Memorial

I went yesterday to the funeral of an old friend, from a long past life. I haven't seen or spoken to him for probably twenty five years, though I have stayed in touch with his family via FB.

We all knew each other in the days of Jen's early childhood, meeting when they brought their children in to the library where I worked, seeing each other regularly for a number of years, finding common ground and interests. Jen was the same age as their youngest, Jamie, and she adored his two older sisters.  We were good friends at a difficult time of my life but as often happens, our families drifted apart, each overburdened with the challenges life sometimes brings.

Seeing his lovely children grown with children of their own, hearing their moving tributes to their Dad, I was caught up in long ago memories of warm summer weekends; the children playing together somewhere in the evening air as Mon, Pete and I chatted about life, and how best to live it, or  wandered in the bee buzzy garden, examining small trees, bean rows and the grand compost heap. I gained so much from our friendship and am deeply grateful for it.

My love of slow trees is one legacy of those garden chats; Pete picking up one of his trees in mid October, and blowing vigorously so that a few more precarious leaves dropped, turning to me with his wonderful grin; "see, it's Autumn".

These trees were all planted or gathered from the wild then,

The beech not yet showing buds

guelder rose, hiding holm oak and birch

gnarled roots witness time's passage

delicate branches

This rowan was gathered from the wild back then. It lived as a slow tree for many years, and was finally grounded when we moved here. Left where it was, right at the edge of the footpath, it would have been trampled into the ground. It likes this sunny spot and gives the local birds flowers and berries as the sunlight flutters in its leaves.

Our ruminations also developed thoughts about mindfulness and how to live a meaningful life; about how children could be treated, cherished, nurtured in a kinder, less pressured world. There was a quote yesterday from Thich Nhat Hanh, a Buddhist monk whose writings fostered my engagement with the philosophy. As life has become more physically painful for me, that philosophy has been so valuable. Another a legacy.

And today, this time of year, is ripe for reflections on loss and living; how often we don't recognise the preciousness of now, and the people who surround us; the wisdom of reflecting on the treasures life has already offered us; a point to pause and breathe and just be with what life is.

Thank you Pete, and Mon xx

Spring springing

I have a cream blouse, haggled for in the Bazaar in Istanbul, which fell foul of one of the very occasional times I succumb to chocolate ice cream. You know it was a hot day, because I was wearing that blouse, light and loose, cotton, embroidered round the neckline and sleeves, just right for a very hot day. That was the last time I wore it, because of course, chocolate ice cream stains, so my cream blouse had a couple of brown marks front and centre, impossible to disguise or erase. Unless, of course, you have recourse to dye and a bucket - oh, and an old stocking.  The blous is folded and comresssed into the stocking, which is tied at the top. The dye an indeterminate colour, an amalgam of magenta, turquoise, and sprinkle of golden yellow and a final flash of purple five minutes before the soda went in. Spring always nudges me to get an orange bucket or two out

Yes, I know the image looks a little .... ummm, strange shall we say. And that's after I've cropped it

Looking forward to unwrapping this

Time together

Courtesy of Google Maps

This week I had the pleasure of spending a day and a bit going to London with my beloved daughter. We were visiting the National Hospital for Neurology and Neurosurgery, in the service of investigating a whole series of hidden but debilitating symptoms; tachycardia, extreme fatigue, dreadful giddiness and the like, with which am very familiar as they are part of having an inherited connective tissue disorder. In Jen's case this is exacerbated by dyspraxia. We were seen by a delightful consultant, and I was able to help fill in details of family members affected, going back six generations. I was also able, by being there, to learn from the consultant more about how better to manage it, as I too have the condition.

It was lovely spending time with Jen. We live in the same town, so see each other, regularly, but going away is different. We went up Wednesday evening and spent the night there. She crocheted and I sewed on the way there and back. We talked about life and the way of living it, had smiling interactions with fellow travellers on our journey, people watched with mischievous pleasure.

Had Jen felt well enough while in London, we would have gone to the British Museum for a mooch and lunch after her morning appointment. As it was I was happy to be there to provide an arm for balance and leaning on as we navigated the mad whirl that is our capital city, with hurrying folk whizzing along in the Underground; talking business in Pret; striding down the pavements; people who would not understand her frailty. I used to have the same feeling when out with Mum, who was badly affected with brittle bones, an element Jen and I have escaped, but also invisible to the onlooker.

We came home by train in the afternoon; both exhausted and painful, but carrying on because what else can you do with a life limiting condition? It is a short walk from the station to her home and she was happy not to wait for my lift, so we hugged and parted. As she walked away I could see her swaying steps, hand out for balance, the occasional slight lurch. To passers by, a quick glance might prompt some dismissive though about lunchtime drinkers waving their way home.

I know that there goes my brave girl, getting on with life.

Down in the Dell - an update

The Dell is at the very bottom of the garden, it is where the badgers dwell, and where the butterflies and buzzies dance in the summer. it is semi wild, very untamed, but we try and keep that wildness under a little bit of control, otherwise there is the chance that a Sleeping Beauty level climbing rose will take over the greenhouse.

so I expedited with tools of a cutting variety this morning, and was faced with this,

I had desultory companions, who quickly vanished once the serious stuff started to happen

and had to remember that, as this is where the badgers dwell, I'd better keep an eye on my ankles

I toiled and toiled in the morning sunlight in this tucked away little corner

can you see the difference below?

Of course the light has changed, but the barrow has filled to a towering pile and a great deal of deadwood and tall arching rose stems have been reduced to a tidy pile. Just above the wheelbarrow, looking like frail little sticks in the air, is a rather lovely lilac tree, suddenly able to breathe and full of blossom buds, which I was very careful not to disturb. Just beside the wheelbarrow is a plum in delicate blossom

We hope for more fruit this year. We also know that, despite my effort this morning, we will still find the Dell full of the soft scent of roses once the season is upon us.

At the top of the garden, the pond is practicing catching sunlight

Enjoy this lovely spring weather while it lasts