Letter from home

I'm feeling more optimistic than I have for a while because I went to see the doctor about a number of things that have been bothering me and I'm hopeful that the prescription he's given me (informed by tests) will make me bouncy in body and soul, clear-thinking, and able to eat more cake. Fingers crossed.

Other happenings this week...

I went to the hairdresser, the same one I've been going to for 28 years, so we can avoid inanities and talk about real things, such as what to expect from the menopause and her first mammogram (because she is now of an age), and how cervical smear technology has changed - this last subject engendering much hilarity.

On Tuesday I decided that, as part of my seventieth year adventures, I'm going to do one brand new walk every week. We live up a lane and there are footpaths across fields in several directions within half a mile, so we often do the same old walks. When I put Dave on the spot, he admitted he doesn't actually like walking: he only does it for the exercise. This explains why he prefers to stay on hard surfaces, and doesn't want to explore. I am going to do it on my own, therefore, if a friend is not available.

I bought a brand new ordnance survey of the White Peak (where we live) to replace the old one that was printed before the whole of the Monsal Trail was opened up. And I bought a couple of pocket sized waterproof beauties of local footpaths. Here's the one of footpaths near the Monsal Trail. It's double-sided. The watch is to show you the scale - how dinky and practical the map is. It fits in my pocket and I love it! 

On our last sunny day, I began the new regime. I took the map with me for a bike ride up the Trail, stopped by a gate to a pre-chosen footpath, locked my bike to a tree, and climbed the steep incline to the top of the hill. What the picture below doesn't show is the huge drop behind the shrubs which leads back to the Trail. I spent an hour walking in all, circling back to the Trail on another footpath. Then cycled home. I've invented the Hepworth Di-Athlon. 

In summer I'll go up it again, when the fields are green and the leaves are out.

Here are some shots I took on the walk back down the hill:

The next day I went to the funeral of a friend. She wasn't a close friend but she was someone I liked and respected. She was much-loved by a lot of people. It was a beautiful occasion. She'd chosen Morning has Broken and Lord of the Dance as two of the hymns. The thing I was left with at the end was how fully she had embraced life, what a kind, true person she was, and how much she was loved, because she herself was loving and generous and constant. It made me think of that Larkin line - What will survive of us is love.