Summer time, and the living is easy

Casa Persiflage is presently inhabited by my elder daughter and her boys, and thus there is a lot more activity than usual. The boys are  busy making plasticine flowers, watching DVDs, exploring the contents of the cupboards, playing on the computers, and using Dr P's inclinator. This is a source of endless fun and interest to the littlies, but eventually the damned thing gets stuck half way up or down, and beeps aggrievedly, a sentiment inevitably transmitted to the person in charge - which means I have to work out yet again how to make it go, and how to make it stop. If I ever come across the wretched mortal who invented electronic beeps and gave them their incredibly irritating sound, I shall devise cruel and unusual punishments for him - has to be a him, could not possible have been a her!

Things such as inclinators are wonderful for the afflicted persons for whom they were designed, but from the point of view of the abler-bodied carer - to whit, me - they are a damned nuisance, as I have been the person going up and down the stairs, usually carrying something, and they get in my way. While I understand, and accept the fascination they have for the young, I do not share it.

There are times when I think that living with a very old man has destroyed part of my capacity for enjoyment and toleration of the young.  I hope I get it back. I love having them here, but I have become very accustomed to sorrow, solitude and quiet, and wonder whether I can ever again achieve normality and human enjoyment. I have become very introspective, and have lost a lot of my sparkle. I am not the world's best grandmother right now, nor am I a barrell of laughs, but I know having them here is healing and restorative. I hope that we are doing enough things for them to be having a good time. I need to have good hard thinks about all sorts of things.

Not all our time is spent on inclinators. We took a Metrobus to the beach, which was fun, except that the waves were real dumpers, and I therefore avoided being dumped, and only got my nether limbs wet. The beach was not as wild as it was when the other half of the family and I went there on Boxing Day, but the waves were not the sort that could be used for body surfing. Then it started raining lightly. Now I understand that the object of bathing in the sea is to get wet, but somehow it seems an indignity to get wet at the beach by being rained upon.

Today we went to the Powerhouse Museum for them all to see the Harry Potter exhibition. I did not go again, but they all enjoyed it. Two of my grandsons were selected for assessment by the HAT which allocated them to a Hogwarts house. They both chose Slytherin.

I continued my trip into the city, and bought another couple of balls of wool so as to make a few more squares for yet another cot blanket. Somehow or other, all these surplus squares made from scraps have to be used up.

I have started another sweater. In purple wool. The initial effort was the middle size, but this seemed too big, so I started again, with the smaller size, and it took me about six - SIX! efforts to do it correctly. I am so ashamed. Mind you, the first effort was aborted because of a knot in the yarn. Then the second effort revealed another knot. This was really too much.

Perhaps if I keep making things, I can re-make my life along with them.

Tomorrow we are off to have a ride on the ferry, and then plan to make another trip to the beach. Third time lucky, perhaps? I may yet immerse myself in salt water.

Tonight is a full moon, and it is clearly visible, which is always a great pleasure.

Let the light shine on all of us.