There is, of course, a metaphor here about my life or at least my attempts at art. I just do. And sometimes the results are spectacular, sometimes disastrous. Mostly, the work is just made harder. Piano, writing, photography, quilting, drawing - I resist patterns and pre-planning, choosing to wing it, to follow my fallible muse. Sadly, I am impatient and eschew the classes and advice that would make me better at what I love to do.

Rockets, guns, bombs, hatchets, swords, and light sabers. Today my grandsons play happily on the floor, building a virtual arsenal of imaginary weapons with their Legos. They are cheerful and cooperative as they build and smash, build and smash. Occasional houses and fishing rods materialize, too, but the energy circles mostly around destroying things with loud noise and delight.

At a Think South reading the other day, someone from the audience asked me whether being a woman influenced my experience managing the Trans-Antarctica Expedition, or made the job more difficult. My immediate reaction was a simple 'no', but the answer, in fact, is more nuanced.  As I write in the book's introduction, my whole point is that by accepting our differences - both cultural and personal - all and any of us can work together to accomplish big things. I probably should have added the word 'gender.'