Obstacles And Onwards
Words On Storms And Hands On Heart
Thursday 6th February 2020 I have found some new muscles to hurt, hurrah! Discovery due to the wheelbarrow being turned to rust lace, so I improvised with a rescued fish box, dragging it like a sled to spread compost around the garden. Have ordered a new barrow today; currently am sat in bed to write, and appease the aches. Washing blows on the line. Cold sunny day. The crows have chased a buzzard out of the alopecia pine. Monday 10th February 2020 Busy, Tae Kwon-Doing, social weekend. Stormy weather which inconvenienced others more than us. Sunday evening we came home to an electric outage: lit candles, lit woodburner, opened wine. Thankful for a quiet work day. Can’t even immerse myself in research as the weather seems to have stifled internet access. Several rounds of thunder and hail. Did some stretches, did some writing, including this. At home a new wheelbarrow is awaiting and somehow the washing has stayed pegged to the line. It will not be dry, but well rinsed. Dog has creaky hips. Granma Grace has moved to a nursing home in Exeter. There is funding for 12 weeks, and uncertainty after that. Meanwhile my little care-charge (I am at work) is taking a break from keyboard solos to blow a few spit bubbles, put a fluffy caterpillar in her armpit, and stare at a pink plastic beach spade, like a permanently stoned faerie child. Monday 17th February 2020 Grace’s 90th birthday. We travelled to visit yesterday, more like a log flume ride than a drive: the floods higher than we’ve ever seen.
Grace is sleeping more than ever, but waking to eat without pain - the anti-sickness meds in the syringe driver are working and are still the only meds she will take. It is good to see her settled. She is in a private room, her windowsill filled with family photos and cards. She takes my hand after I’ve fed her lunch (chocolate pudding went down especially well) - she stumbles words but she says ‘this is my daughter-in-law,’ squeezing my hand. My sister-in-law is present too; I say only special people can have daughters as special as us. Grace pats her hand on her heart. ‘Yes,’ Mr says, ‘that’s you, Mum.’ She smiles. Today at work we went to view the weather from Perranporth, where the sea was milky-green, a storm-stirred salt soup. Gulls flew more backwards than forwards. Crows tried, and failed in unabashed circles. Tomorrow we are going to view a derelict cottage we probably can’t afford. It may be an underwhelming wreck, it may be an overwhelming love at first sight flight into a headwind. (I should also note that the new wheelbarrow is a fine purchase: last year’s compost is shared out, in spite of storms.) Monday 24th February 2020 I had set off early to take my favourite long commute over Bodmin Moor but as I was more sailing than driving it seemed wise to reconsider. At work, having to choose an indoor activity, we went to Plymouth, to the National Marine Aquarium, where our frustrations could be soothed by the waftings of passing fish.
(The derelict cottage we viewed last week was ankle deep in water, had too little garden space and we didn’t love it. Search continues.)