As I suspected, it must have been something I'd eaten that was making me feel so woozy yesterday. I woke up this morning feeling not only fine, but extremely hungry, possibly because I was definitely off my food for twenty-four hours or so. Both dogs, I'm pleased to report, also seem to have recovered. My instant reaction to feeling anything less than totally well does still seem to be that whatever the cause, it's bound to be sinister. I expect I'll get over this eventually - or at least I hope I will.
Meanwhile, this morning was one of those, "take stock of your life" times. Since arriving in my current house, my garage has been filled with boxes containing my mother's effects. Today, someone came to help me move the boxes into the loft, and this meant I had to decide which should be stored and which should be opened, sorted through and dealt with. Luckily, the boxes were all very clearly labelled, so it wasn't difficult to decide which to open (thank you Ken and Steve, your system was fantastic!) What was difficult though, was finding some of the personal items such as a half-finished book of crosswords, birthday cards that had been saved for years and handwritten shopping lists. What is it about seeing the handwriting of someone who's no longer with us that is so poignant? Somehow, it's these little things that make it seem as though they're just in the next room and you only have to call for them to appear in the doorway.
Like a life-threatening illness, going through someone's personal effects brings home your own mortality, doesn't it?
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