Tuesday. There’s a deal of significance in a Tuesday when you’re on a countdown to some future event. Even though the bulk of the week is still to come, Tuesday seems somehow to break the back of it. I’m always reluctant to wish time away and yet just now I’m counting the days.
Each time we speak, and that’s three times a day, Graham seems to have some new plan or target for things to be done when he returns. The replacement of carpets with good, clean cork flooring. The design and construction of a fireplace for the living room. The conversion of the back bedroom, to include the installation of a large patio door, so that we may have a joint ‘hobby’ room and so that my present study may be joined to the kitchen to make a vast open-plan cooking and daytime living area. And so on, and on. I could get quite breathless at the prospect.
And, as if on the side, he plans great things for our back garden, to include the painting of the masonry walls of the house. I could get more than breathless at that one.
For the past three months I’ve been content with targets of no ambition at all. Just getting through the day, fending off boredom and depression. I’ve succeeded reasonably well, even if I have felt I was merely skating on the boundaries. And soon now, before another Tuesday is upon us, it’ll be over.
Roll on.
~~+~~
down the valley
pale in the autumn sun
a dog barks, lonely in the morning
~~+~~
