It has been another hot day, though after yesterday’s rain, the air is refreshed and cleansed. The house is less stuffy, and we can breathe easier.
Hubby and I don’t like the heat. That’s not saying we relish in being cold, but the heat is draining. It makes us tired, and me irritable, well, more so than normal. We don’t know what to do with ourselves to keep cool, and our attention span is akin to a goldfish.
We go out of the room and can’t remember why (BOAT moments as our memory lapses after 30 feet), so we end up drinking countless cups of tea as it seems logical we were heading for the kitchen. This has a knock on effect and we visit the bathroom more often too.
I haven’t done much on my blog today, in fact I haven’t done much of anything. The day has puttered by, it’s nearly 9 in the evening, and I am contemplating going to bed with my book. It’s one of my favourites by Erica James called Precious Time about a single Mum who takes her four year old son round the country in a camper van called Winnie.
It’s a lovely story reflecting human nature, family and humour whilst making us realise that Time is indeed precious and we shouldn’t waste it.
Years ago, I was too busy doing my housework to visit my first MIL in hospital.
I went the following day to be told I was the only one who didn’t visit the day before.
I’d taken in a red rose bud from the garden, which she was pleased with, but said she wouldn’t see it open. She died the following day, but her last words have stayed with me all this time. Now I try never to be ‘too busy’ for anyone.
Hubby says we gift our time to others and I can go along with that. Sometimes we stop and chat for what was intended to be a few minutes, but that stretches to ten, fifteen, maybe half an hour and is usually to people who live alone or Covid has made them semi reclusive and they have ventured out into their garden.