Time rich

Life is too short? For what? 

When I came over to this country as a young corporate bride I stuffed mushrooms, I even boned chickens (the latter now putting me in awe of myself).

However, this morning, and don’t say there isn’t poetry in pairing your son’s freshly washed socks, I had time to ponder on why socks with holes do not get darned any longer. For god’s sake, I actually learnt how to KNIT socks, never mind the mending; and once you have mastered the intricacies of knitting a sock’s heel you know that there is little else life can throw at you not to be conquered. 

Admittedly, stitching buttonholes, in five different ways, did test even my patience. And why were the women who taught me these skills during long hot sticky summer afternoons always of big bosom and waist, and downright nasty? My nine year old self was even downgraded, on more than one occasion, for attempting some intricate needlework as ”being too ambitious”. Ms Horlick eat your heart out.

Irksome to me that my mother had nothing but disdain for these my accomplished housemaiden skills. So, this morning and in her honour, I binned at least five of Felix’s freshly washed socks, complete with hole. My mother will be proud of me.

U