Threads

They get everywhere. Threads. I’ve just tried the quilt ‘so far’ on his bed. I thought I was forwarder that I am. Isn’t it often the way? Still another seven strips to go. I am so slow. How did they ever get things finished? How does anyone? My life is lived in pieces, rather like the squares of the quilt I am fashioning for him. Piecemeal. If frustrates me but I know I need to accept it and indeed cherish it. Two unexpected bookings, last night and first thing this morning. I lost sleep because of the one last night. But we need the money, and I need to keep on working. To keep normal. To keep it together. What if it is all nothing? It makes me a little weary though losing sleep, like now, bleak. I cannot care what they talk about. It doesn’t touch me. But I am home now and I want to sit with tea and sew, just to be steady. Empty. The rain pours. Poor Derbyshire. The River Derwent bursting it banks. Almost biblical someone said. My heart bleeds for them. The destruction of a home is a terrible thing. Our safety, our warmth, our comfort, our privacy, our belongings. Our belonging. There were still too rough sleepers in the shelter on the Prom this morning, and in that biting wind. Do they become inured to it? She offered to help, to pay for me to see someone privately. I am touched. I said no. It is too much. But I love to know that she is there, strong, steady. It may be nothing. And then I will feel foolish. So be it. A journey tomorrow to see a dear friend. How will that be? My fingers hurt with winter cuts. And the nail on the one that was poisoned looks soon to lift. I used to have nice hands. Age takes its toll. It must be something that needed to come out, she said. Yes. Enough for now. Tea. And the Archers.