A good day

I began yesterday in tears while chatting to Dave about the state of the world and Gaza in particular.

After that it got better.

I picked some Lenten roses from the garden for Mary’s bench, as yesterday was nine years since she died. I then drove to Sheffield and collected my thirteen tickets for my trip to Cornwall next Monday. I had to sit on a bench at the station while I checked I had every stage of the journey covered, and as I did, I fell into conversation with a lovely stranger about the benefits of split ticketing. I like talking to strangers. It’s invigorating.

I thought I’d pop in the Millennium Gallery on the way up through town, to see their latest exhibition, but I had to wait outside for it to open and in doing so had a conversation with another stranger. More interest.

Then I went to the Fronteer Gallery to see my painting. (Mine is the one of daisies.)

After that I had one last stop - the bench at the park to leave my flowers. It was bitterly cold with the odd spot of rain as I walked down the hill and I was thinking ‘Do I really want to sit on the bench with a coffee and look at the pond and the ducks and have a little think, like I usually do? It’s horrid! It’s so cold!’

But when the bench came into view, I saw Mary’s husband John sitting on it, and then I saw his two small and delightful grandsons and Mary’s daughter Jessie. What joy. We exclaimed and hugged and John said ‘I wondered if we’d see you here’ and Jessie went to buy the boys ice creams and coffee for us. 

 

Jessie and me

There’s a page in my comfort/encouragement book Keep Moving that says

And the day continued with pancakes for lunch at home (dear overseas readers, it was pancake day) and then I continued work on my latest painting which is in its very early stages but is coming along nicely

And then in the evening it was fish and chips with a catch-up at the pub with Chrissie.

A good day.