November 12th, 2004


A momentous occasion

I washed my wool jersey. Yes, this is a huge deal. The jersey is hand-knitted by my mother in a cable pattern, from wool handspun by my mother, from a sheep owned by my mother, shorn by me. The sheep was born at Mum's place, so in every sense, the thing is home made. This is one special jersey. It's huge (you can fit three people in it - I've tested) and when it's wet it weighs nearly a stone. So for those of you who understand about handspun wool, you'll understand what a mission washing it is, and why it's an annual event. Luckily, I don't wear it that often. And strangely, when it's washed, you can still faintly smell sheep on it.

The rest of my afternoon has been spent going through old photos. I found ones of my grandparents, one of my great-grandfather, and there were loads of my Dad. It's the first time I've cried. Also, dogs long past. I'd like to think that if there's an afterlife, Dad and the dogs are hanging out together in it. It feels very strange, at my age, to be looking at pictures of dead dogs and dead people and feeling melancholy about 'the olden days'.

I miss my Dad. Yesterday was the six month anniversary of his death.