A splodge of ink, a sweep and scribble of pastel and what initially was turning disastrous began to look acceptable. Times two.
Saturday, February 28, 2015
Friday, February 27, 2015
It has been an odd sort of weeks. The lurgy came, visited Eldest, me, back to Eldest again. I took a fantastically graceful (not) dive on the ice that managed to injure both hands, the right faring particularly badly. Trying dressing without your dominant hand - now try put a bra on. Yes, exactly.
In the midst of these trivial little daily dramas I got the call I dread at this time of year. Another of my dad's sisters had died.
While feeling deeply for what my cousin was going through I realised there is only one of the six sisters left. Ironically the one who was forever complaining about ailments, as the old Scottish saying has it - the squeaky gate lasts the longest.
I remember being at one of the infamous family gatherings in my auntie Sheila's home. We were in the kitchen laughing at the volume of noise coming from the living room. Auntie Sheila remarked that it sounded like they were all speaking at once, they probably were to be honest.
It's too quiet now.