Tuesday 7th July - at last! Post!

 There was a muffled thump in the hall - post!

we were eating lunch; sea bream with roasted onions, peppers, potatoes, tomatoes, herbs etc. Plus some purple sprouting broccoli for 'greens'.

The new revised second class post delivery schedule is beginning to bite; Ang posted this last Wednesday, or maybe Thursday morning;

a pink and maroon slip stitch pattern with some suffragette safety pins - purple and dark green. Plus a postcard of an amazing quilt. She describes it here.

Knitting is Not Happening at the moment. Too Hot!

 Otherwise it's been a fairly quiet day. I sat in the shade first thing this morning and watched and chatted and answered questions while Vicky sorted out the chaos of all my pots, abandoned for nearly a year now, ever since we decided that this extension was more than a dream. It was an education watching her at work; even if I was physically able enough do to this, I would never have been able to match her quick, quiet efficiency.         

Then I came in, and while BB was out sourcing a new key safe for beside the front door, I defied the Builders by working out how to open the patio door, and then fixed a string to the handle in such a way I could open it, and haul it back closed without ever stepping down to my doom. The half open door is now completely blocked by the chair, and we can operate my door control system without moving it.       

So that was most of Tuesday... here's the whole poem about peace dropping slow...

The Lake Isle of Innisfree

By William Butler Yeats

The Lake Isle of Innisfree

By William Butler Yeats

I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,

And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made;

Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee,

And live alone in the bee-loud glade.

And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,

Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;

There midnight’s all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,

And evening full of the linnet’s wings.

I will arise and go now, for always night and day

I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;

While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey,

I hear it in the deep heart’s core.

from the poetry foundation