The computer at its absolute worst this morning – and time is tight on Sundays.
I am grateful for your sympathy. Things seem a bit better this morning. Time and the hour will get us through even this, as you rightly say, Shandy. My sister and her husband will be here tomorrow. And last night I thought of a delicious revenge.
My mother was a world-class writer of Nasty Letters. The secret is not to overdo it. I have tried throughout life not to emulate her, although I have written one or two in my time. When all this is over, I might send one Upstairs, listing in detail the expense to us all which has not been repaid (Joe’s train fare, storing the furniture unless I can bring the insurance around on that one – and there’s bound to be a lot more), with a sentence or two about old age and mental suffering.
Composing and polishing this document in my head may keep me cheerful for quite a while. I may even have the strength of character not to send it.
And it occurred to me just this morning that wallpaper people can probably be asked to deliver sample books here and take them away. Getting around to their shops is not as easy for my husband as it was when the dining room was decorated in the first place.
We’ve been short of pictures lately.
My brother-in-law sent this one from
yesterday. The Latin inscription says, "If God is for us, who can stand against us?" Amsterdam
Alexander went hill-climbing with his family last weekend. We are here looking down on the Rest and Be Thankful.
Here is Lizzie’s first Hundertwasser sock, finished last night. I have embarked on the casting-on of the second. I am excited about all the sock-knitting possibilities that keep opening before me.
And here, finally, is the elegant job my husband and Joe made of stacking boxes from the dining room in the spare room, while I was unloading the bookcase and corner cupboard.
I didn’t get the snood blocked. And I fear the Sky Scarf is slipping away from me. Variations of grey and blue have become a bit tedious.
The big news yesterday was the arrival of “wearwithall” from the Yarnery. But computer sloth and Sunday pressure compel me to leave that for tomorrow.