Sunday, August 25, 2013
Did he golf?
Don't be ridiculous!
But he was keeping the hope alive.
So I took to the road with the dog until he came out from underneath his dark cloud. In my heart I knew it wasn't about me or the cottage or its carpets, but I couldn't sit there in that dark room with that awful ticking clock, in the wake of his misery. I left him to sleep it off.
By Tuesday, I managed to start taking photographs while I was out, no longer afraid to make memories. FL negotiated with the landlady to bring him a table he could pile his papers upon, and although I don't think he did much writing, it stopped being my fault. We made it out to the Melvaig Inn for a meal. I started to relax.
Vegan Planet. They have rooms to let too - ooh! That edifice on my plate is a cheese and herb scone. It lasted me two days, stowed away in a napkin for safe keeping.
Staccato Jacket I knitted for The Girl many moons ago. It was always too colourful for her taste, and I decided it was time I claimed it as my own. I spent the whole week bundled up in its woolly warmth, sometimes with my plaid Darling Ranges dress, or with my prairie skirt, or my jeans. That's the Lonely Tree shawl at my neck.
Apart from dog-walking, I spent many quiet hours reading two novels: Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn, and Signs of Life by Anna Raverat. The first is a pretty disturbing but compelling read, well out of my comfort zone. The second takes a more literary approach to the maybe-murder-mystery with some unfamiliar quotes from poetry which I need to follow up. Yeah, I liked this one a lot.
"I have written this
in the next myth
will be wiser.
Let her learn from me:
the opposite of passion
is not virtue
And did I do some knitting?
I did LOADS of knitting!
I'll show you that another day.