Out of the mouths of babes . . .

 I was weary yesterday, trying to juggle half a dozen jobs at once after yet another poor night's sleep, and continuing worry over Keith.  "Jennifer's tired", I announced, weary.  "I" looked at me and remarked, "Jennifer's ALWAYS tired!"  Hmmm.  Wisdom at 4 years old . . .  I'd waited all day for the District Nurse(s) to come and check Keith's pressure sores, which he had been complaining about.  They came late afternoon and put some soft covers over the area, saying that the sore was healing.  Keith was in discomfort though - he WILL persist sitting at just the same angle all the time and can't get comfortable when we put him on his side.  Today I had to take the dressing off as a fresh area was reddening and I had to get cream on it.  He isn't drinking anything like enough and has dropped a pint straight away as he has given up on tea as he can't manage hot drinks any more.  He is getting fussier and fussier about what he will eat and I tried him with four different meals earlier in the week - and each mealtime can take up to an hour . . .  Needless to say, he needs to eat MORE (and drink more).  I got him Complan this week - just waiting for him to wave that away too.

A little sewing help from Lulu today . . .  This is a quick(ish!) strippy curtain for the Summerhouse.  I have the strips of another sewn up but need to do the border and back.  I struggled no end with the tab top - thinking I had it placed correctly but then bodged the corners of the tab and ended unpicking it all (my stitch ripper is always red hot!) and hand sewing it instead. Worry does not a good curtain make . . .

This was the book I was tempted by.  I haven't had much chance to dip into it yet, but can say what I've read so far is just up my street.  She has written two others, so I may treat myself to those in the future.

 Odd childhood memories have been coming into my mind randomly today.  Like when I was riding a pony called Snowy in Cricket Camp woods, went under a low branch, bending low on his neck, and snagging my nearly-brand-new blue woollen jumper.  My mum was NOT pleased.  A house where the old Queen of the Gypsies lived, opposite us, a creosoted cabin gloomily sat under a planting of tall fir trees.  Going scrumping in the abandoned orchards down in the valley.  A time when we knew the name of every pony for miles around - even if they were names we gave them ourselves!  The footings of a windmill near Windhover Roundabout - a windmill which has now been restored.  I guess the oldest memories are the safest ones . . .