A little bit better. Archie came, and I got around the garden with him in slightly better order than yesterday, when I was on my own. I kept stopping for sit-downs, then. And I got a few rounds of knitting done: back in the saddle. I was encouraged by your remark, Tamar, suggesting that I may be suffering from burnout rather then simple old age.

 

What Archie and I mean to do tomorrow is prepare the package for dispatch to London, at last: the shawl, the Polliwog, and, by the way, Rachel’s Christmas present. We would have done it today but after a belated steam-pressing of the Polliwog, I thought it would be prudent to wait a day until it was completely dry. But I think I can sign it off, in the sidebar.

 

And Archie and I have some gardening to do, as well. An order of trailing fuchsias turned up today.

 

I made some progress – not much – with “I Vicere”. Archie is reading Zola, of whom I know nothing. He is the only grandchild who asks me, What are you reading?

 

I did a little bit of googl’ing on my own, since there wasn’t an answer here to my question yesterday about glioblastoma. I gather than it is extremely bad news; turns up suddenly with relatively harmless-seeming symptoms, as in Andrew’s case; and that they’re working hard on DNA-specific treatments but haven’t got very far yet. Which is more or less what I expected.

Helen sent me this remarkable picture this morning. You may have seen it already on Instagram. I used to get more knitting done in those days. Ketki is wearing a Tumbling Blocks, of course; and Helen, her wedding sweater, with various significant symbols.