I Was Born on the Finke

Abstract

Sometimes, when I am ironing, or driving, or just sitting in the sun, I think of Edie, and I cry. I cry inside, because those of us who are now elderly have been brought up not to show emotion publicly. I cry with frustration and sorrow, because I know that I have let Edie down, and I feel heavy and helpless because it is now too late to say: “Tell us more about that, Edie.”