Wool-gathering

This happy morning passed in Mucky Old Woman mode as I scragged my hair back, cleared the decks and finished the long sofa cushion, and the lavishly edge-padded intersticial blanket is cut out and on its way. My linen has arrived and is better than I had hoped, clear light blue, natural, soft yellow: the only slightly off one was the red, too dark, so I washed it with bleach and it looks faded and soft and wonderful. Everything is lined up for my big project, my machine is sewing better than ever, and once I get my commissions out of the way I shall start, and time myself too, to make sure I am calculating the right amount of labour.

I spent all this evening in a long and fraught neighbourhood committee meeting hammering out the wording of our negotiations with the local quarry. Interesting stuff, and I like my neighbours so much, and we actually came to a satisfactory and (I hope) productive conclusion. By that time I was in Clean Lady mode, neatly dressed and perfumed, had run my errands and had borrowed a pile of books from the library, pure escapism. A good balance.

Yesterday we celebrated Suscipe's 19th birthday with cream, schnitzel, chicken and tuna. Our dear little white queen hasn't had one of her distressing fits for weeks, she is self-possessed and affectionate, and I can imagine her 20th next year, in 2010. What a blessing she has been. I love naughty Buckley too of course, but Suscipe has a very special place in my heart. When they are together it is almost like a fantasy of my best dog Clancy and best cat all portmanteau-ed into a dreamlike ideal household, and all I would need would be the children young, and Gillyflower my favourite horse - and maybe me young too! Like one of those idealised wildlife posters with all the birds and animals going about their business simultaneously. Maybe I should imagine this house and the water but with the Park Village garden - and English rain.

The last Donkey Tail I propagated has gone, plucked cleanly from the pot leaving just a tiny conical void. Maybe they didn't all rot away, maybe the birds find them delicious.