Scar Tissue

What a day. Spent much of it communicating with Deirdre's lot - merry little discussion on suicide/depression/mental illness. Interesting though. Couldn't get Blogger. (Our engineers are working on it.) Did finally, write a post and promptly lost it. Nothing much to say anyway - Granny has been lying on a sofa most of the afternoon with a hot head contemplating a two inch long scar on her upper forearm - delicate pink, shiny, puckered at the edges, surprisingly pretty; a cook's trophy; she always has some of these, if not so big, acquired from shelves in hot ovens. She knows to run them under a cold tap, instantly, so they don't hurt.

Another Calima - hot wind, hot air - 32 Centigrade -probably the reason for Granny's hot head. Some kind of malaise anyway. And she's running out of (new) reading matter. A DISASTER. The only good news - for her - why should it be for anyone else?- is that thanks to the wonders of technology she has been able to set up shop, computer, internet, in a new space, the office, instead of the kitchen; this approximates to a room of her own, even if the shelves above her are full of books with titles like Teach yourself logic/calculus/trigonometry or Henley's Formulas for Home and Workshop or On being a Machine. Not exactly light fiction. But she can play opera loudly, without upsetting Beloved or anyone else. Not that her head encourages that at the moment. But give her time.