On the whole I’m not a great fan of being out in the rain, though of course as a gardener I welcome it wholeheartedly. But at some level I’m still the schoolchild who always enjoyed ‘indoor play’, often more than the usual outdoor play (maybe because it often meant I could curl up with a good book).
Today is no different. A wet day means a day of getting stuff done indoors – cleaning, tidying, admin. And then once all that is done, enjoying sitting with a hot cup of tea and working on one of the many current knitting projects. There’s something very comforting about being indoors, in the warm and dry, creating something new that someone will eventually enjoy using.
[And on the other hand, there’s no escaping the stark reminder of how fortunate I am to be able to enjoy all these things. Yesterday I read of a local Big Issue seller who was attacked and left unconscious near where the Farmers’ Market happens. He’s now in hospital, and there’s a fundraiser online to raise enough money to find proper housing for him when he comes out – he currently lives in a tent by the river. In a wealthy city like Bath]
This week I’ve had some heart-warming responses to my blog, which move me more than I can tell you. A friend from university days, who was reminded by my anniversary post of those times together (the Christmas when we both worked in the post office sorting office on alternate shifts – me nights, him days I think), and he generously offered to share his room with me. Someone I know from the farm who wants to buy some of the dishcloths I’ve been knitting. Another friend who just enjoys reading the day-to-day doings (or not doings) – we miss being able to see each other so very much, and the weekly phone calls help but aren’t the same.
It’s all about community.
Moving back to the mundane, tomorrow is the last council green bin collection until the end of January (garden waste), so I braved the cold (and found it was no longer raining) to collect the un-compostable bits from the garden and allotment (roots of perennial weeks, tough sweetcorn stalks and husks, prunings too woody to compost).
And then my daily walk before returning to the warm and dry to cook supper and sit knitting.
I count my blessings daily xx
the magic jug 