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I grew up in the mellow 60s and have morphed somehow into a cranky old woman who grumbles about the world around her.

Over the past 40 years I've created a pile of scribblings and a few rants and there they sit mouldering in the bedroom closet.

Part of the reason for the hidden writings is that I kept getting caught in the trap between needing sustenance and needing time to watch the clouds float by. I did figure that part of the solution is to slow down consumerism.

It makes me sad to see people work all day for a salary and then, to cheer themselves because they hate their job, blow the salary on junk. I mean how many kitchen gadgets or wall trinkets do you really need?

I've dragged the scribblings out of the closet and have tossed aside my natural shyness and decided to emerge as the person I really am.