My weekends have fallen into a rhythm.
I start early on a Saturday, with a flurry of chores and dog walking and planning.
Gardening is high on the list right now, with the first pass of herb garden weeding.
By late afternoon I am usually windswept and weary and settle down with an audiobook or podcast and my knitting.
I finished listening to Eligible by Curtis Sittenfeld - and I recommend it to lovers of Jane Austen and / or intelligent "chic lit". A cracking tale, with plenty of contemporary details that made me smile, if not actually laugh out loud.
And then I was swept up in a tide of All At Sea by Decca Aitkenhead. You would probably have shouted at me not to listen to it, in my current state of mind, since its subject matter is bereavement. But actually it was helpful to listen to someone else sorting out her thoughts following the death of her partner.
There were lots of cultural connections to be made in my head, familiar scenarios, tropes. It was helpful to hear about someone else picking up the pieces of the past and re-examining them, because I seem to do little else myself these days.
Sunday is my day for emotional meltdown. I always start the day with great intentions for heavy-duty crafting... and then sometime around lunchtime, I succumb to the irresistible pull of The Archive.
I try to stay away from the upstairs study where the diaries are piled, next to teetering heaps of FL's writings, sifted through with old photographs and drawings. The most innocent-looking restaurant menu is turned over to reveal a whole new layer of Things I Don't Want To Know.
Maybe I should set fire to the whole lot. But I need to read it first. To make sense of everything.
I know the answers are in there somewhere. Because I know this was what he wanted. Otherwise he would have burned the lot himself, while he still had the ability to climb the stairs.
He could have chosen to protect me from this, but he did not. He wanted me to sift through the past and draw my own conclusions, for better or for worse.
So Sunday is the day when I sing along to Lauryn Hill and frighten the dog by dancing it out in the kitchen.
And only when I am worn out, I bury myself in wool and get on with my knitting.
I completed Always Amsterdam last week.
These pictures give you a sense of its cosy swoop, if not its glorious shade of blue.
Big DK-weight shawls could be my new obsession.
I love this thing.