I remember when shops were closed on Sundays and the whole world just seemed to take a few deep breaths, put its feet up and have a nice cup of tea. My Sunday has had the same sort of feel. As far as I could see, the world was still tucked up under a quiet foggy stillness when I woke up. Even as the sun eventually shone through with a crispy tap on the shoulder and a reminder to make use of the last day of autumn, everyone in my house seemed content to potter about, heads in their own clouds.
My day started with a quiet read of Mixtape – the only anything I manage to read from cover to cover lately. There’s an article by Sooz in reference to Handmade Help that particularly resonates. I have wondered and worried often if handmade donations are deemed more an insult than a comfort and stitches of support are misconstrued as pity.
The Mr was sculpting froggies in wax – eventually destined to be cast in bronze:
There was finger knitting in the sun:
And ‘pinger knitting’ in the sun (only with ‘noodles’):
And a scarf was produced:
When we finally ventured out late in the day, there were beach gymnastics. Don't you just wish you could still snap your legs in the air, giggle and balance as straight as an upside down soldier?