All this summer, I’ve been slowly knitting a cushion cover from yarn in my stash. Creamy wool that is also my favourite cardigan, grey yarn left over from Paul’s sleeveless cardi that's now 2 years old and bits and pieces from the beaded cushion cover I kitted for Bev several Christmas’s ago. Oh, I almost forgot, five buttons that don’t match but do blend, and are either from my collection, or my Mum’s or Peggy’s or possibly my Grandmother’s –such is the diverse provenance of what lurks in my button box.
It looks very nice on a chair by the terrace door in the new 1st floor sitting room at Enmatte –a chair that once lived in my parents-in law’s dining room and brings back wonderful memories of family meals at Bower Mount Road.
I will always now associate this cushion with my 2012 summer of surgery and radiotherapy, with my recovery and. mostly, with the kindness of family and friends that sustained and supported me in recent weeks. In this way I have been making more good memories: of assimilating a diagnosis of cancer, having the (slight) burden of its treatments, and the calm distraction afforded by a ball of yarn and needles.
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