Swept the veranda before breakfast and continued into the yard because the leaves would otherwise return with the first breeze. I noticed halfway through that I was gripping the broom far too tightly, thumb pressed hard against the handle as if the leaves might argue. Changed hands for a while, then straightened up and felt the pull across my back. Nothing dramatic, but enough to remind me that the yard had grown larger since I started. By the time my niece appeared I was warm and hungry, sitting with both feet out of my slippers. She offered to finish. There was very little left, which I made sure to mention.

I am deciding where the children's books should go if I use the veranda room for reading. A tall cupboard protects them from small visitors who have not washed their hands, but then every child must ask an adult to reach a book. That seems an odd arrangement for something meant to help them choose for themselves. I drew two low shelves instead, then remembered the rain sometimes blows through that window. The room is small, yet every arrangement creates another problem. I asked my niece to sit where a child would sit and tell me what she could see. Her first observation was that my proposed chair blocked the door.

My son called to ask how to make the stew he says never tastes right at his place. I enjoyed that more than a general call to check whether I had taken my medicine. We argued about how long he leaves the onions, and I could hear him opening cupboards while I spoke. For once I was not supplying advice to someone already trying to leave the conversation. When he sent the finished plate I felt quite pleased, although he had put far too much on it. I showed my niece. She said he would have to learn to cook without a committee eventually. Yes, but today I was happy to be consulted.