Curtains were not my priority when we first moved to Springhill. Then Pearlie fell and broke her hip and for some reason, not wishful thinking, I convinced myself she was likely to die. And what happens when there is a death in the family? The curtains must be drawn closed. And we had none to close. In a panic, I rushed off to Dunelm Mill and bought four sets of floor-length curtains for the front of the house. Never mind, that no one would ever see them because we live up a lane on a rural road. Which was why I hadn’t actually bothered with curtains before.
Happily, Pearlie survived her fall and lived another six years. And when she did die the curtains weren’t drawn closed because who’d see them anyway?
There were two pairs, one cream coloured and one rusty red. Thirteen years later and they are still on the go. They are used in one room only, my private, secret sitting room. The red curtains are hung in autumn and winter and the lighter ones are for the warmer months.
So there I was today, standing and stretching on a step-stool, hanging the cream curtains (I’m a bit out of synch this year) when I felt dizzy, slightly short of breath, and with a tiny niggle in my throat. You may imagine what my first thought was. Especially as, only minutes earlier I’d given a couple of dry coughs. Immediately I started to panic. Corona! Maybe I hadn’t been as careful as I thought when going into town to walk the children’s puppy. Or maybe I'd picked up the virus somewhere else. For about twenty minutes I was up to high doh, wondering if I should get tested, then eventually all my ‘symptoms’ subsided and I felt normal again.
Funnily enough, as I type this, the panicky feeling is coming back. How I wish we could return to that carefree just vaccinated time when we thought our worries were almost over. Oh well. At least I have curtains, even if they are thirteen years old.
More posts about curtains.