My sewing conviction has been sorely tested this weekend. On Friday night I sewed up enough of my Simplicity 1945 crossover top to discover that there are some crucial errors. If you think I am taking a photograph of myself wearing a nearly finished top with lopsided shoulders, one baggy armpit and one not baggy armpit, too long at the front and pulling in undeneath my tummy and sharing it on the internet, then you should be ashamed of yourself. Nobody likes a sadist. Not publicly.
So I retreated into knitting. Then I unwound that and wondered why I didn't just buy one at the shop. Or wear the one I already have. Or get some new hobbies.
In other news of one life in a small wet town, I helped Mary K sort some more things out in her old home. Now she is settled at a local rest home, Mary is increasingly anxious to sort out all of her remaining possessions and sell the house. I have some pictures and china to link her old home and our shared ancestors to mine. I've even made a special space in my bookcase to display the china.
Then, in an interlude while the heavens turned up the pressure ready for another ten downpours, I harvested the last of the basil, killed many many caterpillars and planted six celery plants and a myrtle ugni (NZ cranberry) plant.
I also bought the latest issue of New Zealand Books, which is full of interesting things to read about and may have prevented a small part of my brain from sliding into rain-and-domesticity-induced mush this weekend. I think I finished Caleb's Crossing since I last wrote a blog post. I enjoyed reading it a lot, but found I didn't have much to say about it afterwards. I stumbled upon this review this afternoon which helped me put a finger on the empty response afterwards. I presume I'm not the only person to accidentally stumble upon things on the internet because of accidentally stumbling out of the kitchen in blind search of that which is not cooking.