Wishbone Soup Cures Everything

Thursday Waiting, yes. A particular kind of waiting like a string pulled. This week I have been looking after Granma Grace, we call it our Girlie Sleepover time. Grace holds this tautness most of the time, close to the bones of her. If I made representative art I would play with the idea of a pulled string twined with blooms - roses, tulips, cyclamen, all colours bold and pretty. This day the wait has a clear focus. We are waiting for baby news. Outside it rains heavy. We watch geese cross the lawn and leave again as though they had discovered something. We hear machinery whirr next door and workmen chattering. I have to recharge my phone twice from looking: no news. Friday Granma has stirred and gone back to sleep this morning, for rest calls her more and more. While she sleeps in her bed her foot tapping stops, while she sleeps in her chair it activates. I leave her have a lie in for this reason. Eighty-nine years to process, physical decline from age and stroke damage to acce...

Summation of my blog posts: - I am THIS TIRED - Weather - Birds are singing - Coffee - Look, words Today is no great exception; wavy minded, grey glare sky, geese-clatter lost under the roll of the washing machine and the volume of royal baby coverage that Granma Grace is entertained with, empty mug number 3, novel outline on a bit of foraged paper.  It's hard to think so maybe I should take this as a sign. A bolt of sun drops through the window. There's pink blossom wobbling on a potted bush. Daisy dots across the lawn, a backdrop of swaying willow. Grace is snoozing through the adverts, tapping her feet as she does for all the things that are going or may yet go wrong for the whole of the world, everything from a stain on your shirt to the sixth mass extinction. In balance of this she also is happy for everyone. If you are feeling anything less than splendid, she is sending you a hug right now, and love, and a biscuit/piece of fruit/check the cupboa...