Time – Page 2 – Deborah Makarios

November 28, 2022October 19, 2023

Flannel Petticoat II: It Came from the Mending Basket

I recently discovered a fabulous way of reducing the pile of things forming archaeological layers – or possibly new civilizations – in the mending basket. Bin? Absolutely not. Forced labour? Also no. The trick, it turns out, is to shift the goal posts.

The mending basket has got a bit out of hand…

For a ridiculously long time, I have had a flannel nightie in my mending basket, waiting for a mend. Button-bereft garments come and go, elastic waistbands stretch and are replaced, tears are darned or patched, but this was beyond me. The worn-through yoke needed replacing. Did I know how to replace a yoke? No. So I left the nightie in the basket until such time as enlightenment descended.

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November 4, 2020November 4, 2020

Deep Rest

How exactly does one rest?

As I have had occasion to mention before (here and here), the Caped Gooseberry and I have different ways of relaxing, and this was something we were advised to address in our pre-marriage counselling. (Counselling: not necessarily because you have problems, but because you want to avoid having problems.)

The Caped Gooseberry finds strategy games relaxing. His hobby: thinking about stuff. (Makes him very hard to buy presents for, let me tell you.) I, on the other hand, find strategy games about as relaxing as running for a bus. In the rain. In badly fitting shoes. But I do like watching DVDs (not restful at all for the Caped Gooseberry) and reading (silently, to myself). All about the stories, me.

Except…

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January 3, 2020January 3, 2020

Seven Years

On January 4th 2013, I published my first ever blog post. In the seven years since, I’ve published a post (on average) once every not-quite-three days. That’s 879 posts – 880 if you count this one.

So I think it’s time to take a sabbatical – an unspecified period of time during which I will consider what I have done over the last seven years; whether, after my seven years’ labour, I’ve found myself with Rachel or Leah (and, indeed, what “Rachel” and “Leah” represent in this case); and what the future should look like.

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