A memory

 Cathy, your post brought back a pleasant memory of our Mother, in the early days, insisting that a sprig of mint be added to the potato pot.  She grew it in a very small area just to the left of the back door, as one stepped out.  By the time I started doing the cooking--when you were a baby--the tradition slowly disappeared.  But I remember that patch of fresh mint still being there by the time I left home.  My memory says that I didn't taste much difference with the added mint, but the potatoes were often boiled to death by the time we ate them, and had no taste that I can remember.

These small memories give  me comfort.  Having Lily-of-the-Valley, in  the garden, is another one, and I still have had some in every garden we've ever owned.  Another would be the Christmas Cactus.  Ours had out-grown its pot this year, and when David tried to re-pot it we discovered that there were two plants in the clump, so re-potted only the small one--still from the house on Maplewood.  The other one went into the garden, in full knowledge that it wouldn't last the winter, but a young man who was working in the yard fell in love with it.  David told him he could have it.  He returned a couple of weeks later, having bought planting supplies and a pot for it.  Maybe another family's traditions are going to be focused around it.

We haven't ventured out since David went for a type of foot care on Wednesday.  I haven't left the house since then either, even to sit in the garden--and it looks like today, and tomorrow, will be more of the same.  The small whitework quilt that I have been working on, has been judged a failure, and won't be used as a donation quilt, but when given a second look, was judged worth being finished to be re-purposed in some way. (See other blog)  So it will be finished.  But I've committed to, at least, six charity quilts, so must find yet another one for that. In all of this my secondary goal is to find an excuse to be in the basement, where it's much cooler than the rest of the house.

You're right, Beth, about the laundry.  We had a conscious discussion about it, and decided to wash Saturday instead of Friday, this week, and then revert back to Friday next week.  That way nobody has to go beyond a week in the same sheets.😏😈  

While I can laugh a bit about that, these routines become important when one gets older, not so much because we're creatures of habit, but also to give some structure to our time.  When we spend so much time in the same place doing the same thing, as life has been the last year plus, that structure keeps us oriented to time and to healthy hygiene routines, both of which can slip away, all too easily.  This is also a facet of life that I control, in a small way, by using a bullet journal.

And now we face another day of isolation, well aware that tomorrow will be more of the same, given a predicted temperature of almost +40.  And while that makes me sound quite blue around the edges, I'm still looking forward to more creative activity.  Since I have access to the washing machine, maybe some fabric dyeing, or even some fabric painting and printing.  Perhaps even a trip to Starbucks, now that their patio is open and one can sit and read.