Occupational therapy

After yesterday’s day of extreme enjoyment, today has been somewhat more workaday. But only somewhat. Saturdays are largely devoted to laundry but today I have felt like doing crochet so that’s exactly what I have done.

One workman has been busy all day in activity that seems to have filled the air in our working part of the house with dry pink dust that has got onto all the surfaces into all the nooks and crannies, on our hair, in our pores in our lungs. It’s so drying that it feels like someone has rubbed us with Emery paper. I can no longer tell whether something is clean or dirty but inside I know everything is caked in this dust.

As well as ordering the slate for our new kitchen floor – we have plumped for large tiles of black Brazilian slate inside and out. The Brazilian slate is respectively more reasonably priced and better quality than the British and Chinese alternatives – and firming up on the exact models of our appliances; in addition to organising the next steps for distribution of our BYMT Grand Raffle tickets and securing an accompanist for MsDD’s annual BYMT audition, and the rest of the usual chores, I have crocheted more granny bunting triangles. It is strangely mesmerising and addictive.

There are three things I try to do every day: my singing practice; my blog post and, now, some crochet or knitting. There came a point in the afternoon where I needed to do some singing practice and I just carried on crocheting because that is what I wanted to do. Of course that doesn’t mean I forgot about my singing practice. I am me, after all, and I don’t ever pass up an opportunity for continuous self-condemnation. And I condemn myself still as I have done no singing since Wednesday. Whoops.

But I carried on doing triangles. Now I have a grand total of about five to string together to make bunting. It’s not very much it it?

I am beating about the bush though, and I shouldn’t really ignore it any longer. Today I have booked the Boywonder’s one-way ticket to Canada for a couple of months’ time. It’s exciting and frightening for him and it’s making me sigh heavily.

When he went off to Australia in February, I missed him terribly, but tried not to think about it because  he had a return ticket andI knew he would be back two months later. This one-way Canada ticket is a blow and, to me, really does signify the change that will come with university. It really is goodbye to my little boy and I don’t want to sing. So instead, like the crones in a Tale of Two Cities, I have crocheted away the thoughts this afternoon.