Dear Diary ... Finally the cat is out of the bag, which is of course a simile for a major news announcement.
This morning there was a queue at the bathroom door. Niece explained that Karen wasn't feeling well. I headed for the toilet near the back door, the one those pottering in the garden should use as the floor is easily mopped; but for some reason it seldom sees a soul; the paper only needs changing once in a blue moon, but when nature calls it hardly matters which toilet we use. The moment I turned the corner to the back passage Niece called out not to bother.
"Why ever not?" I queried.
"Phil is in there!"
Oh, not much sense in walking the distance I surmised, and rather than stand in a queue for heaven only knows how long, I wandered outside to check on the garden. Nothing much altered there!
Outside the shed several stacks of timber were beginning to take shape. I remembered the frenzy of the 'boys' at the weekend, and while it still wasn't obvious the exact shape of the finished project it did show signs of being some sort of Gazebo. Mmmm ... A gazebo in the garden! I rather like the idea of that Dear Diary. Perhaps I could sit there in the cool of a summer evening and read a book?
What with Karen 'not feeling well' and spending too much time in the bathroom each morning, I could find myself knitting that lemon baby wool.
A thought entered my previously dim mind. Did Niece have any inkling of why Karen was not feeling well? From her actions and lack of excitement that the knowledge of such an event would normally invoke I feel that she is unaware of the fact she may be a grandmother within a few months. For a moment I contemplated my actions. Should I wait until Karen and Jake made an announcement, or should I drop loaded hints as to the state of affairs as I see it?
In a quandary I wandered back indoors. Thankfully the bathroom was empty. An older lady has a limited bladder capacity!
From the kitchen I heard murmuring voices. It was time for breakfast. Assuming a nonchalant air I strolled into the kitchen and, as is normal for me, reached for the packet of sachet oats that cook in seconds in the microwave oven.
"Anyone for oats?" I asked.
Karen looked pale. Obviously oats and Karen were not on the best of terms at this time of the morning. Niece nodded to me, and suggested I make a pot of porridge, as 'the boys' would be in for breakfast in a moment. One bowl or a pot of porridge makes little difference to me. After adding a little salt I stirred the pot until a nourishing meal was cooked. Dear Diary, I am fully aware one should not have sugar on porridge, but a little brown sugar sprinkled on the top, before pouring cooling milk, is a real treat. There is no better way to start a day than with a treat!
Taking the bull by the horns, literally Dear Diary ... we do not countenance bulls in the kitchen at Hester and Phil's place, I asked Karen how she was feeling. Just one look at her told me.
"Aunt Alice," she mumbled, "I feel awful!"
"Karen, my dear", I replied. "You will feel better in the mornings in a few weeks."
She looked at me astounded.
Dear Diary, the young of today seem to think anyone older than thirty knows nothing about the ways of the world!
"It's alright Karen," I said. "I think I know the reason for your malaise. I suggest you visit your doctor for confirmation."
A little smile crossed Karen's white peaky face.
"Aunt, nothing escapes your eyes does it!"
At this point, Dear Diary, the penny dropped with Niece. Her face was a picture, a movie picture, as expression after expression crossed her features.
"Karen! Karen! You are pregnant?"
Karen smiled; shyly replying she thought she might be.
"Karen," I interjected. "I am certain you are!"
It was a rather emotional moment Dear Diary. I have sorted out some knitting patterns for that lemon wool.
This morning there was a queue at the bathroom door. Niece explained that Karen wasn't feeling well. I headed for the toilet near the back door, the one those pottering in the garden should use as the floor is easily mopped; but for some reason it seldom sees a soul; the paper only needs changing once in a blue moon, but when nature calls it hardly matters which toilet we use. The moment I turned the corner to the back passage Niece called out not to bother.
"Why ever not?" I queried.
"Phil is in there!"
Oh, not much sense in walking the distance I surmised, and rather than stand in a queue for heaven only knows how long, I wandered outside to check on the garden. Nothing much altered there!
Outside the shed several stacks of timber were beginning to take shape. I remembered the frenzy of the 'boys' at the weekend, and while it still wasn't obvious the exact shape of the finished project it did show signs of being some sort of Gazebo. Mmmm ... A gazebo in the garden! I rather like the idea of that Dear Diary. Perhaps I could sit there in the cool of a summer evening and read a book?
What with Karen 'not feeling well' and spending too much time in the bathroom each morning, I could find myself knitting that lemon baby wool.
A thought entered my previously dim mind. Did Niece have any inkling of why Karen was not feeling well? From her actions and lack of excitement that the knowledge of such an event would normally invoke I feel that she is unaware of the fact she may be a grandmother within a few months. For a moment I contemplated my actions. Should I wait until Karen and Jake made an announcement, or should I drop loaded hints as to the state of affairs as I see it?
In a quandary I wandered back indoors. Thankfully the bathroom was empty. An older lady has a limited bladder capacity!
From the kitchen I heard murmuring voices. It was time for breakfast. Assuming a nonchalant air I strolled into the kitchen and, as is normal for me, reached for the packet of sachet oats that cook in seconds in the microwave oven.
"Anyone for oats?" I asked.
Karen looked pale. Obviously oats and Karen were not on the best of terms at this time of the morning. Niece nodded to me, and suggested I make a pot of porridge, as 'the boys' would be in for breakfast in a moment. One bowl or a pot of porridge makes little difference to me. After adding a little salt I stirred the pot until a nourishing meal was cooked. Dear Diary, I am fully aware one should not have sugar on porridge, but a little brown sugar sprinkled on the top, before pouring cooling milk, is a real treat. There is no better way to start a day than with a treat!
Taking the bull by the horns, literally Dear Diary ... we do not countenance bulls in the kitchen at Hester and Phil's place, I asked Karen how she was feeling. Just one look at her told me.
"Aunt Alice," she mumbled, "I feel awful!"
"Karen, my dear", I replied. "You will feel better in the mornings in a few weeks."
She looked at me astounded.
Dear Diary, the young of today seem to think anyone older than thirty knows nothing about the ways of the world!
"It's alright Karen," I said. "I think I know the reason for your malaise. I suggest you visit your doctor for confirmation."
A little smile crossed Karen's white peaky face.
"Aunt, nothing escapes your eyes does it!"
At this point, Dear Diary, the penny dropped with Niece. Her face was a picture, a movie picture, as expression after expression crossed her features.
"Karen! Karen! You are pregnant?"
Karen smiled; shyly replying she thought she might be.
"Karen," I interjected. "I am certain you are!"
It was a rather emotional moment Dear Diary. I have sorted out some knitting patterns for that lemon wool.
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