We had a good time at the care home yesterday, I guess – but they have no beds. I had sort of hoped that my husband might move there right away, and that the prospect could be sold to him as a way of getting out of hospital now. Helen was a bit surprised that the place didn’t seem quite as much of a country club as did the retirement community in NJ where my mother used to live.
But a care home is not quite the same thing as a retirement community. They were much occupied with a cupcake-decorating competition. My husband would hate it.
It sounds (from Helen this morning) as if the process of getting him home is moving forward rather briskly. Hopsital bed to be delivered next week. Maybe I can manage. Maybe I’ll have to.
And meanwhile we still have this afternoon’s appt with the consultant.
I have been clearing out the bottom drawer of an old wardrobe this morning: Helen is going to have it -- one less piece of furniture here. It was the drawer with all the old programs – two Calcutta Cups (neither a win); Michael Pennington’s Hamlet, Kenneth Branagh’s Henry V, Antony Sher’s Richard the III and Tamburlaine the Great, Brian Cox’ Titus Andronicus (all from Stratford); the Edgbaston cricket ground the day Brian Lara scored 501 not out, and so forth. Many a tear.
As for knitting, the Whiskey Barrel sock moved forward nicely yesterday, and so did the Uncia – I’m seven rows into Chart D. That’s a good day’s work, for me. And I can tell you that row 234 is almost easy. Something to look forward to, if you’re just starting out.