Papa LEON

 I’m not religious, I’m agnostic but I have an interest and a kind of envy of real faith. 

The welcome to Pope Leon by the Spanish was a joyous thing to watch and experience and I was careful to rely on my non verbal skills to get a personal flavour of the man behind the title. 

To me he is a humble man. He is awkward with standing ovations but has a natural simple warmth with people. He isn’t shy but has a cautious way about him. 

I warmed to him, despite the showbiz welcome

An Email

 Ps

On the back of yesterday’s post, I will share these paragraphs from an email from a reader which rather moved me.

“I don’t need to shop for food items, but I pretend to. A chat to the teller can be quite engaging as long as they aren’t too busy to share a conversation. I try to alternate stores too because I don’t want to be known as the sad lady who chatters far too much.

There was a talk at the bookstore last week and even though I’m not a reader of fiction , I went for something to do. The author looked shy and ill at ease, so I spent time sharing anecdotes with her and she hugged me, with one of grateful hugs which made me burst into tears right THERE AND THEN. I’m not a crier John but I cry every day John, every single day.

I cry when I read of your village, and wish I was there. I cry when I will miss Mary, a dog I have never met and I cry when you do something kind for someone because I wish you were doing it to me.

Is that sad? 

I read many blogs of worth which give me company but I don’t comment even though I was once a person of some minor note in the academic field. A wife, agood friend, a person of interest who could hold her own at a faculty cocktail party full of strangers. 

Your blog touched a nerve with me yesterday, and if I wore a bra ever again. I would hike it up, like you have often done in Going Gently and will try to solider on as you do.” 

Loneliness

 From time to time loneliness will feature in Going Gently. It invades one’s life like the process of osmosis dampens a piece of blotting paper, and brings you up short when it is least expected. 

It is insidious, and evil sometimes. Other moments it’s a minor irritation that can be shrugged off by a radio programme, a knock on the lane window or the ping of a phone message.

I hate Sunday afternoons on night duty. You wake up to a silent cottage around five. The dogs have already been collected that morning by Trendy Carol’s husband, and the cats are mute. 

Asleep on the sofa, where the dogs are not present. 

It’s that first buzzing of silence when awake, which is the worst thing

It’s louder than any noise known to man

It’s a lonely sound. 

I shower, and brush my teeth loudly. 

Today I make eggs on toast and coffee and Pick of the Week and The Archers will be on Radio 4 soon. 

I reclaim my isolation slowly. I look at the thirty birthday cards still standing on the kitchen windowsill . A message. From Chic Eleanor requesting my company at the Theatre on Thursday, is welcome. And there are more notes waiting to be read from Nu and The German and more Sheffield old friends.

I collect the dogs, it’s the village dog show on Saturday and Roger needs a haircut…. , so I’m out on Wednesday ( cinema) Theatre on Thursday and show on Saturday with long days at the hospice Friday and Sunday

The week is full and Mr Loneliness is thwarted another week

Saturday

 This is perhaps the lisping choir at its very best. Conductor Sylvia Sans Torre shines as they perform at their best with that final one note held long and with confidence.

Time To say Goodbye has never sounded better.

Kelda from the still house was on Radio 4 ‘s Today Programme just before 9 am was interviewed about loneliness . It was a brief interview but she held her end up very well I thought.

The village Go Green group summer planting has come through in the community field and the beds around the hall now look fully stocked and fabulous

I need to get back in volunteering for the village, I’ve taken a back seat for a while.

Chess

 Another fact, that you may not know about me is that I’m a passable Chess player. I haven't played for years, so I was more than happy to receive this set from my sister Janet, a late gift for my birthday.

Another new start, and this one is magnetic so here’s a 

Message to Weaver

Many moons ago, when I lived in Walkey in Sheffield, I joined the local chess club, which was based at walkley Library which I’m pleased to see is still open

I met my first proper boyfriend at this club. A floppy haired, student called Alan who always wore a green jumper with a hole in the collar . He once saw me studying at the central library and dropped his telephone number onto my desk in a fit of confidence and insight.  I was almost twenty nine he was around twenty and it took me weeks to muster up the courage to ring him back. 

Our first date was at the chess club. 

Which, in retrospect sounds rather sweet.

Alan was a sweet boyfriend too,  mentally sorted and with real Yorkshireman sensibilities. He spoke with deep flat vowels and had a steady manly manner about him, but unfortunately he left Sheffield months down the line to travel the far east and Australia on a gap year which became three.

I cried when he left and as a parting gift he gave me a small travelling chess set with a kiss and a handshake

It was something I eventually and very sadly lost when I eventually moved to Hillsborough 

And a generation plus later, another chess set returned…

Catty Kindness

 Mary had joined me in bed. She does this every night now and sleeps by the wall, her head peeping out from the eiderdown. 

Any time after 2 pm Bun joins us and curls up in the left hand corner of the duvet

I usually scratch her a welcome scratch with my big toe.

It’s a habit we have all gotten into since Mary became poorly.

Last night I watched a catty Kindness

A small moment between two species that lightens the heart and is worthy of a short blog entry.

Bun walked two steps from her warmed sleeping spot and sniffed at Mary’s blind eye. It’s been looking sore recently and I’ve cleaned it with hypromellose eye drops, nevertheless the cat started to lick the closed eye gently and Mary turned her head to allow her to continue her work which Bun did with some precision and tenacity . 

It’s not much of blog news. 

It’s a little thing really .

But like noticing the honeysuckle in flower yesterday

And the fat man flying around the garden, the day before.

It’s part of the fabric of Bwthyn y Llan 

And the small lives of the five creatures that live here.

Honeysuckle, the Winifred Rose and a mystery

 

One of my pottery figures has disappeared 

I’ve only just noticed. 

8 benign faces watched me eat my breakfast this morning before counselling 

There should have been nine. I searched the kitchen, behind the radiator , in the cushions 

On the floor

And….nothing

It’s a mystery for sure

The wind is up and both cats are lying on the couch when the dogs are at Trendy Carol’s.

The garden has dried in the wind, and the honeysuckle around the front door has bloomed fully over just one day. 

The “ Winifred” Rose ( bought for me after Queen Sãlote Tupou died) has finally flowered too , showing great sweet smelling blooms the colour of custard tinged with raspberry. The rose was planted just under six years ago but has never properly flowered until now 

I spent a good hour in the garden. 

Just sitting and day dreaming about nothing

My hands folded in my lap like Auntie Gladys used to hold hers.

Fat Man Flying

 My twin sister always buys me a nice birthday gift 

I call this metal sculpture “ fat man flying”

It pleases me.

Enjoy