I'm reading "I Haven't Been Completely Honest With You" by Miranda Hart,
the story of how she found her way through a time of being in a state of complete physical collapse. The was caused by having undiagnosed Lyme Disease since her early teens, and spending decades battling on and pushing through the endless illnesses that plagued her afterwards. It's a fascinating account of how she had to learn to just stop and cease fighting, and what she discovered along the way.
She quotes the second part of this poem by Dorothy Hunt, and I thought I would share the whole poem with you.
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We met the kitchen fitter today... he's starting on Monday and reckons he'll be done by the end of the week!
Two concerns have been dealt with this morning and it's not even lunch time. We're celebrating with a - wait for it - third cup of coffee!
The first two were dealt with in the course of a routine clinic appointment with the ILD chest clinic, following up on the lung function tests last month. As expected, as I already knew, the results showed a slight decline, but not enough to raise alarm bells. That slow and steady loss of function is what happens with pulmonary fibrosis so no-one is surprised. In other words, keep calm and carry on as before.
The doctor was also able to reassure me that the loss of appetite I am experiencing (and how many readers are enviously exclaiming 'lucky you!) is due to the Nintedanib. I need to watch my weight...! Pass me the chocolates, someone!
The other concern was regarding the problem of moving all our kitchen stuff into our lovely new kitchen, hopefully in a couple of week's time. There's no provision in the new kitchen for the contents of the current broom cupboard, and for the bread machine and slow cooker and LOADS of other things, as they will all find a permanent home in the new utility room. So what to do in the interim, when the old kitchen is being gutted to become the shower room and utility room?
Inspiration struck; back in the summer we bought a new sentry box shed for the oxygen cylinders. The current shed is in need of major repair - but suppose BB put up the new shed outside the new kitchen door and we stored everything, temporarily (says I to myself very firmly indeed), in there?
Problems solved.
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I get a feeling of intense delight, pure joy even; a complete uplifting of my spirits however my day is going whenever I look across the gardens to where the birch trees are outlined against the sky. The leaves shimmer and sparkle in the sunlight as they catch the breeze. I can stand just inside the new back door, out of the cold, and just gaze...
Frugally challenged has her hibernaculum all set up, to see her through Autumn and Winter.
Thanks to Susie Dent, I have found a similar word, 'hibernacle', for mine.
I would love to arrange a cosy comfortable home to settle down in for the next couple of months. It's not going to be easy, as we are in a world of chaos with furniture and bits and pieces everywhere while the building work continues.
Progress is happening; the extension has all been painted a sort of off white and looks so clean and fresh. The kitchen will be fitted next week, and then we will have to clear the current kitchen into the new space.
Unfortunately this includes all the stuff we are planning to store in the utility room, once it has been constructed, so there will still be chaos. I'm sure we'll cope... somehow!
The drawing at the top of the post is what the sitting room hearthrug looks like at the moment; various stacks of boxes, heaps of things, the hob for the kitchen, a spare chair, a side table... all covered by a fine layer of plaster dust.
From time to time it all gets a bit much and I'd really rather latibulate;
I just keep reminding myself how wonderful it will be when it's finished.
Fortunately the misty mornings have usually given way to sunshine before lunchtime, and I can stand in a sheltered corner to appreciate the autumnal apricity;
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It's time for the monthly 'following a tree' picture;
The witch hazel still has a few leaves left. I'm hoping they will change colour over the next few weeks to red/bronze. The bare twigs have tight buds, ready for next year.
And I've added black ink 'leaf-pile' sort of markings to the painty splodge of a few weeks ago.
'The Fall of the Leafe' by Martin Peerson (1571 - 1651)
