Rose at seven had a project.
The project was the library.
Not the reading, which was ongoing, but the cataloguing. She had decided, with the organisational conviction of someone who had inherited more than one person’s capacity for deliberate structure, that the library required a proper system and the current arrangement, which had been added to over years without consistent logic, was not sufficient.
She presented this to Damien on a Saturday morning with a proposal that was, for seven years old, remarkably specific.
He read it. He asked two questions. He approved it.
“You’re delegating the library to a seven year old,” I said.
“She’s right about the system,” he said. “The current arrangement is not logical.”
“She’s seven,” I said.
“She’s right,” he said.
Rose spent three Saturd
