Wolverley Campsite Part 2

 

The chief engineer of the Staffordshire and Worcestershire canal was James Brindley. It was completed in 1771 for a cost that exceeded the authorised capital, and opened to trade in 1772. It was a commercial success, with trade from the Staffordshire Potteries southwards to Gloucester and Bristol, and trade from the Black Country northwards to the Potteries via the junction with the Birmingham Canal at Aldersley.On the opposite side of the canal, on the way to the Queen's head, the road runs alongside the Mini Pro Golf Park and the River Stour. 

The view from the bridge over the River Stour shows the Golf Park and, beyond it, the canal and the Lock Inn. 

I'd forgotten how physical camping can be - whether in a 45ft narrowboat or a campervan less than half its size. By the end of Tuesday, I was very tired and sore. I'd used muscles I'd forgotten were there and my legs and knees had not had a good workout in the fresh air in over a year. As a result, Alf was neglected. He was anxious during the drive up to the campsite and, having slipped his lead on a nocturnal pee expedition on Monday night, I wasn't going to risk losing him to the tempting hunting grounds that surrounded us. He was very cross on Tuesday afternoon when I joined the group for afternoon tea. I'd put down his breakfast early in the day and he had ignored it. Now, it was left outside, in its bowl under the Skadu. When we returned later in the evening, it was to the sight of a huge Crow finishing the last few pieces of Kibble. 

A combination of lack of experience of camping in such a small space, too much physical work, and a long and physically demanding walk, meant that Alf never got the promised 'free running' on the playing fields beside the campsite.

He hated the campervan on this trip. I haven't taken him out in it since last October and he's decided it is a scary thing. Normally, he hunkers down on the back seat, in his seat belt safety harness, and goes to sleep. He spent most of the time, both on the journey to, and the journey home from, Wolverley, with his tail between his legs and panting. 

It's been a steep learning curve for both of us, not least the emotional fatigue that comes with spending time in the company of a group of people who know one another and with whom you are the Newbie. I'm sure it will get easier. I will learn from the mistakes and, on the whole, the pros far outweigh the cons.

Next Stop with the same group - St Neots Huntingdonshire.

Wolverley Campsite and environs, Part 1

The best thing about Wolverley, for me, is that the campsite is right next to the canal. I could sit in comfort at The Lock Inn watching the boats passing through. 

The first was the 62ft Narrowboat Zappa, locking up towards Cookley on the Staffordshire and Worcestershire Canal.

The dog making all the noise is Alf. He was bored and hungry. He could smell delicious hooman food and we had waited over 30 mins for our cheese burger to be delivered to our table. He was sure there would be better pickings on board and wanted to join the crew.

We waited over an hour in total, for our order to be fulfilled. The half of cider appeared about 20 mins after the order. After a further 15 minutes, the waitress asked if I had ordered food. I had - with the cider. She went away and checked. 

No food order had been received in the kitchen. The kitchen would 'cook it right away' and the cider was 'on the house'. After a further wait of 20 mins, the burger arrived, sans chees, but with a layer of charcoal on both sides. It was inedible, so Alf happily disposed of it for me. I ate the chips. By now I was so tired and hungry and there was no point in making a fuss. The Inn was not coping with post-lockdown Covid rules. It had hired a multitude of waiting staff but was obviously short-handed in the kitchen. My waitress referred to 'she', singular. I imagine that the indoor working conditions left the Inn without sufficient experienced kitchen staff.

Earlier, we had walked to the Queen's Head to join the Small Motorhome Forum members who had booked lunch there. We were to be served in groups of six, so I waited until I presumed the first group had been seated and served. We passed the remarkable St John the Baptist Church on our way up towards the pub.

There was no sign of the others at the tables outside the pub and the route to the rear was barred. I assumed the group had finished lunch and gone walking. I made my way back down towards the canal, past the nature reserve and over the bridge to the Lock Inn.

The route was challenging. It was a steep climb up to the Queen's Head and back down again. Once past the Lock Inn, there was another steep climb back to Levant II. That was when I made the wrong decision to stop and have lunch at the Inn before the final climb. I was tired, out-of-condition, and sore. On reflection, I should have gone to the Old Smithy Tea-room on the opposite side of the canal instead of the Inn. The entrance to the Tea-room was through the carpark's garden. After the disastrous burger, I headed there and picked up an enormous wedge of Victoria sponge to have at what was a fast-approaching afternoon tea back at camp.

The area around Wolverley is lovely and rolling, as one would expect of the Stour Valley in Worcestershire. Kingsford Country Park & Kinver Edge is made up of over 200 acres of natural woodland and sandstone cliffs.  The area has many walking trails that cross over between the two counties and each with its own surprises.  The views of the countryside and forest from the top of the sandstone cliffs are wonderful.  On the Lock Inn terrace there is ample evidence of the sandstone cliff behind it.

Behind the Queen's Head the entrances to man-made caves can be found. I'm miffed that I was deprived of a view of these remarkable edifices. Image  By, CC BY-SA 4.0, Link

Descend into the valley and you’ll discover caves that were once houses that had been carved into the rock. Just over the border in Kinver, Staffordshire, the National Trust have restored several rock houses that are very much worth a visit. Most of the formal houses were carved into the sandstone cliffs around or before 1770 and may have expanded on existing caves or earlier dwellings.  The Kinver edge rock Houses have often been suggested as the inspiration the Hobbit Holes in JRR Tolkien’s masterworks ‘the Hobbit’ and ‘Lord of the Rings’. 

Another trip is called for to explore  Wolverley and the surrounding countryside.

to be continued .......

Like a juggernaut

After we bought our boat, in 1994, we moored her in the Cambridgshire Fens, near Ramsey. Today, I took the route to Grantham to visit my Niece. As I neared the turn-off for Huntington, I began to feel uneasy and emotional. This was the turning we took towards Ramsey. Alf was getting more and more agitated, so I decided to pull into the Brampton Hut service station to take him for a short walk - a pee stop. As soon as I turned into the Truck Stop, I burst into tears. Eamonn and I used to pull in here if the A1M was busy on our way home on Sunday, after a weekend on the boat. The Truck Stop offered a bottomless teapot for thirsty travellers. 

This was the first time I had travelled this route alone, since Eamonn died. Had it not been for the pandemic, I would probably have made the trip to Grantham a few times and got used to the memories it triggered. But this was the first time - and I had a meltdown. The memories were happy ones, but the emotion is one with which all bereaved people are familiar.

It's not just the loss of the person who was the centre of my world, It's the loss of a shared past only we understood. More importantly, today, it is the loss of a future we will never share. I didn't make it to Grantham. When I'd stopped crying sufficiently to speak, I phoned my Niece and spoke to her husband. He encouraged me to rest before heading back home when I felt sufficiently well enough to drive. 

The whole thing took me completely by surprise. It's as though the past 18 months hadn't happened as raw grief hit me like a juggernaut. I took to my bed an hour ago, with a hot drink and paracetamol and a hot water bottle for my aching muscles. 

Getting tired of waiting.

for the new normal. 

An excerpt from a book summed up the first half year of grief. It also pointed the way forward, through empathy with, and care for, others.

The

But survival is not enough.

Since the funeral, in December 2019, I have tried to maintain contact with the few social networks that remained during Eamonn's final months. It was hard, but I made the effort - I went to Ukulele sessions on Thursday afternoons; I walked the dog when weather permitted; I had friends round for tea and a chat. I even went to Southwold, as planned, for our 51st anniversary. I tried to keep busy.  I had counselling sessions at the Garden Hospice. I was beginning to go out more and socialise.

Then, lockdown arrived and isolation began and I had to stay at home.


Throughout the next 12 months, new projects began to emerge, including gardening, campervan, and   reaching out to others who felt the same.

Preparations

Along with most of the population, I'm finding Lockdown 3 extremely challenging. Things were much worse when I was without my hearing aids. Now that I have them back, I'm beginning to take control of my daily routines again.

They are very weather-dependent, so the first few days with the hearing aids working were spent on housework and cooking. Yesterday, I made my Saturday Facetime meeting with my old school friend, for the first time in a couple of weeks. We've both been through a rough patch, so it was good to be able to talk about it. We chatted for over an hour - the longest since before Christmas.

The weather forecast for today was very good. It was chilly but sunny. I wrote a letter to a friend yesterday, and the first job after breakfast was to take Alf for a walk and post the letter. I met a neighbour with her dog on the way back home. Normally, the two dogs (both male, both terriers) do not get on very well. But this morning, there was a very quiet, civil greeting, giving their humans a chance for a chat.

After lunch, I had decided I would do some preparation of Levant II for her trip to the workshop tomorrow. I vacuumed and cleaned the interior, and turned the engine over to check that the battery was charged. I needed to reset the calendar/clock after the last time the battery went flat.

Then it was time for tea. It took me a while to remember the procedure for getting the gas hob to work, but not as long as the maiden boiling of the kettle. The view from my seat beside the low table is lovely. The Viburnum Bodnantense Dawn is covered with fragrant blossom on bare stems. 

Alf took up his favourite position, checking out passers-by. The whistling kettle startled him - it's very loud. Water boils quickly on the hob but I am still a little worried about the capacity of the gas bottle.

I have almost decided to ditch the expensive non-working Eberspächer  heating to free up the starboard locker for a spare bottle. I would then be more confident about pitching without electric hook-up and running the fridge  (visible below the hob) on gas as well.

I'm going to ask the workshop to do some major refurbishment of the roof in addition to fixing the leaky rear door. I might as well have the heating removed at the same time, or perhaps they might be able adjust the port locker to take a larger gas bottle? 

While the van is in the workshop, I am going to plan my first road trip. I've decided a tour along the coastal path from Southwold to Cromer, would be an ideal late Spring adventure. I'm not keen to be on my own for the whole tour so will have to do some creative thinking about how to include some company. More on that next time.

Spring

Cleaning  Reorganising.

Eamonn used to say that he knew when Spring was approaching, because I started moving furniture around - the human equivalent of nesting. 

I had an idea, recently, about creating more (or at least the illusion of more) space inside Levant II. The advice of many Romahome owners is to travel with the table assembled to save time when stopping for a break. The problem with that is that it meant that the table had to be taken down in order to make the bed at night. 

Even allowing for the fact that, being small, I am able to sleep on a crossways bed, leaving the table in place made for somewhat cramped sleeping conditions. There was also the risk of cracking one's head (or legs, depending on orientation) on the table itself. Removing the table meant there was a lack of a solid landing space for the nught-time drink etc.

I decided to replace the high table, with a lower version that allowed for easier access to under-cushion storage areas. First, I measured the seat in the bottom left-hand corner of the picture above. I bought a large, wooden, chopping board that would cover that area (and the storage space below). This fitted perfectly, making a large table-top.

The electric socket is below this, at floor level, making it an ideal place for the electric Kettle. When travelling, the items from the table can be stowed in the locker below.

The bed is less cramped and the table within easy reach as a night-table.

Above the kettle is a glimpse of the small fold-down table-top that adds workspace beside the sink.

The interior looks far less cramped. Even the under-bed space is much more accessible without the old table leg in the middle of the passage.

I am now starting to compile a list of camping essentials, prior to working out where they can be stored for most convenience use.

Still much to do and so little motivation, not knowing when the restrictions will be lifted enough to travel again. It's OK to be not OK about this, but the stamina is waning a little without human company.

Hearing Loss and Lockdown 3

 

For years before I got help with my hearing, I spent time guessing what someone was saying to me.  Teaching was extremely stressful. I was unaware that I needed hearing aids until I had the leisure of early retirement to examine all the stressors in my life. I am feeling that again but without the support system I enjoyed when Eamonn was with me.

Social distancing, face masks, self-isolation have all become household words in the last few months and we have all been coping as well as we can. But now I am without my hearing aids and do not know how long it will take to repair them. 

If you live with hearing loss, and before COVID-19, you  naturally lean in to hear what is being said, you  look closely at someone’s lips and then carefully piece together the words. Speaking to someone from two metres away, with a face covering (which not only disrupts lip-reading but also muffles the voice) makes day-to-day interactions even more stressful. 

It is not just physical face-to-face interactions where there are difficulties but the new normal, we are finding ourselves in. Socialising and working from home often involve video calls but the accessibility of these can be well behind the rest of video technology and can result in some dubious captioning or you can only access subtitles if you pay an additional premium. Trying to follow conversations as soon as there is more than one person on a video call can be difficult for those with normal hearing, for those with a hearing loss it’s easy to just withdraw and not contribute. I've already cancelled mu Ukulele Zoom sessions with my LALG group. Even the newly-found Good Grief Project 's Virtual Cafe meetings are not viable without my hearing.

I have been waiting for my depression to spring up on me during this weird and turbulent time and this week it finally has. The feeling of things being out of my control and being unable to escape a situation can make me feel quite anxious and depressed anyway, and I think the weight of this pandemic,  and how much my life has changed since Eamonn died has suddenly hit.

I have been told, time and time again, how well I am coping - I am a coper. Unfortunately, I am also a control freak. During the past year I have worked on 'projects' that I could control; the garden, growing fruit and veg, carrying out repairs and renovations needed in the house, replacing the boat with a Romahome. There is little left to do. I'm not one for sitting still and relaxing. I'm a do'er, a coper, an organiser. Without my ears, I cannot do many of the things that break the boredom and limitations of Lockdown. 

I'm beginning to turn into a cow. I ruminate on things I cannot change. I'm stuck in a rut of grief and regret and fear. The slightest ache or twinge and I'm convinced I am seriously ill. This is anxiety and depression. This I know - and it scares me. GPs are overwhelmed by the pandemic. I'm just another casualty of the mental health crisis. 

We are all in the same storm but not the same boat.

It's just a little thing

but, as I wrote in November last year, it's the little things that make up all the important memories in our lives.

I remember when Eamonn bought me a Claddagh ring. It was Easter, 1969. We were in Dublin. He'd sent me a Ferry ticket to join him in Ireland for the Easter Vacastion, as he couldn't bear to be separated from me. We went to a little Jewellers shop in Henry  Street. Eamonn wanted to give me a ring that had great significance depending on the way it was worn. For a man who eschewed metaphor at that time, he had great affinity with the tradition of the ring. 

The Claddagh's distinctive design features two hands clasping a heart and usually surmounted by a crown. These elements symbolize the qualities of love (the heart), friendship (the hands), and loyalty (the crown). Claddagh rings are relatively popular among the Irish and those of Irish heritage, as cultural symbols and as friendship, engagement and wedding rings. The  ring was worn with the intention of conveying the wearer's relationship status:

On the left ring finger with the point of the heart toward the fingertips: the wearer is engaged.

On the left ring finger with the point of the heart toward the wrist: the wearer is married.

I've worn that ring for over 51 years and, apart from having it repaired when a crack appeared at the edge of one of the hands, I never took it off.

Over the Christmas break, the pain in my left hand began to increase, especially the finger joints. I noticed that the ring finger bone was swollen. I decided I'd better remove my rings before it was too late. The Claddagh refused to go over the bone. I tried a few home-remedies and, after a long struggle, managed to get it off. The wedding ring is one size larger and slipped off easily. 

I left the rings off overnight, in the hope that the swelling would go down. It now seems that the bone has a touch of arthritis and is not going  to get any smaller unless I take anti-inflammatory pills. I'm unwilling to do that. This morning, I had a major meltdown at the thought that I would never wear the Claddagh again. It's too large for either of my little fingers and in danger of becoming jammed on my ring finger.

I've never been one for wearing jewels of any kind. The one ring that Eamonn bought for our 45th anniversary, has a beautiful, dark-navy, sapphire. I've worn it only to special events as there was no room on either ring finger unless I removed another ring. I usually wore it on my right hand in place of my signet ring.

After much soul-searching, and settling on the idea of wearing the Claddagh on a gold chain, I decided to wear the sapphire next to my wedding ring.

A ring - such a little thing, and yet filled with such significance, and the ability to cause an emotional meltdown;

The Claddagh representing love, loyalty, and friendship. 

The Sapphire -  known as the wisdom stone. It is meant to represent intelligence, education and the ability to make wise and good choices. The sapphire is an ideal gemstone for those looking to channel their energies into clear, positive thinking to accomplish goals. 

Having calmed down from the original disappointment at not being able to wear the Claddagh on my left hand, I am reconciled to the idea of replacing it with the sapphire ring. My way forward has to channel my energy into building a future with new purpose and focus. 

Yule - stepping towards the light

 

The Shortest Day ~ Susan Cooper

So the shortest day came, and the year died,

And everywhere down the centuries of the snow-white world

Came people singing, dancing,
To drive the dark away.

They lighted candles in the winter trees;

They hung their homes with evergreen;

They burned beseeching fires all night long

To keep the year alive,

And when the new year's sunshine blazed awake

They shouted, reveling.

Through all the frosty ages you can hear them

Echoing behind us - Listen!!

All the long echoes sing the same delight,

This shortest day,

As promise wakens in the sleeping land:

They carol, fest, give thanks,

And dearly love their friends,

And hope for peace.

And so do we, here, now,

This year and every year.

Welcome Yule. 

Winter Myths the links to Christmas.

In Celtic mythology the Oak (Summer) King and the Holly (Winter) King were twins, pitted against each other in a never-ending fight for supremacy. Oak trees, sacred to the Celts, lose their leaves, while the  holly trees are evergreen. The Holly King is now known as Santa Claus. He wears red and bears holly leaves and berries in his hat. He drives a team of eight deer (or reindeer) because deer were highly sacred to the Celtic Gods. The number eight represents the eight sabbats of the solar calendar. 

As cold weather approached, the Celts marvelled at how the evergreen holly trees, hidden amongst the leafy oaks during the rest of the year, now stood out prominently, with their red fruits, on an otherwise barren landscape. The Holly King had won the battle, as the incarnations of his twin brother had shed all their oak leaves and stood naked in defeat.By the time the winter solstice arrives, the tide has turned. The Oak King’s flow in power is the Holly King’s ebb. The deciduous twin takes his first baby steps towards re-establishing his supremacy. The battle between the two Kings takes place; the Oak King kills the Holly King and takes his place. The Oak King is the modern-day New Year, the fresh and young child-god that beckons mother nature to re-new herself as he brings the warm rays of the sun back.

The Yule Log

    Christmas will be an empty celebration for me again.  So this year, I am marking the Winter Solstice - looking forward to Spring as the        days begin to grow longer, lighting the fire on the longest night of        the year in the hope of the return of the sun and warmer weather.           The first anniversary of Eamonn's death marks a new beginning; one     in which I move from the darkness of total grieving to the light of a     new life alone with his memory to guide me.

Tonight is Mother's Night

 It all comes down to the Mother and her Child. The story is told over and over around the world in various ways, but it always comes back to the Mother and her child. Even in Christian mythos the reference is to "round yon virgin, mother and child."

Who is this Christ Child born of the virgin mother, Mary, at the winter solstice—the time of the year’s longest night? It is Child of Promise: Light born from the Darkness, Manifestation born from the Unmanifest, Life born from the Void—the Void which is not empty, but rather, full of potentialities.  This child is the light of renewed life, who is born into the death and darkness of winter.

And who is the Mother who gives birth to the child? She is the Mare (pronounced: mah-ray, or mah-ree), Mari, the dark and vast bitter sea of space - the Virgin Mother Void from which all things are born. The correlate on earth is the ancient sea (Latin: mare) from which all life came forth - life-forms as numerous as the stars in the sky or the grains of salt in the that same primordial sea.

Early images of the Nativity depict Mary as the Mother of the Son of Light. 

On this night we reconnect with the eternal truth of beginnings - of light emerging from darkness, of life being birthed into being. And on this Solstice Eve night we honor First Mother, as we remember how she gave birth to light, and thus to the universe, and all that is.

The word solstice is derived from the Latin sol ("sun") and sistere ("to stand still"), because at the solstices, the Sun's declination appears to "stand still"; that is, the seasonal movement of the Sun's daily path (as seen from Earth) pauses at a northern or southern limit before reversing direction.

Just before dawn tomorrow (local time) comes the moment of solstice - of the sun standing still - the three day pause before movement seemingly begins again on Christmas Day, when the Child of Light and Promise has fully emerged and life starts anew. We celebrate the fact that now is Horus is born from Isis, Adonis from Myrrha, Mithras from Anahita the Immaculate One, and Jesus from the Virgin Mary.

The moment of stillness - Silent Night

On Christmas Eve a special quiet is with us. There is a special energy to this night. This silent night is a doorway into the heart of reflection in all of us. Christmas Eve, there is an opportunity to discover the source of all the giving and receiving. If we can go beyond the rush of the season and especially the rush of our own thoughts, there is a mystery to discover that can change our lives for the holidays, perhaps into the New Year, and much longer.

The Christmas stories are all about miraculous events that came out of a night of profound silence. We all know the stories, but do we know the silence from which the stories emerged? Finding time for silence can lead us to an inner silence where the peace and light at the source of the season can be with us. Even if we don't see it because of cloudy skies, we know that the Christmas Star,  last seen 800 years ago, will shine tonight. NASA says the conjunction will appear “spectacular” with a normal telescope or even the naked eye. Let's hope they capture some images for those of us not fortunate enough to witness it for ourselves.

This year, it will be more difficult to find that moment of stillness. There is so much that occupies our thoughts; the anxiety about Covid-19 and the seemingly never-ending round of Lockdowns; the promise of hope with the new vaccines, followed by renewed anxiety as the virus mutates. 

With all the activity, if we can find the opportunity to just be, moments of stillness can be moments of perfect food, feeding some place inside  us that only silence can nourish. Sitting with a fire late at night, the star-filled sky, or watching the sunrise, the sweetness of silence can fill our body and fulfill a part of us that is longing. Snow, wind, rain, nature in its many voices, the music of silence can open and inspire us. In the silence on Christmas Eve is a spirit of giving, unique to this night among all others. There is a stillness that shelters us. This quiet can be our own personal doorway into the heart of simple peace. And simple peace can be a path into new life and new hope for the year ahead, as we emerge from the fear of pandemic into the year of vaccination and new hope. 

This merging of the old and the new takes place tonight, in the spirit of the Winter Solstice, in the still moment of silence that celebrates the merging of the Dark Mother of Yule with the return of the Sun God, and the Mother of the Son of God who brings light to the world.

For me, the new year is one in which I will learn to merge the two version of me. One is the me that was half of a couple. 

My on-line screen persona of Hesadevil encapsulates her.

Hesadevil was confident, adventurous, fun-loving and caring. She strove to experience new things, increase her understanding of the world and all its wonder. At her side was her rock and safe haven -Eamonn.

The other me is the solo traveller. One who is feeling her way in the world relying only on herself. close family, and a few dear friends.

Ukelady has emerged as capable and strong. Building on all that has gone before, while tentatively feeling the way ahead through the fits and starts of the pandemic and the worryingly late resolution of the terms of Berxit Brexit. At her side is the faithful terrier, Alf. 

I wish all that you hope for comes into being in the new year of hope and the return of the light to our lives.

Apologies for the use of both pagan and Christian Myths to help explain where I have reached and how I hope to move onwards. 

What day is it?

 I've lost track of the days. I blame it on the weather, or Covid-19, or Brexit, or Boris, or, perhaps a combination of them all. At any rate, when the day dawned all bright and sunny, against all the weather forecasts I could find, I decided to walk the dog to the postbox, to post the last of my Christmas cards. 

The sun remained firmly fixed, in a cloudless blue sky. What had been planned as a short walk around the block, turned into a much longer expedition. I had forgotten it was Saturday. No one expects good weather at the weekend, especially in the middle of the foul, wet, overcast stuff that has been around for weeks now.

When I got back, the sun continued. I sat in the conservatory, wrapping presents, while Alf sunned himself on the camping chair. Only then did I notice that I had missed three Facetime calls from  my schoolfriend in Manchester - Saturday is her day, mid-morning. I( must email her later today to let her know that all is well.

Year Two

And so I have survived my first year as a widow.  Not only am I still standing, but I found myself caring, passionately, about something other than my grief - the outcome of the US election for one. Life goes on. 

I  had a nightmare last night (nothing new in that) in which everyone expected me to move on. It has been a year, after all. But what a dreadful year, made worse by the pandemic and two (so far) Lockdowns. 

I've been reading the contents of some of Eamonn's boxes. He was a great thinker. No only did he think, he wrote down his thoughts - probably to help get them clearer and more coherent. One such piece, written on a single, separate sheet of A4, is most relevant to me at the moment. I think it must have been written as Eamonn was approaching the end of his life.

"Reflections

Purpose of life is more than survival which seems just on the margin. It is to do well - to flourish. This could be put - to live well and leave it with grace. 

Living well: is no longer the struggle to wrench the neccesities of life from the earth.

Survival/flourishing: implies relishing our experiences and learn from them and from the experiences of our fellows reconded in our culture."

I really miss this sort of conversation that Eamonn and I would have at the oddest of times, usually without pre-amble when out walking the dog.

With the arrival of an effective vaccine against Covid-19, here's hoping 2021 will be a better year for all of us in following the purpose of our lives. I know I wouldn't be here to celebrate Christmas (even if it must be, alone) if it weren't for the kindness, support, and love of family and friends. The one positive thing to come out of 2021, for me, is the re-kindling of old friendships, and the renewal of family ties, both on and off-line. I thank you all.

Healing nature

I've been feeling particularly down for the past few weeks. So much so, that I began to feel afraid of going out of the house. The Gardening Club on Thursday afternoons was becoming an 'ought'. Everyrthing else was too difficult.

On Sunday, I was tempted to stay in bed. I haven't been sleeping well and wake up very shaky and tired. As I was making my breakfast tea, I looked out into the garden. It's looking lovely. The lavender is just coming to the end of its flowering and I thought of cutting some for making drawer liners. As I clipped, I suddenly thought of Eamonn's grave. It would be bare now, as the rosemary and mistletoe I put on it at Christmas would be long gone.

I decided to take some lavender and rosemary to the grave and then go on to walk the Icknield Way beside the lavender farm with Alf. It was hot, but rain was forecast, so I packed tea in a flask and some cold drinks in case it stayed warm.

The Memorial Garden was empty. As I had thought, Eamonn's grave was the only one without flowers. On closer inspection, the flowers on other graves were silk. No wonder the garden was empty - silk doesn;t need replacing.

I put the small posy in the vase and sat on the bench to meditate. I was pleased to see that there was a lavender hedge growing along one side of the garden.

The landscaping is lovely and calm, There was a family of ducks on the pond, Mum shepherding the chicks into the vegetation at the side to hide from this intruder.

I had a good cry, which left me feeling shook, but did some breathing to calm myself before driving to the car park for the Icknield way.

#

It was very humid when we arrived at the tiny car park, and there was evidence of earlier rain as the pot-holes were full of muddy water. I donned my wellingtons, slung my raincoat and picnic bag across my shoulders, and headed onto the Icknield Way. The clouds looked ominous and I was glad I had my raincoat.

Sometimes, the fields beside the lavender farm are planted with barley, wheat, and (my nemesis) rapeseed. To my delight, the first field was full of flax (linseed). When this flowers, it is a delightfully calming blue, instead of the radio-active yellow of the rapeseed flowers.

As we reached the crown of the first hill,  I saw that the picnic bench overlooking the lavender, was occupied. I decided to walk down into the farmyard and have a closer look at the fields before returning to the bench.


Peeping into the edge of the copse before the turn to the farm track, I spotted an early 'Lords and Ladies' (arum lily) just coming out of its seed pod










We walked slowly down the hill towards the farm buildings. I decided not to go into the yard as there was a charge for entry this year, with ticket collection on the road entrance. There is a right of way through the yard, but I am in no condition to argue ramblers' rights and didn't want to spoil my first day out in ages.

Half-way down, we turned back and began the steep climb back to the Icknield Way. The humidity had increased and, before we had gone twenty yards, my knees gave out. I decided to stop and sit on my raincoat, in the shade of the hedge for a quick cup of tea and a bite to eat. Alf was panting heavily and I cursed myself for leaving his water and bowl in the car. The tea was too hot for him, and there was only one mug. However, I did have an apple, a crisp, juicy, apple, which I shared with him as my tea cooled.

Various people passed us and greeted us cheerfully. None was carrying a picnic bag. I hoped that they knew that they would be charged entry to the yard with its refreshments' stall.

This is the view from the hedge beside which I had my lunch.

The rain started just as I finished my second cup of tea.

I packed up, put my coat on and walked, briskly, up the remainder of
the hill. I'd regained my 'sea legs' and headed back to the car at quite a pace. Once home, I showered, dried off Alf, and we ate the remainder of our lunch in the conservatory,


The sun came out for the remainder of the day. Alf and I shared the conservatory sofa for a nap. We both felt much better for our little trip, and I slept well last night, getting in a full eight hours with only two brief wakes for a pee.

And I see you in your photograph

Putting this here as a marker, to remind me of why I set up a Facebook Page Memorial - a photograph of Eamonn, one each day for a year - 366 photos

February 1970

Yesterday, I watched Gareth Malone's Choir. The song written for a couple in their 80s and 90s really hit a chord. There isn't a recording of it on its own. It's at the 52 minute mark at the end.

https://www.bbc.co.uk/…/the-choir-singing-for-britain-episo…

Lyrics
Your eyes shine
And your stories come to life.
I see you
I see the world through your eyes.
Now I know you
Come with me
I'll go with you.
Yes I'll follow you.

And remember, together, what's there in your heart.
And I see you in your photograph.

Like a sunrise
Watch the stories come to life.
A light shines
On the memories inside.
I want to know you
A joy for me to go with you.
Yes I'll follow you.

And remember, together, what's there in your heart.
And I see you in your photograph.
We remember, together, the man that you are
And I see you in your photograph.

This song sums up perfectly why I'm doing the 366 photograph memorial page for Eamonn.

Clearing the studio is taking longer than anticipated - mainly because I have unearthed more of Eamonn's boxes. Yesterday, this photo (damaged from the protective film in the album) of a very young Eamonn, just about finished me off. It's of Eamonn on the beach (Great Yarmouth, he said) with a boxer dog.

There are more and more boxes revealing their contents. I spent this morning putting stuff in the re-cycling bin and rubbish bin (old, dry pens, out-of date stationery etc). I'm stopping now for a shower and lunch. Tomorrow, I will go through all the boxes containing photographs and sort them into separate boxes. Nothing will be thrown away. Photos are too precious for that.

"We remember, together, the man that you are
And I see you in your photograph."

New routines

I've been having my breakfast in the conservatory in this lovely weather. Waking-up time has got earlier and earlier as the months have rolled by. This morning, Alf joined me on the sofa, as usual, and continued his dozing as I ate and listened to my Audible book Ivy Lane. It wasn't that early (7.30am) but he's a late riser.

The conservatory is more like a 'real' room now that five of the six side windows have been replaced with solid panels. This is the first of the changes to my daily routines. I used to enjoy breakfast in bed, but not any more. I'm at my best in the mornings and want to get going with the daily chores before lunchtime

The second change is regular meals and snacks/ One of the things that began in Southwold, was mine and Eamonn's love of fresh mint (morrocan) tea. We first sampled it at Cafe 51, in the summer of 2017. Even in late autumn or early spring, they have fresh mint available.

I decided to grow my own, a couple of years ago, but all attempts to source a plant failed. This morning, after Mr Ocado had delivered the groceries, I made mint tea using the sachet of Morrocan mint that was part of the order. My elevenses were Mint and Chocolate - what a combination!

The third change is having a weekly routine where essential jobs and activities are scheduled on certain days. That way, I am hoping to take the pressure off on those days when I am tempted to continue working until I am exhausted. Today is maintenance of plants day - repotting, feeding, and pruning where necessary. The extra jobs of sorting out the new layout of the yard and storage of gardening stuff will have to wait until after JFK gardening has finished the borders, and the new shed is in place - early August. Yard maintenance will definitely have to be on a different day; probably one of the days Alf is with the Dog Pack. There is laundry day to be scheduled, and bread baking day, as well as taking over the cleaning duties on Wednesday mornings until October. I also need to fit in a 'walking Alf' hour into five days each week. One of the last things that needs more of a routine, is cooking. Too often, I'm leaving it until late afternoon until I consider what to cook for dinner. It might be time to try more slow cooker recipes, or switching main meals to mid-day, every day?