Buttercups and Daisies

 It’s been so beautiful here this last month. The May blossom has faded now, and the cow parsley is on the turn, but ox-eye daisies(moonpennies) are coming into their own,

 and the buttercups are a wow…

Daisies are our silver,

Buttercups our gold.

These are all the treasures 

We can have or hold.

They are a constant inspiration…

Wayside daisies. On display in the Ashbourne Art Exhibition, June 20 - July 4.

The year the buttercups grew tall. Sold.

Moonpennies.

Daisies. Not for sale.

Daisies on the Trail. Sold.

Happiness

 I’m sorry but I’ve just got to say something about Tony Blair’s latest advice to Labour. 

Does he really think anyone cares what he has to say after the Iraq war? after he joined the Gaza “Board of peace”? when he says we should move closer to America? 

My response is PSHAW.

Moving on…on Tuesday I had a wonderful and a hot day in Liverpool, visiting my old university friend, Margaret. It was excellent! We caught up some more on each other’s lives from the last 25 years, I met her husband for the first time (though I’ve been reading his Christmas newsletter for 50 years), and we went on the ferry across the Mersey. I couldn’t have my photo taken next to the statues of the Beatles  because we didn’t have the time to queue.

Margaret’s memory is phenomenal. She even remembers an essay I wrote comparing the poetry of Blake to the songs of Dylan. I have no memory of that whatsoever. She also insists I am not an intellectual lowlife. I need more friends like this!

I did some hard work sorting out the garden yesterday and feel pleased with myself. There is more to do, of course. 

I had all four of my paintings accepted for the Ashbourne Art Festival Exhibition.

It’s going to be another sunny day.

Two small boys are coming to visit.

This is how I feel - William Stafford’s poem Any Morning:

Mish mash

 I knew it was going to be blisteringly hot again yesterday, but I needed some exercise, so I went out on my bike very early. 

“Make sure you shut all the windows,” Dave said, as he set off on his. 

Dave and I agree wholeheartedly about a lot of things - politics, the utter crapness of Starmer, the bliss of cycling, the delightfulness of small children, how funny it is when Joey in Friends says “supposably” - but we don’t agree about windows. On hot days he goes around the house opening every single window, even in rooms we’re not using. I open them selectively.

So anyway, I shut all the windows he had opened, and set off. I’d been cycling for half an hour, when I started worrying. Had I shut them all? I could remember doing the ones upstairs, but what about the kitchen window? No memory at all. Anxiety set in (which it seems to do far too easily these days) and I turned the bike round and cycled home as fast as I could, arriving hot and bothered to a closed kitchen window. 

So I parked my bike and without even going in the house, I walked up the back garden to the seat we have under the plum tree, and drank my flask of coffee there. 

 

It was heavenly, and easy to imagine I was in a wild patch off the Trail, because we do No Mow May on our top back lawn.

After that I planted the sweet peas, repotted some pelargoniums and collapsed because of the heat.

In the afternoon, MsX and family came and I had a lot of fun playing pretend games, while MsX’s parents tried to get us up to date with our technology. First our recalcitrant telly, with no success, and secondly our car. The latter may be a success, but it doesn’t  have a CD player, so the lovely Jaine showed Dave how to use blue tooth to play music from a phone. The trouble is that Dave doesn’t have a phone, and I don’t have music on mine. Life used to be so simple. Buy a CD: stick it in a player. I miss mechanics.

Today, I’m going on a day trip to Liverpool to meet up with a friend from University. More fun.

Letter from home

It has been a quiet week at Hepworth Towers.

The family member who declines to be named rang on Thursday to ask if I’d go over at the weekend with Dave (who was going to help with some landscaping) because on Tuesday MsX had come out of pre-school and said she thought Sue was picking her up.

The lovely Jaine asked her why she thought that, and MsX said “Because I love her and I miss her.”

You can imagine how I felt when I heard this. And of course I said yes, I’ll go. I was missing her too.

Then at half past seven in the morning on Saturday, the family member who declines to be named rang to tell me that he thought I should know that MsX had a nasty cough and the lovely Jaine also had a bit of a cough. If I didn’t want to go because of the risk of catching something worse (as grandparents often do) then they would understand.

Readers, I went. MsX is irresistible, just like all of my other grandchildren.

Our garden has been looking lovely for a month, and now the bluebells are fading, the wallflowers are nearly over, and the honeysuckle is out. 

The cow parsley is at full height along the lane. I’m in heaven. There is nothing that compares to May in the Derbyshire Dales.

View from our lane

Just round the lane from Hepworth Towers

I’m watering my wildflower patches every evening, and they’re certainly germinating, which is encouraging. I’m waiting for Dave to put up the canes so I can plant my sweet peas. Our blackbird has been singing for much of every day and when I go out and hear him I always call up to him on the chimney, or the laburnum tree, or next doors larch, and say hello. I tell him how lovely it is to hear him. I’m an utter soppy date when it comes to our blackbird. 

Today we have to drive over to Ashbourne, 35 minutes away, to deliver some paintings I am submitting to the Ashbourne Art Festival exhibition. We’re allowed to submit up to four paintings. These are they. They are ones I want to sell. We have run out of space on our walls. Wish me luck!

That’s my week. I hope you’ve had a good one, and that you’re free to enjoy this glorious weather.

Old crocks on the road

 If you book something called a ‘private en-suite room’ you expect to be able to step out of bed take a couple of steps and sit on the loo, don’t you? 

Liz and I stayed in a great Youth Hostel last week and I was lucky enough to have a room with a double bed and views of Swaledale and fresh beech leaves.

It was billed as en-suite, which I’d been very pleased about because I need to go to the loo in the middle of the night at least twice. At home, I creep along the landing in the dark and manage to stay semi comatose so I can slip straight back to sleep. But this “en-suite” room was outside my bedroom door and up twelve steep steps. 

When you got to the top there was a cavernous room where a bright light went on automatically. It was palatial and it had the same lovely views…

but it wasn’t exactly what an old crock like me was looking for when she books an en-suite. 😀

Having said all of that, I loved the hostel, and I loved the trip. We had chilly temperatures, sunshine and showers, in which we never got soaked, and that was far preferable to dry weather with a blank grey sky. Swaledale and Wensleydale were looking lovely, and we had some good walks. But when two dopey friends in their seventies go for a five mile hike there are sometimes hiccups…

I missed a footpath sign that was plain to see;

In a churchyard Liz found some unusual flowers “Sue, come and look at these, they’re like a tiny sedum! Oh! They’re plastic!”

Trying to find the way is a palaver when you have to take off your rucksack to find your reading glasses before you can read the map;

We forgot to take our walking poles and really needed them on slippy wet stones;

Photo by Liz. Note my pose.

We forgot to take our mats for coffee break and had to adopt the one buttock pose against a drystone wall;

I thought I was talking to Liz in a visitor centre and looked up to see it was a friendly stranger I’d been discussing a calendar with.

We visited waterfalls which were not very full, though still impressive in their way:

Hardraw Force

Aysgarth Middle Falls

Aysgarth Lower Falls

Now I’m home and have an equally lovely view from the bedroom window. 

I’m getting ready to submit some paintings for an art exhibition. Wish me luck.

Meanwhile, here are some extra photos of the holiday…

Photo by Liz

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?

Idle and blessed

 I share my angst with you on the blog, so I am going to share my happiness too.

We are not having the heating on at all because of the price of domestic heating oil, and when at teatime we haven’t yet lit the fire, and I feel cold and miserable, I dread next winter, with rationed heating. But… now that the spring is here I’m saying to myself with absolutely no effort, Don’t think about next winter, it’s lovely now. Enjoy now! 

Finally - thanks to the awfulness out there - I have achieved being in the now, enjoying the moment.

This morning I rode up the Monsal Trail as far as Millers Dale station and locked up my bike, and walked down the steps to the river. There is a lot of sunshine to be had down there because the leaves on the trees are not fully out. I found a comfy spot and drank my coffee 

and sat looking at the river, listening to the river, lapping up the sunshine, and I was perfectly happy. Not a worry. not a disturbing thought. How lucky am I to have such lovely places so accessible? The price I pay for them is the long dark winters, but now I am here, in the sunny spring, being “idle and blessed.”

The quote is from Mary Oliver’s poem “The Summer Day”

A pedestrian post

This last week was swallowed up in buying a car, although I did fit in two long walks with friends as well, as respite.

But back to the car. 

Our car must be relatively inexpensive. It is to get us from A to B, with plenty of usable room for Dave to transport all his DIY stuff. We don’t need touchscreens, Bluetooth or any of the latest tech. We like basic. But we like reliable. Our first car was a battered old Land Rover and Dave still yearns for it. He once mended the exhaust pipe with a Heinz baby food tin and a couple of jubilee clips.

The second thing to say is that although Dave can mend and make anything in wood, car mechanics is a blind spot. And I am completely lacking in any ability or aptitude for anything more complicated than a screwdriver. So…we don’t feel adequate when it comes to buying cars, and dread it when we need to, because our current one is getting past it. We are also very straightforward people who don’t like argy bargy.

Thank goodness that the salesman was a good guy and we bought a car we are pleased with. There is a much bigger story behind all of this, but it’s one I can’t tell on the blog. Suffice to say that the salesman made our week so much nicer, and in various ways. Thank you, R.

Despite all of this, we ended the week worn out with stress. My aging hippy friend Karen has a word for this which I’m going to adopt - shredded. I talked to another friend of a similar age and we agreed that dealing with heavy duty admin is so taxing at this age that we try to do it in the morning, and certainly not after five o clock. And on some days we don’t feel up to it at all, as in “I can’t face fixing up the car insurance today, I’ll do it tomorrow.”

I am glorying in the spring, and our garden is full of colour. 

Three year old MsX is also glorying in the spring. She said to her mum “I love spring. I love spring. I hate winter. It’s my worst day of the week.”

And at Hepworth Towers the next grown up thing we need to do is sort out the roof.

A long letter from home

 I went to pick up MsX from nursery this week. (Sorry, MsX! Sorry! Not nursery, but pre-school, because she’s three and she’s a big girl now…This is what she would say to me.) 

And as we set off home down the road the first thing she said was “I love spring.”

“So do I,” I said.

And I do, but as I was hanging out the washing this morning, the opening lines of T S Eliot’s The Waste Land came to mind…

April is the cruellest month, breeding  

Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing 

memory and desire, stirring 

dead roots with spring rain.

…because I feel in a weird frame of mind right now. Boxed in, restless and useless, with a background anxiety. 

I’m sure the state of the world, and the possible future of the world is mostly to blame for my unease, but it’s also the spring, and it’s also my age, with all that implies - waning energy, awareness of the shortness of life, trying to make the most of every day while also trying to plan for an increasingly uncertain future.

Every day my email inbox fills with messages from pressure groups - Campaign Against the Arms Trade, CND, Safe Passage, Palestine Solidarity Campaign, the Refuser Solidarity Network, Jewish Voice for Peace, the Good Shepherd Collective, Upbeat Communities, the BDS movement, the Good Law Project… and most of them want me to do something - write a letter, give money, sign a petition, go on a march, and I sometimes do what they ask, and sometimes I don’t read the emails - it’s all too much. But I can’t delete them either, because that would mean that what they’re writing about isn’t important, or that the plight of the people they’re writing about doesn’t matter. So the emails sit there, accusing me, worrying me.

I have been working on a painting for three weeks now and it’s been making me miserable because I can’t get it right, so I’ve finally put it to one side. I might go back to it in the future. Dave says that all artists have paintings they put to one side and keep returning to, sometimes over years, because they can’t get them right. I am sure that’s true. The trouble is I have no idea what I want to paint instead.

This  - above - was the blog post I was writing yesterday, and it didn’t come to a conclusion, except I thought I might use this Mary Oliver poem, which is always a comfort.

But this morning when I woke up and the sun was shining and the tender new leaves of the copper beech looked even more beautiful than yesterday

Yesterday afternoon at 4pm

This morning at 6.24

and I thought it would be better to write a post listing things that happened this week that made me happy, so…

The new leaves - particularly on the copper beeches and silver birches in our garden

Sitting in Meeting last Sunday morning with all the other Friends, with the sun pouring in through the high windows

Sitting in Chrissie’s garden with her on Tuesday, eating lunch

FaceTiming with Lux in Colorado on Tuesday

The time I spent with MsX on Thursday

Having lunch with Dave on Friday at our favourite cafe, The Old Smithy at Beeley

Talking to Liz on the phone yesterday morning early

Hanging out the washing in the sunshine yesterday

After tea yesterday when Dave brought home a wonderful doll’s house we bought from the small ads for MsX to play with and it was ten times nicer than the ad had led me to believe it was, so much so that I wanted to ring up and invite the family to come over today just so we could play with it.

I realise that bike rides aren’t in the list and that’s because when it wasn’t raining I had other commitments.

So. There you are. That’s me.

How are YOU all coping with this increasingly disturbing and uncertain world?