I’m not sure what to make of this week frankly. It’s been a bit uppy downy.
I’ve had some lovely guests with impeccable taste in flowers, and a penchant for fine dining – so that was lovely (thank you Keith and Noreen). We’ve had some fine, Indian summer weather which has made Derek’s whiskers twitch with delight, and meant that she is no longer scratching at the French windows, because we can leave them open.
Tilly is on a cooking streak and has made bread and amazing lemon and lime curd, and is currently cooking us lentil and bacon soup for tea, which smells heavenly. I am not in a cooking frame of mind at the moment, so I am delighted that she is. And that she is cooking things I actually enjoy eating.
All this is good.
I like walking my son to school and back every day. It is very companionable, and compared to the horrendous car journeys of the last two years, it is a delight and a dream. We take a short cut through the local church yard and I am becoming very attached to a lady called Drusilla Matilda who is buried along the desire path we take through the stones. I like thinking about her in my idle moments. I think she was probably a bit of a fox.
I like the fact that the girls are in when I get back in the afternoons, and Tilly usually has the kettle on. I like sitting around the kitchen table at a reasonable time of the afternoon with the children and chatting about our day, and the brilliant thing is that we still have the rest of the evening before us, without having to juggle time tabling up the yin yang. We are powering through season three of The Mighty Boosh, which is very splendid and not a bad way to spend spare time you find yourself with.
I like the fact that Oscar and Tallulah are still coming home from school enthused and interested and telling me all about their day. I am happy that they are happy. I am happy that Tilly is bumbling along in her usual fashion, pretty delighted with most things and very excited that she is starting Zumba classes next week.
I start crochet class this evening. I am excited. I am excited even though it is Bake Off night. So that’s good.
It’s all quite nice.
Except that I am not feeling terribly well, and have been wrestling migraines and sinus pain all week, and the period from hell and I am pale and lumpen and not particularly motivated to do anything. Which is a shame, because I have lots of things to do, and in theory, more time to do those things now I am not permanently behind the wheel of a car.
Except that I am finding it incredibly hard to do anything much of anything for more than about five minutes before throwing in the towel and loafing about the internet desultorily reading stuff that flits lazily through my mind without making any lasting impression on me.
In the meantime my house falls to ruins (although I did fix the dish washer yesterday – go me), my pile of books to review teeters perilously skywards while I bat ineffectual e-mails back and forth with people who want to know my deepest thoughts, my knitting remains unknit and the half finished hat sits accusingly in a corner of the lounge waiting for me to get a move on and form it into an acceptable shape. There are other more dreary things, other more important things, other ‘stuff’ that demands my attention, and I flit past it all hoping that some of it might have disappeared down the cracks in the sofa by the time I get back to thinking about it.
This mood will pass, and then all the things I had time to do will still have to be done and there will be much less time to do them in. I have accepted that this is the way of the world, and things will return to being on a more even keel eventually. In the mean time I try not to get too frustrated with myself.
Lemon curd on freshly baked bread is helping with that.