The last couple of weeks have been, shall we say, busy?
Busy is Good, in so many ways particularly when we are talking Birthday
Celebrations of which, as you know, I have had a few. Like Old Blue Eyes, doing it His Way, though he was talking regrets, rather than celebrations. I am not a great believer in harbouring regrets, on the basis that it is better to look forward and put right
those things you can and forgive yourself for those you can't. One day I will (or, possibly, won't) write a song about this but I can't see me making BGT. Edith Piaf, I am most certainly not.
Anyway, it was rather a relief to wake up on a Monday morning, knowing I don't have much to do this week. I kept turning over in bed and going back to sleep for another twenty minutes - by the time I rolled downstairs it was a good
hour later than usual and Mr B was starting to worry whether he would ever get his bowl of corn flakes. Or whatever his cereal of choice this fine morning.
ahead to the weekend, the (Not So Very Little) Welsh Boys and their parents are arriving so we will be back to Full Steam Ahead in no time at all, but having a relatively quiet week means I can prepare for the onslaught gradually, rather than try to get everything
ready on Friday afternoon. In the interests of Slow Motion Preparations I have therefore set myself a few tasks to be completed each day.
Today I set myself
one boring and two pleasing tasks. The boring job was the ironing; the pleasing jobs were to visit the Garden Centre and write to grandson Jack. I think the ratio of one boring to two pleasing is a perfect balance. If I were a mathematician I would invent
a name for it, but being nothing of the sort, I shall simply suggest it here as an ideal way of arriving at the end of a day feeling both worthy and uplifted.
B wanted me to make sure that, when I visited the Garden Centre, I bought some Cos lettuce plants for our vegetable trough. This was much more difficult than I thought it would be in that the Garden Centre appeared to be stocked with just about every variety
of lettuce except Cos. I was deliberating on the relative merits of Romaine and Little Gem and which would be acceptable to Him Indoors, when I suddenly caught sight of a few strips of Cos lettuce. Do I know why it had to be Cos? Well, just be'cos, if you'll
excuse the pun.
Having exhausted myself in the Search For Lettuce, I took myself off to the Garden Centre Café with a medium skinny latte and a Sneaky Biscuit
where I telephoned the Youngest of the Darling Daughters who is having a nightmare involving a ballet exam, a party, and a Clash of Dates. I felt it was the least I could do to express Solidarity. It was also much more fun chatting to my daughter than sitting
alone in the Café looking like Billy No Mates.
All of this I recounted to grandson Jack when I finally sat down to write his weekly letter. What he
will make of it all, heaven only knows. "I like hearing news from home," he declared, loyally, when I once was brave enough to ask him. Trouble is, what happens when there is no news aside from a search for lettuce and a 'phone call. I did remind him that
it's Father's Day on Sunday...
Tomorrow, I will set myself three more tasks, one boring, two pleasing. No, I haven't decided what they will be as yet but I shall
be sure to let you know in due course.
Always supposing you are in the least bit interested, that is...