Not a blog post to speak of

As a list of chores I have done cleaning, cooking, gardening, and tending the Boxer.
An impressive list.
In reality, only the cleaning was impressive. All the rest was a swift and timed half hour or so of wilful neglect.
The cooking merely reheating, the gardening an intense leaf sweep and dig of roots from a very overgrown patch. The sum of the short bursts of digging will I hope add up to a cleared patch large enough to do something with.
As for tending to the Boxer, after a brief sit in our garden in her wheelchair having been lured with the offer of sunshine and our Sunday paper, when in fact the sun had already gone from the front – lately her only access to the garden unless we have it paved all round – to be abandoned while I did the cooking, gardening ( I had already done the cleaning)

Returned to her own snug little home just in time for her carer to actually do the tending….so I could escape home and do the only thing I wanted to do, but had put off all day.
That is to click my fingers over the key board.
Not a blog post to speak of.


Consoled by lists

Today I hoped to:

prune a camellia that has finished flowering and is now 20 feet tall.

transform an overgrown flowerbed to a neatly planted drift of pink ,white and blue.

write scintillatingly, eloquently for my blog and a chapter of my new book.

instead I have:

watched my mother growing pink in the June sunshine and turning the pages of Nick Hornby, ‘How to be Good,’

cooked a roast dinner and

pondered the similarities of writing and gardening: both can be put off indefinitely.

At least I did dig out two tree stumps that have been on the list  for  years.

(one big tick.)