So – it’s Hillary. I guess we always knew that, really.
I am rather embarrassed at how much quicker you were than I, at finding my glasses. (Comments, yesterday.) They were on the floor – that has happened before, in the history of the world – fairly near the chair where I put them, but not so near that they could have got there under their own steam. A furry paw must have been involved.
My husband seemed much better yesterday, although still with oxygen up his nose and on a course of intravenous antibiotics. He is in an Assessment Ward, which encourages us to hope he will be out soon. Alexander and I got there at an inappropriate (=non-visiting-hours) time yesterday, since we didn’t know what ward he was in, nor what its rules were, when we set out. They were generous and hospitable, but it wasn’t ideal. Today I will go at the right time. I will try hard to talk to a doctor. I’ll also take in some day clothes. Getting dressed always seems like progress.
A total strike of junior hospital doctors is planned for next week. It would be interesting to be in a hospital when that happens, if it does.
As for knitting, not much sock at the hospital, under the circumstances. Here they are. What I have done – daft! – is simply to continue with the first cake of yarn, after finishing the first sock. When it gives up – soon; surely today – I will switch to drawing from the centre of the second cake, so that the colours go back in the other direction. Although of course they won’t get all the way back to bright pink.
If only there were a little more yarn in each cake, I could go ahead and knit a third sock for a three-legged friend or, failing that, leaving the wearer free to choose any two on a given day. But for that, I would need to get half-way through the current sock before switching yarn cakes, and clearly that won’t happen.
At home I went on with half-brioche. I wound another skein of Whiskey Barrel – that, too, always seems like progress. Part of my excuse for not turning back to the Sous Sous, is that I can’t find the pattern. When my husband was in bed last weekend, I had carers seize the chance to clean the sitting room, where he usually spends the day.
In order to gain access to the floor, it was necessary to amalgamate our multiple piles of paper. Somewhere in the amalgamated piles, that pattern must be (and, at the worst, it’s in my Ravelry library). But the other pattern came to light promptly, and there I have stuck. I might even reach the bind-off today.