Passing it on

  My sweet pea seedlings have been living on the bedroom windowsill for weeks, but on Friday I decided they were hearty enough to go outside in the cold frame. So now I have regained my lovely uncluttered view of the spring trees.

Yesterday was a Refugee Hospitality Day, for which I prepared five lunch dishes. I also went down to the Meeting House to help set out the crafts and games. And I took these posies for the lunch tables.

Last year, two of the committee resigned for personal and health reasons before I had the chance to say that I wanted to reduce my contribution, because it was getting to be too much. I have been a key member of the small committee for 9 years, since the beginning, and I was finding the days stressful as well as the usual exhausting. I felt very sad, because I still believed in the events we have run. Our guests have loved the days they have spent with us in Bakewell, and we have found them so rewarding. It has felt like such a worthwhile and community-affirming enterprise, and such a positive thing to do in this world rife with hate, particularly against refugees.

But the resignations meant we had insufficient people power to carry on, as only one person was still able to give 100%. He was determined to continue somehow. And then one of our newest volunteers couldn’t believe that such a great initiative should be ending, and said she’d be on the committee, so there were two members, but still not enough.

This was the situation last September. I was feeling sad and concerned. Should I have stepped back? 

But the upshot was that a new committee was formed, with me as background advisor, still providing as much cooking as always, and helping to set up on the day. And yesterday the first one happened. I was there at the beginning and the ending, and it had obviously been another wonderful day. Visitors and volunteers were smiling and happy. They were speaking in a circle about what they had enjoyed most in the day, and there was a lot of laughter.

I helped clear up, and pack away the crafts, and then came home. I am pleased - with all my heart - that this enterprise/project that has been going for so long, and that I have been a key player in, is going to continue. 

Empty space

The longer I leave between blog posts the harder it becomes to write a new one.

Who wants to read about politics these days? It’s all dire.

Who wants to hear me wittering on about being 76 and trying to work out where I fit in the world?

This morning my elder brother suggested I should read through my blog book (Days Are Where We Live) and decide what works, and then write something. But all the posts in the blog book work…that’s why I picked them. They were the best posts from the years 2010 - 2019 (inclusive.) There was a lot of dross left out. 

Talking to him about the blog helped me clarify my thoughts about it. In order to write a successful post, it’s not like writing a diary entry: something has to happen that makes me feel a certain way  - amused or intrigued, puzzled or sad, happy or angry - and it’s the feelings that prompt me to write. 

And the situation right now is this: I feel as though I’ve said everything there is to say about my life from day to day. I am still puzzling about what my role is at this age/stage. And lastly, the feelings I have now about everyday life are generally ones I don’t want to air in public discussion.

For some reason I have not been able to paint for weeks, but today I finished this:

Or perhaps it isn’t finished. I can’t say right now.

And neither can I say if the blog is finished. So keep dropping in to see.

It’s been a bright cold day in May. I’ve felt under par. There’s a refugee hospitality day on Saturday and I am contributing to that in various ways. And next week I’m going to Wensleydale for three days with my friend Liz. After that - who knows?