The world is looking pretty bleak from where I sit.
I listened to the news this morning as I mopped up porridge and spilled milk. The first headline reported families, not far from here, being rescued from their flooded homes by the Civil Defence. That put a few gripes of mine into perspective.
The second report was of children drowned. More children drowned. There is no perspective from which that can be accepted.
I lit a candle. I know; that’s no help to anyone but me.
I sat at the kitchen table and began another pair of mittens.
My Goodness, these mittens are addictive.
This is the third pair.
They take just enough concentration to still the wittering in my head. And, oh, that dusky pink is so relaxing it should be on prescription.
Small Girl came home from playschool and took her place beside me. We passed a quiet hour knitting and colouring-in and talking. She asked what a halo is and I was stumped. What exactly is a halo?
The teenagers stopped by to report on Christmas tests and make toast.
Santa letters were finalised.
Middle Girl wanted to make a Venetian mask for a school project.
Small Girl wanted to make one too, naturally.
Out came the cereal boxes and lollipop sticks and feathers and paint and brushes and glitter and little shiny hearts.
They glued and glittered merrily and even shared (!) the feathers.
Their works of art are drying while I write this.
In a minute I will go back out there and cook a fairly healthy, reasonably tasty dinner. I’ll call, ‘Dinner’s ready’ and no-one will come because they are watching The Jungle Book in the front room.
Then, I will shout, ‘DINNER!!!’, in the voice that means business, and they will slope in and take their seats. They will talk over each other and interrupt and tease, one will doubtless swing back on his chair and another will probably spill her drink.
Just tonight, I won’t chastise them.
Well, I’ll try not to.
We are lucky people.