Other lives

In Walthamstow, Littlest Granddaughter and a friend (and their mums) went out on Sunday doing what I refuse to call "trick or treating" because Scottish people have always called it "guising". English people didn't use to call it anything, I don't think, because I don't think they did it. Guising - short for disguising - is when you dress up and go round the neighbours to get treats for singing a song, telling a joke or something. You have to earn it; not get it by threatening a trick. I'm not sure if these little ones did actually earn it thus, being only just four and maybe not quite able to tell a great joke yet; and anyway they were in England (see above). But they had a lovely time. 

Today I had coffee with my friend Joyce, who's on a quick trip home from Italy, where she's taken up residence for the foreseeable future, somewhat to my regret. It's a longish story, but anyway she's being a part-time live-in childminder for 8-year-old twins in Italy. They clearly love her (but so do I!) and she loves them and she's having a wonderful time. I admire her for taking this opportunity but couldn't possibly do it myself (even if we discount Mr Life - as if I would. But Joyce is a widow). I like my home, my garden, my stuff, my familiar surroundings far too much. I can stay away for about 10 days before I feel it's about time to go home, while she's been there a year already, and sees herself remaining till the children don't need her any more. I tell her she may change her mind if she becomes a granny, but her son - her only child - is in London anyway so she says she can visit just as well from Italy. She's not nearly such a clingy mother as I am. She likes her son living in London because she likes visiting. I, on the other hand... . Sigh. 

She lives, when she's here, in South Queensferry, just outside Edinburgh. It's a pretty little place. 

And in the afternoon Mr L and I went for a walk and enjoyed the autumn colours.

And now I'm contemplating a new quilt. I haven't made one for ages because of the archives. Are they finished? Well, no, but I think the need to fiddle around with fabrics is getting too hard to resist; and making a quilt does cheer me up.

Frances left a comment in which she said that she sometimes feels that reading my blog is like eavesdropping. It's certainly an odd thing to recount one's mundane doings and put them on the internet. I never really think of people reading them; though of course they do. I just like writing, recording, communicating (if only into the ether). I suppose I assume that if you're mildly diverted by reading about someone's walks and domestic activities, you're an elderly housewife with much the same life so are unlikely to come and seek me out and murder me. I certainly like seeing other people's gardens and neighbourhoods and quilts and collections of whatever - the feeling of connecting with other lives.