Not a stitch, yesterday.
Greek Helen did the hospital visiting, and found that my husband had had more “episodes” after I last saw him in the early afternoon on Sunday. He was in bed, where he had been all day, but alert and – really good news! – ate a hearty supper while she was there. I usually visit at lunchtime, and he usually consumes little of that meal.
We had a good time at the Surrealism expo, I guess, but I found it rather depressing. I sort of thought that surrealism was fun, but of course it was very much a product of the interwar years in Europe, which were not fun. A couple of the great Magrittes were there, and I am glad to have seen them.
Alexander made this for my husband – goodness! 14 years ago. I think Magritte would have appreciated it.
Archie and I walked back to Drummond Place. I wasn’t at all sure that I could do it, and was delighted to discover that I could. Google and the signposts suggest that the distance is about 1 ½ miles, but we didn’t fly like crows. We walked steadily for an hour, being shunted back and forth across the Water of Leith and at one point being diverted away from it for a considerable stretch. We couldn’t have failed to cover something approaching 3 miles.
And I’m ready for the phone call this afternoon from my Financial Adviser – that’s something achieved. There was a considerable little panic first thing this morning when I thought I couldn’t find my Social Security number. I found James’ and Alexander’s and Helen’s before I found my own, but now I’ve got it. [Rachel is an Englishwoman, and has always been.] And I’ve printed out the documents I will need to sign and consign to the post.
I haven’t grafted the toes of those socks, but there’s still this evening. I’m not going to trudge to a post office until tomorrow.