A Wigwam for a Goose's Bridle

I’d like to make a note about the name I’ve chosen for my blog.

My mum used to tell me stories about my grandfather, from when she was younger.  Apparently it was characteristic of him to claim he was “off to see a man about a wigwam for a goose’s bridle” when asked what he was doing.  Indeed, anything it wasn’t your business to see or know would be classified as said wigwam.  When I was little, I used to plan writing a book one day, a sort of biography of my mother’s life, and I always knew I would call it A Wigwam for A Goose’s Bridle.  It just seemed to fit.  This blog is obviously not a biography of my mother’s life, but the name somehow seemed to fit.  The idea of it being a euphemism for something which is “none of your business” seems to suit this journal of sorts in which I will write things I would not say.  And on a personal note, it means a lot to me.  It acknowledges the genetics that run in my blood.  It acknowledges the rich history that set up that context in which I find myself, in which I try to find myself.

And that’s all for this entry, because I’m off to see a man about a wigwam for a goose’s bridle.