We’re tottering on. Rachel has gone, much missed. It’s just
me and Archie and Perdita now.
My husband is a lot better than he was, detached now from
all tubes except for oxygen up his nose. Dozy, bad-tempered. He is very
weak. He is agitating to come home, which I am sure is a healthy symptom as
long as they don’t let him do it. It takes two or three nurses to move him to
the chair beside his bed.
I heard some of Obama’s convention speech. If that can’t win
the presidency for Hillary, there’s no hope for her. I gather Michelle’s was
even better. The next few weeks are going to be very interesting, and the
presidential debates, fascinating. My husband and I saw the very first ones,
Kennedy-Nixon, in 1960 in Northampton, MA, by going across the street to watch
a neighbour’s television. [Presumably abandoning Rachel and Alexander to their
fates. I don’t remember.] We saw the famous five-o’clock-shadow which is said
to have lost the election for Nixon. In this case, the candidates will scarcely
be speaking the same language.
Archie and I have watched “Zelig”. It’s pretty entertaining,
although far from Allen’s best. (“Manhattan”, “Annie Hall”, “Sleeper”, “Play It
Again, Sam”) It was odd, indeed, seeing my father as my contemporary, when he
always used to be so much older.
I think I’m rather avoiding the subject of knitting. I’m
completely stuck on that final edge of the Hansel shawl. Why? Why? Hospital
visiting is good for socks – I’ve finished the graduated ones (although haven’t
yet finished them), and have cast on
and made good progress with Vampires in Venice. It doesn’t swoop as I had
hoped, on 56 stitches, but at least it makes tidy stripes. Picture soon. I must
pull myself together. I’m not all that far away from the first heel.
Knitlass, I travel to the RIE on the No 8 from Broughton
Street, so alas! don’t pass you. It’s a long, tedious journey, but about as
convenient as a bus could be. On the outward trajectory I ride upstairs where
knitting isn’t easy, but I manage a bit. Downstairs, on the way home – because it
is dangerous to try to get down the stairs as the bus is hurtling down
Broughton Street – knitting is easier. And I knit in the hospital when my
husband is dozing.
Driving would be a bit quicker, but much more stressful, and
also more expensive. Busses are free as I’m so old.