F's sister C. – the one who lives in Edinburgh – phoned yesterday evening to say that she had spoken to F. since the lumpectomy, and all was well although she remained a bit groggy from the anaesthetic. It was expected that she would be at home that night. Wow! We'll know more later in the week about the state of affairs, cell-wise.
I am still being plagued with pop-up ads. Googling suggests that there should be a monkey wrench on my Google Chrome toolbar which will offer a block-pop-ups option. But my Chrome doesn't have a toolbar and I can't figure out how to get one.
The computer man didn't phone. I'll have to pursue him, but silence is ominous.
Even knitting news comes under that heading now. The yarn for the Sensible Christmas Project didn't arrive.
I made some more progress with the cards – maybe 20% done. Foggy Knitter, I agree with you about the pleasure of receiving, and of writing, Christmas cards. Thinking of old friends. But the pressure – and the expense, these days – is/are considerable.
I did some on-line shopping. Yesterday was supposed to be the big day for it. The present list is nearly dealt-with. Three ominous gaps remain, I think. I'm glad you like the rubber-band-loom idea, Dawn. Here's another omni-purpose present, for what it's worth: a pedometer. I'm having such fun with the one my sister gave me! I mentioned this to Alexander when we were at Loch Fyne last week – I had thought to give one to the health freak, but he said no, go for the couch potato.
I was grateful for comments about how different families deal with present-giving once the recipients move past childhood. I think we need to have a conference on the subject next summer. My husband's sister said to me once, during these dark days, that maybe we should stop giving presents to each other's children. I said, we'll talk about it in the summer. We never did. With the result that she stopped giving presents to our children, and I carried on (to this day) giving them to hers.
Last year I hit upon the idea of sending cards recording a donation to the superb hospice where their mother died, They seemed delighted. But perhaps that would be a bit tactless (at least for F.) this year.
Here are the promised ducks.
The pond they no longer use:
Setting off down the drive: