I love the imagery of sewing, particularly how it is portrayed in nineteenth-century fiction, such as in Austen’s Mansfield Park: ‘…. Mrs Grant and her tambour frame were not without their use, it was in harmony‘. Though one is never sure with Austen whether she is being playfully censorious or not. I suspect the implication is that her embroidery is in fact ‘not of use’.
Yesterday was a little tough. I sank like a souffle left out of the oven too long. And the phone kept ringing with bookings. I don’t mind, I want the work but it disturbed my equilibrium. Four today, heigh ho. Back and for but I am grateful. No writing or sewing. I need a break from both sometimes. Lots of reading instead. It feeds my soul. It is good.
We both got soaked. My boots, I’ve discovered, are leaking.
Home for a bit before out again. Feet up doing this with a much needed coffee. The studio was empty when I arrived. Perfect. And the guests were lovely. Sometimes it is OK and I can see how I am blessed. And he? Well, he never lets me down. Tireless in his kindness and appreciation. I send him my writing. I need it to be read even in its raw state.
I will heal all this. They want a 24 hr urine sample and more tests. I shall acquiesce for now.