Who Knows Where the Time Goes?

In the words of the beautiful song, who knows where the time goes?  I got a letter from Kathryn yesterday - we have known each other for ever it seems. And along with updating me on her news, she talks about old times - our 1950s childhood, the radio programmes we used to listen to. though of course we called it the wireless back then.

I stayed with granny in what must have been the last year of her life and remember how determined she was to go on managing in her own home - and how she was managing. She had all sorts of strategies - but the effort of peeling and chopping a couple of carrots exhausted her.

As for where this week has gone...?  I spent yesterday afternoon baking  - making a banana bread from the recipe I mentioned in one of my May blogs.  If it turns out as well the second time, I shall add it to my pantheon But what with that, clearing up after it, and making the evening meal - simply pizza and a berry salad - I was exhausted.  Which is making me think of my grandmother, at the end of her life.

Apparently there is a partial eclipse of the sun today - between 10 and noon.  The Captain reminded me not to look at the sun - should it become visible. So far, early morning, it is a bit overcast.

I feel sure there is a poem in all this somewhere. but I can't find it.

However, Susan Wicks, in her "Listen with Mother" evoked the world of the 1950s beautifully.

LISTEN WITH MOTHER

Susan Wicks

Only this: an old armchair,

a sideboard, sun on carpet,

time, and the child

uncurls, strokes the warm

dog sleeping, dances

to find her mother, She can

hear her, the sweet small

chink of glass in the kitchen,

a tap running. No need

to listen, she will always

dance from the chair,

the old dog will always

be sleeping. On tiptoe

she still skips

across carpet towards her

busy music of absence, the

chink of crockery, the cold tap's

gurgle rising and falling.