Still sick, only thing to do is do something that can be accomplished with a pounding headache.
Two days ago I thought I’d shaken the flu, and visited Leoland to get some sewing done.
There’s an element of magick about their little three-house scene, surrounded by a sweet-scented garden.
The Daphne odora (a.k.a.”what is IN BLOOM?”) bush seduces a visitor the instant the gate’s pushed open…. across the mossy brick walk, a massive navel orange tree and a minor Meyer lemon tree dangle bushels of ripe (all at the same time, of course) fruit.
It’s a yellow, orange and green riot, especially in the rain.
Pick a week’s worth for Pat & Gary (“I’m waterproof”), and take four citrus for myself, for later.
Inquire if this is a good day for sewing. Pat’s a clothing designer since she was young, and I love watching her knowing hands command textiles into garments (usually medieval, from her own patterns) for the Renn Faire crowd.
In ten minutes she’s whipped up a case for my down sofa-pillow, using fabric that is at least seventy years old, from an old theatre company yard sale…fabric that has haunted my shelves for oh, 20 of those years.
One has to hold one’s breath while observing because she is prone to argue with the ‘culprit’ if the stripes don’t line up.
An unreformed Perfectionist.
I try to remind her I’m an “Approximatarian” and that a little slope to the stripes in that velvet pillow case won’t bug me one bit.
Back home with my prize and panniers drooping with the citrus, I decide to put off marmalade til I’m better.
Never happens. Computer work? Only you.
Kitchen stuff always helps, and the tasty marmalade (aided by a sploosh of whisky) comes out OK after all.
By tomorrow it will have hardened and stand proud on the toast.
Assuming this raw throat grows a layer of skin to handle both acid and crunchy bread.