A Medical Week

I distinguished myself this week by making a rhubarb crumble, but putting salt into the crumble instead of sugar... I hope this is not the beginning of the end, dementia wise. Mind you it was not me who put a bag of salt in the sugar cupboard.

I often use raw brown sugar in my crumbles and it would have been fine it I had only done so this time.

Col had his eye test yesterday, and I have my next Covid vax today, which I lay awake worrying about. Will my poor battered immune system, which can't even shake off this ongoing cold, be up to it?  

I also have my physio tomorrow, but that at least is local and does not require half the day to get there and back. We had planned to do a bit of shopping in Chi after the Tuesday trip, but were so tired out by all the hospital procedures, all involving a long wait, that we didn't feel equal to it. We would have landed ourselves in the rush hour anyway.

I enjoyed the drive though - with notes of Autumn colours gleaming in the greyness. Who could get tired of living on the earth, even now when it is so far from the paradise it was meant to be, and will be?  

I am in the bonus years - under the Threescore Year and Ten rule. We both are.  We do not have many Autumns left. So once again, I hope and pray that Col and I (and all of us) have unnumbered Autumns ahead of us, in the restored earthly paradise - with absolutely no medical appointments needed - ever! 

And here is a great poem to say goodbye to another November. I first came across it in The New Oxford Anthology of English Verse, edited by Helen Gardner, and I found it online, on the website: https://www.poemhunter.com/poem/song-the-feathers-of-the-willow/

I really like the half rhyme it begins with, between willow and yellow.

SONG by Richard Watson Dixon

The feathers of the willow
Are half of them grown yellow
Above the swelling stream; And ragged are the bushes,
And rusty now the rushes,
And wild the clouded gleam.

The thistle now is older,
His stalk begins to moulder,
His head is white as snow; The branches all are barer,
The linnet's song is rarer,
The robin pipeth now.

The photo that heads this blog is of Conifer Tufts, and was, of course, taken by Captain Moth-Butterfly.