As previously described, I spent a lot of time getting organised for the preparation of my tax return. Before I left home I telephoned to make sure the tax agent had received my documentation and to check whether there was anything lacking. There was one document needed, so I flurried around, just like a snowstorm, really, until I found it.
My daughter picked me up from the airport and took me to the tax agent, where it all got finished. The accountant complimented me on being such a well-organised and methodical person. I nearly fell off my chair. 'Oh', she said, 'you are wonderful. So many people are hopelessly disorganised.' I know full well how great a muddle I can fall into and how tedious is the process of extracting myself and rectifying it all. So I swallowed a few grains of salt, but felt unjustifiably pleased, notwithstanding. And of course I am resolved not to allow myself to get into a muddle ever again.
Yesterday morning I awoke with no voice, so did not go to choir tonight. Rachmaninov's The Bells is not an easy piece of music to sing, and it is quite hard on the voice. But I will miss having a sing and not being part of the rehearsal. Nor did I go to my Italian class this morning, but took myself off to the doctor, who could find nothing much amiss.The voice has partially returned, but only in a deep, gravelly and scratchy mode. It has been a very quiet day. I feel slightly off colour, which is unusual for me, and makes me feel hard done by.
Melbourne was, for me, quite cold, and for much of the time I had to be swathed in layers. The friend I stayed with for the last night is made of stern stuff. She puts on warm clothing and did not turn on the heating. Despite my warm clothes I kept shivering. This is probably how the cold germ managed to sneak into me.
Now for a statistical analysis. I saw my daughter, her partner and my grandsons, my three Melbourne sisters, both brothers, lots of their friends, and, let me see, how many nieces and nephews and progeny? I think around 30. I managed to have lovely long cuddles of the latest great-nephew, 3 weeks old Angus, who slept peacefully on my chest, and whose mother loved the cot blanket I made him, and had even sent me a thank you letter. New babies are gorgeous.
Thanks to my youngest sister, I even managed to visit a fabulous wool shop, where I bought a cotton dress for my granddaughter, and a couple of patterns, but managed to escaped without succumbing to the temptation of buying more yarn. Apart from squares, I have nothing to crochet right now, and accordingly I feel restless.
We went to see a film, Song for Marion, which we both liked very much. Wonderful singing, acting, characterisation, and, treating as it did a final illness, and the bereavement of the grumpy husband played by Terence Stamp, it was very moving. I had tears running down my face, being reminded of Dr P's illness, and my own bereavement and adjustment.
My immediately younger sister, mother of five and grandmother of fourteen, departed for a month's holiday with a friend, to the USA. She needs a break, as for the last eight months she and her husband, (the BIL who helped me so much with all the legal hassles), have had one of their daughters, her husband, and their three children staying with them. While they all get on very well, there is not much separate space for themselves. And possibly, not all that much peace and quiet.
The battery charger arrived safely for my daughter, so all is well. On my way home from yesterday's Italian class I bought a CD for my grandson, who is learning to play the flute. I hope he will enjoy the lovely Mozart flute music.
My daughter picked me up from the airport and took me to the tax agent, where it all got finished. The accountant complimented me on being such a well-organised and methodical person. I nearly fell off my chair. 'Oh', she said, 'you are wonderful. So many people are hopelessly disorganised.' I know full well how great a muddle I can fall into and how tedious is the process of extracting myself and rectifying it all. So I swallowed a few grains of salt, but felt unjustifiably pleased, notwithstanding. And of course I am resolved not to allow myself to get into a muddle ever again.
Yesterday morning I awoke with no voice, so did not go to choir tonight. Rachmaninov's The Bells is not an easy piece of music to sing, and it is quite hard on the voice. But I will miss having a sing and not being part of the rehearsal. Nor did I go to my Italian class this morning, but took myself off to the doctor, who could find nothing much amiss.The voice has partially returned, but only in a deep, gravelly and scratchy mode. It has been a very quiet day. I feel slightly off colour, which is unusual for me, and makes me feel hard done by.
Melbourne was, for me, quite cold, and for much of the time I had to be swathed in layers. The friend I stayed with for the last night is made of stern stuff. She puts on warm clothing and did not turn on the heating. Despite my warm clothes I kept shivering. This is probably how the cold germ managed to sneak into me.
Now for a statistical analysis. I saw my daughter, her partner and my grandsons, my three Melbourne sisters, both brothers, lots of their friends, and, let me see, how many nieces and nephews and progeny? I think around 30. I managed to have lovely long cuddles of the latest great-nephew, 3 weeks old Angus, who slept peacefully on my chest, and whose mother loved the cot blanket I made him, and had even sent me a thank you letter. New babies are gorgeous.
Thanks to my youngest sister, I even managed to visit a fabulous wool shop, where I bought a cotton dress for my granddaughter, and a couple of patterns, but managed to escaped without succumbing to the temptation of buying more yarn. Apart from squares, I have nothing to crochet right now, and accordingly I feel restless.
We went to see a film, Song for Marion, which we both liked very much. Wonderful singing, acting, characterisation, and, treating as it did a final illness, and the bereavement of the grumpy husband played by Terence Stamp, it was very moving. I had tears running down my face, being reminded of Dr P's illness, and my own bereavement and adjustment.
My immediately younger sister, mother of five and grandmother of fourteen, departed for a month's holiday with a friend, to the USA. She needs a break, as for the last eight months she and her husband, (the BIL who helped me so much with all the legal hassles), have had one of their daughters, her husband, and their three children staying with them. While they all get on very well, there is not much separate space for themselves. And possibly, not all that much peace and quiet.
The battery charger arrived safely for my daughter, so all is well. On my way home from yesterday's Italian class I bought a CD for my grandson, who is learning to play the flute. I hope he will enjoy the lovely Mozart flute music.
1 comment:
BIG accomplishments. I do hope your voice returns though - you must be feeling a tad bereft without the joy of singing.
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