A simple breakfast today, panini, vine tomatoes, olive oil and a sprinkling of salt and parmesan
Next week I’m off to Sheffield to see Miss Saigon then fly to Barcelona the day after.
This week, I’m trying to save money, but it’s not always easy to stay home.
Later I will go and watch the documentary In No Great Hurry at Colwyn Bay,which explores the work of photographer Saul Leiter., thats my treat for the week,
Yesterday afternoon I took part in an on line tutorial about creative writing which I booked and paid for last year and in one group discussion I was the only person present not to have ever written a love poem or a love letter of sorts.
This kind of upset me, as all of the 18 others on zoom had obviously done so
This morning I remembered something, hidden away in a recess, something I used to say to my husband when I all loved up, or when I looked at him in a certain way when he didn’t know he was being watched.
I would say the letters SRA to him.
And he would know where I was at.
SRA always stood for the words Sudden Rush Of Affection
My dyspraxia was worse than normal this morning. Now there are coffee grains all over the floor. A product of too loud a radio programme, feeling overwhelmed and hurrying.
I know I’m going to drop something when those stars are in line.
Usually a millisecond before it happens.
I’m sat quietly at the table Vernon Kay’s sweet Northern Chatter turned off and some quiet orchestral music on.
It’s the Portuguese Love Theme by Craig Armstrong
The gift of oak saplings made yesterday a nice day. The older I get these kindnesses mean so much more than they did when I was younger. Sure kindnesses are always nice when you are on the receiving end of them but when you are single , somehow they mean just that little bit more important and , well…….kind.
I posted on Facebook a blog about my plans to go to London soon recently and one of the replies was from my great niece Ellie who works in the capital asking to meet for coffee.
That touched me greatly.
Another text, this time from Affable Despot Jason , inviting me to his daughter’s 18th birthday party, the words, she really wants you to come, touched me greatly too as did Village Elder Ian’s recent offer to shrink my front garden gate to it will close properly.
Little kindnesses are of such importance
And so in a similar vein, I’m asking for some kindness from my “ troll” here on Going Gently. I’m asking for them to please stop provoking an argument out of nothing.
I’m big enough and ugly enough to cope with such comments but the drip drip nature of them, usually in the most innocuous of blog entries has become somewhat wearisome to say the least.
I’m also going to ask people not to react to any when and if they continue to arrive
After this personal request, I hope that will not be necessary.
My mother, for all of her faults, was a kind woman, all told.
I remember when I was around 10, we lived in a large detached house on the corner of a busy road. On the opposite corner was a veterinary practice, built on the back of a residential house. One day she had been watching a woman sat in a car outside for a while before she asked me to do her a favour . She had collected several roses from the garden and had wrapped silver paper around the stems and asked me to take them down to the lady in the car.
Being a shy child I refused , and being a shy adult she pushed herself to offer them to the woman in the car herself. When she returned, pink cheeked and sweaty, I asked her just why she had given roses to a stranger. And my mother said that the she had seen the woman take her elderly Labrador into the vets and had seen her return just with his lead.
The woman had been sobbing in her car, presumably after having the dog euthanised and my mother felt she had to do something to offset her pain, just a little.
It’s a big lesson to learn at 10
Not only that my mother was capable of such a small glowing act of kindness when she didn’t always act in a kind way at home.
But also that she was painfully shy and probably in need of such little kindnesses herself
It was the end of Pride March yesterday in London and again I missed it.
Next year it’s on my list ( my bucket list) even though the TCA is going to hold some Pride Friendly event in the village.
Bunty and I looked at each other and smiled at the thought of everything rainbow in Trelawnyd
“There must be more than just you two in the village” Di Smith noted and the conversation swayed around a bit as Bunty and I discussed the subject of dressing as nuns in a singalong Sound Of Music
I walked into the kitchen blurry eyed and there it was, sitting proudly onto of a large red onion
A turd the consistency of a mr whippy
It just looked like one of Mathew Bourne’s wigs from The Nutcracker
Roger jumped on a chair I had left next to the cooker and sprang onto the kitchen tops with a grin which said proudly
“ I did that!”
I had to stand for a long while…… processing the view
I’m working nights for two.
So today is a lazy day. I’ve made illy coffee in the Mokka and had free range eggs and garlic beans for breakfast.
Bloody lovely.
Yesterday I went to see Eirlys in her lived farmhouse not far from a chic Eleanor’s.
Her husband John , died last winter, so her grief remains pained and angry.
It was good to see her.
Eirlys taught me how to care for hens properly . She had a mixed flock of up to a hundred and all free ranged over her fields and lay in plastic buckets, inside tyres and feed troughs in her huge barn . Covid and John’s ill health has whittled the flock down to just four birds and it was weird sitting there without seeing a pecking beak and a glassy eye.
We talked about loneliness
And she vented, as we all need to vent.
The words like vomit, feeling easier when out.
And I asked to help me as one of the stewards on the flower show, which she happily agreed to.
I was just getting back into Bluebell when she called me from the house and she darted inside and hurried to the gate where she pressed two free range eggs into my hand
Have them for breakfast she said
And I just have , and bloody lovely they were too.
Now, this IS funny….well it’s funny as it is embarrassing
It’s about a chance conversation with a chap called Geraldo
When Colin and I were in Venice we both occasionally had a look out for any interesting Italians on Grindr. Colin being more of a gay dish than I had plenty of dings on his app
Me? Well I had one lol.
And that was with a melancholic designer , Geraldo who looked rather like Stanley Tucci’s younger and more reflective brother.
We chatted on and off for the duration of the holiday, and he was helpful suggesting places to go and restaurants to visit.
He told me He was always busy but loved to make pottery so, all excited I showed him a photo of my stubby horse and my obese camel
He seemed impressed but wasn’t forward in showing me a photo of his work
So I chased him up yesterday and he sent me a link
Apparently he is a renown potter, has a studio and teaches interior design in Venice
I almost died
I can’t believe , like Roger and his turd that I had shown my fat pony off as a piece of art!!!
Village leader Ian and I painted the now defunct village telephone box yesterday. It’s faded charm now a vibrant Pillar Box Red. It’s door fixed, it’s insides all ready for change.
The Trelawnyd Community Association has bought the box for the village
Please welcome our Information Hub and mini library.
Sailor John has designed the shelving and notice boards , so soon it will be a hub for bits and pieces not covered by the hall.
Not only will it house a tiny library, there will be emergency items such as a first aid kit and a puncture repair kit, local maps for walkers, information on local sites of interest and history, a village history book
And even a small food bank.
We are also planning a little solar light inside
Sweet.
Yesterday was the day we three on our counselling course was to find out whether we’d all be on the same course in University in September or not.
The course was over subscribed over North Wales so if all were accepted after interview several applicants would have to be put back to the next course which doesn’t start until January and which is based at the Bangor campus a good hours drive from the village. Donna , Caroline and myself all wanted to be starting in September at our local campus so there was much frantic what’sapping going on before we all realised that we would all be starting together. I was rather moved by it all as were my fellow potential counsellors. I think the three of us, all more mature students , understand the significance of the path we are about to take.
Not an easy journey for sure, but an important one and one made better for us all being together.
I will leave you with a beautiful comment
A wish , of someone nearing death.
It caught me totally unawares when it was spoken to me and I hope I’ve remembered it correctly,if found similar sayings online but that doesn’t matter
“ I hope death is like being carried to your bedroom by your father, when you were a child,
Or the time he lay you down on the couch on the sofa in a darkened living room during a family party
And you could hear all of the laughter from the next room”
