Flowers in the post today from a friend. A friend I first met online, one of those friendships we sre supposed to warn our children against. But a friend who is a powerful prayer warrior, even when she's drowning in the needs of her own immediate and extended family. And a friend who knows just when large bunches of freesia would be most welcome.
The postie handing them over last seen playing something large and brassy at the front of church.
Later, collecting Mog from school, I check up on our fish, all looking very happy. Home life spilling out into school. And school connecting with home with an invitation to join the class on an end of term outing.
A church friend meeting us to meet Little Fish's teacher; she's offered to help us out with my cloning project until the end of term. I can sleep again, not having to worry about which girl will be in least trouble for missing the end of the school day.
A conversation with another 'net friend turned real life friend, who is taking Little Fish on her Big Day Out tomorrow.
And then a giggly Mog to Brownies, to my old Brownie Pack, where one of the Guiders is the daughter of Mog's old Nursery Nurse, where one of the Brownies is the daughter of Little Fish's TA, and where another is the daughter of the man who owns the clothes shop in town where they aren't afraid to tell me what not to buy as well as what might work. Church and schools and home life, past and present all mixing together.
And a contented Little Fish left in Grannie's excellent hands, reading story books vaguely remembered from my own childhood and doing puzzles with story lines which would have appealed to Goldie. Cuddles and companionship, and a multi-generational back up system in place to enable Mog to go to the place where she is most fully included in the wider world.
And then of course Mog decided to fit, not badly enough to need any kind of intervention but too much to be able to stay at Brownies. So, with a letter tucked into her slipper about the need to bring 28 snake sweets next week, we slunk home.
And we sat and waited a while, and then Mog's carer who was Goldie's carer came to put her in bed. And we talked about our old house, and her new house, and found new connections over television programmes.
A different friend, a real life local friend, emails a photo of her son on their holiday.
I sit here now and I can hear the faint pitterpatterings of the dog who lives upstairs, and an echo from a neighbour's television set. Somewhere under furniture in this flat, three cats are hiding (they seem to be of the opinion that if I can reach them I may haul them off to the vet to have body parts removed). I may be the only adult in this flat, but I'm certainly not isolated. And to the left of this page, a little bouncy icon indicates there are less local friends staring at their version of this screen, ready for a chat and a catch up and a communal cup of coffee (or at least one we both make and then drink at the same time). But, the button on the right shows me that it's bedtime and that our next carer will be arriving all too soon in the morning. So I'll resist the urge to go visiting, and go and find a duvet instead.
And I've taken so long to write this, I kind of forget what the point of it was. But I think it was probably something to do with how it's quite nice really.