Eight months after Mottsu died, as Christmas approached I had some cards made. On the front was a photo taken in the 60s, Mottsu on the knee of Father Christmas. As a labour of love or an act of contrition I mailed out 150 little cards with a personal note written in each.
Inside was a quote by Virginia Woolf:
“Each has his past shut in him like the leaves of a book known to him by heart and his friends can only read the title”
That quote was especially poignant to me in the light of suicide, it helped reassure me about my not understanding of what happened.
Bud Tingwell in the opening chapter of his biography, written by Peter Wilmoth, hoped that he would be forgiven for not acknowledging all the kind cards that were sent after the death of his wife. He just wasn’t up to it, at the time. I wonder now if it was the opening chapter, that’s how I remember what he said, a loud and lingering regret.
I was driven by what had haunted Bud and I was determined not to harbour similar regrets. I had enough regrets to live with, not sending thank yous didn’t have to be one of them.
There are two schools of thought, Miss Manners thinks sending notes is the decent thing to do. and one that says Miss Manners is WRONG about thank you notes for condolence cards. It’s up to you.
For a while I was guilt ridden by the bleak book recommendation and the vindictive pillow snatch, and while I am mired in regret, there was also the bathroom towel colour and the spiky plant. 
The violet towels in the bathroom had to be replaced with green. Violet is a metal colour and green a wood colour. The bathroom would have been much more harmonious with green towels. I looked for new towels and couldn’t find a shade of green I thought was attractive. Too fussy.