Tuesday and the first thing I notice is the light, its different and I know instantly what it is: SNOW! It is instantly confirmed and WhatsApp messages come in with pictures of snowy gardens. Of course I followed suit once I have taken my morning vitals.

Having got over the joy of snow I get up and perversely decide to train, so I don my training gear, down my morning meds and head for the garage and the rower. Not surprisingly I find the garage at it’s coldest, a chilly 5 degrees.

I strap myself onto the rower and set up a half hour session and set off at pace hoping to keep warm. The half hour goes past quickly and I do indeed keep warm. It is not a personal best but it is over 6 kilometres.

I record the session and then change into something warm before noting that it is still snowing.

It really is snowing in the video. I lunch and and set about drawing up my Christmas list. I find the one I’ve been using for the past four or five years and edit it. It is of course shorter that than it was, which is a consequence of beginning to outlive people. There are the inevitable presents that have already been bought and squirrelled away along with the anxiety that I am going to remember where I have squirrelled them, the rest are a challenge so I need to start to hunt the internet for suitable presents. Some are easy like whiskey and socks others demand more creative and thoughtful attention. With the list done I write a half cocked poem. Its one of those where I have an idea but it does not flow out of me as I had hoped. In fairness to myself I think my ideas are far too grandiose for my talent at times and I end up with a stunted version. I may return to it I may not but here is is in its roughest form (so rough it as yet has no number):

I measure my capability 
in spoons of energy.
It is a tricky method
as no two spoons are the same.
Apostles line up with soup,
dessert with serving
while slotted and wooden
lurk in the background.
Each activity eats up
the spoons until
I am spoonless
and flounder
lifeless in the 
empty slot of
the cutlery draw.
This is how the chronically
ill balance what to do 
against what to leave.
There is a waking
spoon count and 
a scrutiny of the to do list
and then we proceed
hoping our spoons are sufficient
and never quite knowing
how much spoonery there is
in each spoon. 

                                                       19-11-2024

The post today brings the joy of a letter from a friend, which I sit down and make a slow time to read. Its a delightful letter written across three time periods and at least two countries. Included in the letter is a watercolour done whilst on a painting course in Seville, it is a truly international letter in the mould of the Bloomsbury set. I am delighted to get such letters. After the delights of the letter I settle down to organise some life admin. My partner’s friend arrives so I play the host and make tea until my partner finishes work and takes over.

I return to drafting the blog and as I do so a friend rings and we have a chat about how we are and the things that are going on for us. Its lovely to be able to chat and hear about each others families and what we are up to. The evening arrives and I am on my own, so I whip up some pasta and settle down to an evening of reading and a really violet film, hopefully. To be followed by night meds and an early night as tomorrow I have my appointment with the doctor who will hopefully get rid of my Dupuytrens Contracture.