I always feel a little thoughtful in the last week in January, because it contains both the anniversary of my father's death and of my stepfather. I don't do anything to mark or commemorate this, because I don't believe in marking bad events. Anniversaries should be happy ones. One cannot help remembering, but that's all.
I am conscious, however, that my age is approaching that of my father when he died. I remember working out when I'd be thirty-three and a third (conveniently, it was a leap year), when I'd been married half, and two thirds of my life and so on. Another fourteen months to go before I outlive him in terms of our ages.
Rather more cheerfully, this week will mark the sixth birthday of the Razorblade. Not today, I have never commemorated its blogday and I won't be starting that either. Although if it's still around in four years time, I might bake it a cake.
My sister Wink is arriving tomorrow afternoon for the weekend. The whole family is coming here for supper on Saturday, so we'll need a usable dining table by then (the dining room is chaotic and I'm keeping out of the way) as there will be fourteen of us, including the babies. It'll be brilliant. Weeza and co are staying overnight, so all the bedrooms will be full. I love that. I always have. Nothing better than a full house of people I love.
Update I was just publishing this when Jamie, who dropped in to help move the heavy furniture, came in to ask me to come. I was apparently needed to direct operations.
The Sage has cut chunks out of the door frame. He's so resourceful. I'm lost in admiration. Don't worry, it's not ancient oak, it only dates (in situ, that is) from 1928. And now it's part of the house's history.