Today, Saturday, 1st October. Alone in the house; everybody either moved, being educated or staying the weekend with friends. The idea, first off, was to light fires and celebrate Autumn by curling up for a long evening on the sofa with book, Kindle, DVD or some other non-conversational medium; the reality is an Autumnal heat wave. Last night, the experience of noticing, mid-evening, how tired I was, then the early night; this morning so far it has been getting up late, feed the hens, ducks, breakfast outside at the back, set up the press to juice most of the remaining apples. Fruit juice in the fridge and freezer. Fruit juice for Christmas.
The press was a birthday present: I remember waking up in a deckchair to find a man assembling it on the grass in front of me. [This theme of sleep.] Another memory: waking up after a late night at the hospital to find a plumber (a friend) leaning over me to get at the radiator behind the bed. He was fixing the heating; I was awake enough to say "She's a girl!" before going back to sleep. Third child, who is away with friends this weekend.
Enough remembering. I shall finish fiddling about with the page of [two] books to sell, then I'll get to the apples. Unless the inner me decides he needs a siesta the same way that last night he imposed the early night. I wonder, sometimes, where that fairytale came from about the castle's population sleeping for a hundred years. What a changed landscape, society, world we'd be born (wake) into if we took that long a leave of absence. This afternoon ... is another afternoon. Maybe a bonfire.
And the dog is looking at me across the table. A walk, I think.
The press was a birthday present: I remember waking up in a deckchair to find a man assembling it on the grass in front of me. [This theme of sleep.] Another memory: waking up after a late night at the hospital to find a plumber (a friend) leaning over me to get at the radiator behind the bed. He was fixing the heating; I was awake enough to say "She's a girl!" before going back to sleep. Third child, who is away with friends this weekend.
Enough remembering. I shall finish fiddling about with the page of [two] books to sell, then I'll get to the apples. Unless the inner me decides he needs a siesta the same way that last night he imposed the early night. I wonder, sometimes, where that fairytale came from about the castle's population sleeping for a hundred years. What a changed landscape, society, world we'd be born (wake) into if we took that long a leave of absence. This afternoon ... is another afternoon. Maybe a bonfire.
And the dog is looking at me across the table. A walk, I think.