Just being normal

It's nice, we go shopping; we meet friends, we do the garden. I chop vegetables. We are almost normal. Okay I have to be winched if want to move out of bed, I have to sit where I am put and we can't do anything until the nurses have been but just living is OK, fantastic in fact and definitely, at the moment, better than the alternative.

Tomorrow we look after Harry for the day, another sign of normality, I will bake with him and make Easter goodies and paint with him and he might go and help his Grandad in the garden. Stewart has brought all the nice stuff up from the bottom of our garden, the urns, the big black model flamingos and pots galore filled with Spring. I can see them all from my bed. We open the French windows as the weather is so good and I sit out in the sun for part of my time out of bed allowance. It is simply heaven or as close to it as I will ever get.

And I think I have found my oeuvre! I am working on style, it is likely to be just that, stylised based on the patterns and shapes in things rather than attempting realism; and for subject matter I am going to try and paint some pictures based on incidental moments in my life. I have enjoyed writing about these from time to time on this blog so will see if I can paint a few. I will be scouring through all the old photos and thanking goodness for my Dad's photography passion, although when I was a little girl it drove me mad, all that waiting around posing while he fiddled with light metres and bellowed at me.

We will see how far I get and how much time my lovely normal life allows me to try to make images of my past.