There's something very comforting about a spare room, don't you think? It's a place of possibility, a room unencumbered by the demands of lounging or sleeping, dining or cooking, washing, working, or even getting from one place to another, like the hallway. Since Hugh went back to live in the country I've reclaimed our spare room. I don't like to fill it up much - its appeal is in its emptiness. Teenagers crash there, my friend Zoe spends the occasional city-night, and I've set up a craft table. I've been going into the spare room lately to zone-out when there's too much going on in my brain. Like today, trying to write a piece about death & memory for Sarsaparilla, I wandered in and did this with the scissors & some glue. It's a card for Ruby, who's 17 tomorrow.