Today we attempt the 3/4 mile walk from our house to my parents’. Sophie has, snuggled under her quilted coat, a book we need to return to Grandma. I call ahead, of course; I plan to call ahead before every visit, Lord help me make it happen.
Nels refuses to put his hood on. I cajole, he doesn’t want it. Halfway through the walk and he is soaked. His hair is wet and water runs down his face. “My eye,” he mourns, wiping his fist across his forehead. I put his hood up and his hand grasps mine. For the duration of the walk he is silent, shuffling and snuffling along. He is not crying but I know he is cold and sad. He makes it through. We arrive at my parents’ house and he instantly strips down, takes off his “meatballs” (overalls) and his voice is back; he sings and hums along to me.
Moving in is going slowly. But that’s because I’m being picky about it. I have decided not to have things squirreled away in attics and shop spaces, things that then when you have to move you are totally pissed and humiliated you still are hanging on to them. So my closets are still empty and lots is in the laundry area / garage awaiting my yea or nay. My sewing room is in some kind of half-assed tearapart as I take this opportunity to winnow out some fabric stash I no longer need.
Today: Sophie to school, Nels home for a nap, Kelly to her sewing room happy as a clam.