Where my pig is headed

they tried to persuade me not to cross

the curious hills; finally, shrugging

called me foolish, stubborn.

that’s how it is, I said, I’m going    

where my pig is headed. 

(Found this among my mementoes... not sure how long I've had it but it is many years.  It still has a resonance for to me. Probably sums me up quite well!)

Bullfinch bliss

Attribution: © Francis C. Franklin / CC-BY-30 (Creative Commons Licence) 

One of the moments of life that I remember with clarity as being among the most blissful of experiences happened years ago when I visited the RSPB reserve at Leighton Moss. I was on my own - and in those days, post divorce and getting used to a new state of being, that was an occasion of some bravery: a major trip out, alone, simply to enjoy myself. I walked the long circuit of the reserve, out along the Causeway. In those days the path continued beyond the reed beds, through woodland, to return to the Visitor Centre along the roadside. It was sunny and still and I’d already enjoyed seeing a feast of birds, harriers hunting across the marshes and all sorts. I entered a little clearing among the trees and there beheld a male bullfinch, one of only a handful I’d ever knowingly spotted, resplendent in his breeding plumage, such a stunning coral pink set off with black and blue grey wings. He took my breath away. I was suffused with joy, a perfect sense of bliss. We had a moment together before he went on his way. I’ve never forgotten the encounter, a real gift that somehow made things right and filled me with peace, not a relaxed peace but an energised sense that ‘all shall be well and all shall be well and all manner of things shall be well’. 

Given with love

These are two very precious objects to me. One is a (by now) threadbare silk cushion, dark grey, in a damask design. My daughter gave it to me, for my birthday or maybe at Christmas, when we had not lived in this house for very long and I was busy trying to make it into a comfortable and reasonably stylish home for us both. She was still at school, with limited funds of her own. I believe she bought it in Salts Mill. I was thrilled with it, both because she had taken the initiative to buy it for me and because it was beautiful and exactly complemented my bedroom decor. It has had pride of place on my bed ever since, for more than twenty years. Every time I’ve picked it up I have thought of my darling girl with so much love. It has kept her close. The cushion cover has, sadly, grown more and more fragile, as light (I suppose) has weakened its silk fibres. I’ve decided the time has come to throw it away, as the gaping tears can no longer be hidden or repaired. No matter, really, as what it represents is hidden away in my heart for all time, like a tiny, warm flame of light and love. I did, however, want to preserve at least some record of the cushion, so a photograph and a blog post will keep the memory alive. 

The second object in my picture is a soft, grey cat. It may be ‘Mog’, beloved of Judith Kerr’s children’s stories, or maybe just a similar lookalike. It has been in my possession for a much shorter time, and also habitually sits on my bed. It belonged originally to my youngest granddaughter, who brought it with her on one of the first visits she made here after the long initial period of Covid lockdown, when everything was feeling strange and discomforting, and we’d been kept apart as a family just when we’d have wanted to be together. M gave it to me as soon as she walked in my door, but I thought little of the gesture really, as she’s a child who always carries some soft toy or other - lately a sloth with long limbs but often a puppy dog or a small teddy. She has a huge collection of cuddly comforters. I thought it was her ‘animal of the day’. When time came for them to leave, I offered it back to her but she told me: ‘That’s for you, Gwan, to keep.’ My heart nearly burst. Here was my lovely granddaughter, for whom stuffed toys are the highest form of currency. She, barely seven at the time and yet as intuitively empathic as anyone I know, realised I might be feeling isolated and this was her remedy. Happily, it has worked. Every time I see it I feel a little warm glow. When I have my daily ten minutes quiet time (while my warm eye mask works its magic on my dry eyes!) I give it a little cuddle and count my blessings. 

As I say, two precious objects and a great deal of love. ❤️❤️

Fallen jewels

I've just heard that one of my friends has died. It was expected; she has been very ill for a while, but that doesn't lessen the blow. I've known her for well over twenty years. We actually didn't see each other that often, didn't socialise as such, but that doesn't matter. She was a true, trusted and wise friend whom I loved a lot. It was a hard-won friendship, in many ways. Intensely private, she didn't give her trust easily and our bond was worked out over a long time. It was a bond, for both of us. We didn't just 'chat' when we met, we really talked. She was a woman of taste: creative, artistic, a gardener, sculptor and ceramicist. She was a wonderful champion of my photography and encouraged me to pursue that. I'm very glad to have known her and her loss will leave a huge hole for me (though, of course, an even bigger one for her husband and three daughters, whose pain I can barely imagine). 

I'm sure I shall go through many emotions in the next few weeks. I can already feel the anger. The disease that killed her was the same cruel disease that took my mother too, although my friend was much younger than my mum. At this stage in life, I suppose we have to come to terms with our friendship group gradually diminishing but that doesn't make it easier or less painful. 

I took this photo today, before I heard the news, and yet it seems perhaps a fitting tribute. The fallen leaves still shine, so much like jewels. I'm sure she would have appreciated that. May she rest in peace. 

Nature’s first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf’s a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.

Nothing gold can stay.  

                                                Robert Frost

Out of the mouths of babes

When I was in my early twenties, I went to dinner at some friend's house and we ate from a delightful assortment of mismatched blue and white china. I thought it was really cool and decided that 'one day' I'd have the same. Given that we'd just been gifted a matching service of fine china as a wedding present, needless to say, I never even started a collection. Nevertheless the dream persisted in the back of my mind. Fast forward nearly fifty years to when I retired... I was idly reviewing my 'life goals' (as you do!), and I was reminded that this dream still wasn't a reality, though in the scheme of things it seemed eminently achievable. So I went off to Boundary Mills, which has a wonderful department chock full of all makes of china. I bought myself a small selection of Spode 'Blue Italian' plates and mugs and some blue and white bowls and plates from other manufacturers. Since then, I've added a few more pieces, including a rather lovely Japanese bowl. So, at last, my little private dream has come true, at least when I'm dining alone. (There isn't enough to spread around several guests.) In some small way, it gives me a great deal of pleasure. 

Or at least, it did.... My granddaughters came to visit and, now they are fairly well grown, they have graduated from the IKEA plastic dishes and plates that they used to use. So they were given food on a couple of my Spode plates. Having polished off her meal, my eldest grandgirl was studying the picture on the plate. Suddenly, she exclaimed, with horror in her voice: 'There is a picture of a man beating a woman!' Could this be true? How had I not seen this? On close inspection of the pattern, I can see exactly what she means. I had, I suppose, assumed (inasmuch as I'd ever really thought about it) that the couple were chasing the cattle or whatever the animals are that appear to have strayed into the water. Now she has put the domestic abuse scenario into my head, I can't really shake the notion off. It would be a lie to say this has completely spoiled my little, personal, long-held dream but it certainly gave it a knock!