aghast, shaken or petrified? Or just anxious, fearful or ​… golly gosh. There she goes again. Wandering off from answering this question by providing alternative words for scary​ she found in the thesaurus. This is a clear and unadulterated delaying tactic. Once she gets to 1500 words, she can end this story. But she’s not there yet.  

So, who is scared of Carly? And why, when and where? Context is always important when asking tricky and possibly vague questions. Maybe she isn’t scary at all. She puts on an armour to protect with “’inner mushy Carly who cries all the time​”, with an external protective layer. A coat that says “keep out – trespassers will be prosecuted”. It is self-defence. Yes, thinks Carly. That is it. 

  

But sometimes Carly uses being scary at work to her advantage. She is a paediatrician and sees lots of children with functional symptoms. Sometimes they are called medically unexplained or psychosomatic. But either way these children often have headaches or abdominal pain because of anxiety. Carly explains this to the children using crying and laughing as analogy of physical, bodily things happening in response to an emotion or feeling. Then she asks them if they have their symptoms at that moment in time. And if they say they do, she says​: “Of course you do​”. Coming to see doctors is anxiety provoking. And in particular​, she herself is scary. She says this with a wry smile and a wink. Mostly these kids get it and smile. In fact, they nearly all do.  

But once Jen, a girl of 14, came to see her with tummy pain. Carly gave her and the family the spiel about how 85% of children with these symptoms have anxiety as the cause. The patient Jen was busy nodding away. The father was having none of it. He jumped to his feet and towered over Carly and his daughter. He gripped the back of the chair with his knuckles getting paler and paler. He spluttered out in fury that there was nothing in his daughter’s life to make her anxious. All the while​, Carly watched this and raised her eyebrows as if to say that it wasn’t his place to say this. Only the daughter caught this. Carly felt really sorry for Jen, her patient, but she had done all she could. In that situation, not only did Carly feel scared of this misguided and unreasonable father, but she was worried about the daughter, Jen. But Jen gave Carly a look to say that her father was overly protective, and he often behaved in this way. But Jen felt he was not at risk from him. All this from non-verbal communication! Amazing what humans can do with their looks. Interestingly, years later, Jen presented as an adult with headaches. She was only allowed to go to college close to home​, so her father was still very much in control. Carly was rather sad. She felt she had lost Jen’s battle to become truly independent. Harummmmmph thought Carly. Some battles you just cannot win​, however hard you try.  

  

Carly cycles back to the original question. Is Carly scary? Well maybe sometimes. But certainly, it doesn’t matter how much she rants and raves on at her kids. They aren’t the least bit scared of her. And that, she considers, is all that matters. Or her cats. They adore her. But maybe that is only cupboard love. The dogs are the same. What her pets really feel about Carly is tricky. But they aren’t scared. For sure.  

Booh.