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Bulbs and Sausages and a little bit of limping.

We've had a rough time of it in the last fortnight, in our house. 

Two weeks ago my mother slipped and broke her leg on an ice-covered Toronto sidewalk, and last weekend my husband's mother had a mild heart attack. Add to that a terrible hacking job that destroyed my computer, friends who were defrauded of funds, transatlantic blizzards, lost luggage, hail, head colds, a favourite hat that blew into the Lagan and yesterday, a cat who made her feeling known by pooing all over the dining room cushions.  I knew the world was against me, and nothing would ever be good again.

Then today one mother announced she was throwing away the walker.  'Time for constructive limping' she said, down the transatlantic line. The other mother was discharged safely.  

My husband Anthony made it back to Belfast after four days away. 

The sun shone. Together Anthony and I walked out to the neighbourhood butcher for some sausages. Anthony's hand was warm in mine.  Back at our own front door I noticed the bulbs were up for spring.

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