Briefly, this morning – I have an early appt to have my hair done, so as to be beautiful for Easter, nor is there much to say.
The man from Imperial Consultants seemed to think we were thoroughly wet. Next, he said, will be a Ceiling Man from the insurance company who will advise on drying the ceiling and, eventually, will pronounce it safe to redecorate. Apparently if bits don’t fall off, and it doesn’t bulge, it will be all right to redecorate it as-is, without replastering, once it is thoroughly dry.
We spent a useful afternoon sorting things in the dining room, separating books into piles of Wet and Not-Wet. My husband is determined to be recompensed for every book with buckled pages, whether “usable” or not. I don’t know if that is going to work, what with us having no contents insurance. Nor, of course, do we yet know Upstairs’ attitude to reimbursing us. Lots to worry about.
As for knitting, I’ve done 36 of the 40 rounds of the ribbing on the second Zauberball sock. So I should get to the good bit today, without difficulty. And should be very close to finishing, if I don’t actually do it, at Loch Fyne at the weekend.
Mary Lou, your kind words about my explanation of the Dutch heel made me feel as if I’d got a gold star on my homework. You’ll find lots of tutorials on-line, of course.
Two Lent-related remarks, both rather boastful:
On Sunday evening, reeling from the after-effects of the Disaster in the Dining Room, I thought of having a glass of the white wine I keep for cooking. The bottle was open. After all, Sundays aren’t strictly included in Lent, as I have explained here previously, and anyway nobody said anything about giving up alcohol. I’ve given up cider.
But I didn’t. I stayed with bitter lemon. Another jewel in my heavenly crown.
What I did do was knit that sock, and as I did so, I reflected yet again on how very soothing an activity that is. Not just knitting – sock-knitting. It has turned me from a whimpering coward into an intrepid birdman, when long-distance travel is called for. And it helped a lot on Sunday evening.
And the other thing is: I’ve lost 10 pounds since Ash Wednesday, according to this morning’s weigh-in, with no further effort at all except for not allowing myself to replace the missing cider with sugar. And that’s routine, by now.