The many and various ways I pass the time now has a new addition. Usually it involves drinking coffee whilst sitting at a computer keeping in touch with chums, or sipping wine sitting on our tiny terrace catching the sun, and wondering what else I can do to avoid any cleaning or tidying or putting away of stuff and things that aren't even MINE. And now I am going to type this blog. Provided that doesn't become a chore as well, in which case...

Tuesday, 3 May 2011

Counting Chickens

I haven't wanted to post about anything for ages.  This is because a) there has been precious little spare time even to think about writing, let alone embark on any b) everything is so up in the air and c) The Husband has been at home with me since knocking off o'clock on Maundy Thursday, until today.  This is the first morning for twelve days that I haven't woken up with him either beside me or very nearby.

Yes, The Husband and I live in each other's pockets. And that fact doesn't embarrass us one jot.  First time around we were both married to spouses who had time-consuming interests which overrode most if not all other considerations in their lives.  In the case of The Daughter's Father this was His Work.  In the case of The Husband's First Wife this was The Theatre. Their life partners, families and most of their friends took  an indubitable and rather ignominious lower place in their busy, busy lists of Things To Do. In TDF's case there was also Cricket (Playing and Watching) which took care of Saturdays and/or Sundays from April to September, except when were abroad.  Mix in Listening to Radio Four and Saying Shush as a third activity or hobby, and you can imagine how lowly a handmaiden your author was made to feel for most of the twenty years we were together!

So if The Husband, my new and greatly improved husband of the past eight years, is off work, I am with him or alongside him 90% of the time.  He likes it like that. We are nauseatingly happy with the arrangement, like proverbial pigs in shite.

The bit about everything being up in the air still pertains.  I can't get high enough up to get a good perspective on how things lie, as a result. We have had and accepted an offer on Our Ma's house which - if IF IF it goes through to exchange of contracts and completion - will see her with enough in various bank accounts invested in a number of ways with a mixture of risk to be comfortably ensconced in the residential home we have installed her in until she's 100+ if need be.  But I don't count chickens, do you?  So pretend you haven't heard what I have just said, please, as I don't want to jinx the transaction.

As for being too busy to think and write, I am hoping that this won't be so now, as we have got into the swing of our new routines, of work and play and eating and drinking and visiting Our Ma, and with The Husband back earning our daily crust I have some contemplative moments to fuel my typing on here again. So you may well see a little more activity from Goldenoldenlady, but I am not promising anything.  I rarely promise faithfully, as - like with counting chickens - I can't see round corners.