Wednesday, 27 February 2013

The housebound life

I did get out yesterday. With Audrey. And we toiled about for nearly an hour, doing calls.  I have now found all but two of the people I have been looking for - and those I haven't found will at least know I called, as I have left a little tract.  I now have another one who wants me to deliver the magazines every month.

I can't say I ever thought much about Jehovah's Witnesses, beyond the idea that they kept calling.  And it never occurred to me to think of the effort that went into keeping on calling.  Its hard to find people at home again, yet you know you must. And I do feel guilty about those that I have failed to get back to.   Something surfaced from faraway grammar lessons there, and I think I should have said "those to whom I failed to get back".   This is well-worked territory so I hope that someone will find them in.

But will they listen?  Its like trying to wake people from a deep sleep. And its a sleep I was in for so much of my life.

Can't think what I did for the rest of the day, apart from studying-  we are in the Gospel of  Mark at the moment - and lie on the bed and sofa trying to stop my knees hurting.

The sea is calm today - and the palest turquoise - with a deeper line along the horizon.  I was thinking of the Indian Ocean, as in my pre-oldcrock days, I used to go every year with the Captain and his shoal of divers.  The vivid saturated colours of the tropics made everything in Expatworld seem drab for the first few days after we got back.

What I need is to have a few accomplishments today - a few things done -  I must not spend it between bed and sofa, whinging about my knees.

Its evening - and I am sure I could say a lot about my knees - and, indeed, what could be more fascinating?

Watching paint dry?

Well, perhaps.

Anyway, the Captain was out, working for the Butterfly Empire, and I did manage two loads of washing, my studying and to make a big tray of carrot cake, as I used up the last piece of cake in his lunchbox today.   And I was not a stranger to the sofa - reading a rather depressing life of John Lennon.

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