My sister and I took a trip this weekend, to visit a very elderly relation on the other side of the country. My great aunt is 96, was one of ten children, worked as a nurse in Egypt during the second word war, and has a hugely devoted family. Those of us who have lost our grandparents - her siblings - have fairly adopted her as our own, leaving her to remember countless children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren... not to mention great-nieces and -nephews, the group I belong to. It baffles me how a lady of such advanced years can, despite her frailty, remember who my sister and I are, who our father is, and would remember to ask after our part of the family.
She's a wonder. The last of her generation.
The trip there and back was taken up with sock-making; my first sock ever. They'll be for Nana for Christmas. Last year I gave her a pair of black-and white spotty wellington boots and she loves them, so I know she has a kookie enough mind to appreciate hand-made socks..
You will excuse me the crappy image until I have a good shot of the finished masterpiece I have tucked away in my wardrobe beside the Dé Danann Arm-warmers for Danielle, and the Beyond The Sea hat for Ciara.