Autumn is now in full swing. Week at work was OK – still worrying though that the organisation I work for doesn’t seem to have a sensible way of deciding who does what.
Our car … remarkable primarily for its age (which, of course, I shan’t reveal), and its mileage, which I expect this week-end to reach 130,000.
That is, in the sense that he has reached the end of his working life, not that he is shy and …
An emotional service this morning, as our minister preached his last sermon in our church. The readings started in Genesis and finished in Revelation, as I guess that he aimed for a complete summing up of the message he has sought to impart for the past 21 years.
And the theme of endings continued, as this afternoon I cut the grass for (hopefully) the last time this year; and I’ve been rewarded with some pleasant autumn sunshine to round off the day. Rounding off the holiday, too, unfortunately – back to work to-morrow.
It hasn’t been an easy few days, but perhaps things are still working out for the best. Quite an emotional time for everyone; my parents moved to a new place when my father retired (I guess around 25 years ago), and my mother has now decided that she should move into sheltered accommodation – basically a smaller house, with a warden on site. My father died nearly 10 years ago – the year that our daughter was born.
Shortly after we arrived at my mother’s house on Saturday evening, my mother and I had a fierce argument over a cupboard which, for some reason I still don’t understand, she has been trying to say for years that we should locate in a particular place in our house. She has now taken the door off, so that it looks like a narrow bookcase, and has put memorabilia relating to my father on the shelves. She said again that it should go into our house (after she dies). Obviously I do want to keep these precious things that remind us of my father, but not necessarily where she has decided that they should go. Of course, I was tired from driving, and the disappointment over the caravan; and granny is understandably anxious about the impending move.
Apart from those few minutes, we had a good time at granny’s, and she is glad that we were able to spend some time together in the old house. We did help with the packing, but I guess that our presence was more valuable than anything we were able to do.
The first indication of a problem appeared on Saturday morning, when wife remarked that we had received no letter of confirmation from the people whose caravan we were to be staying in. The postal strike was the obvious cause, but we felt anxious. We didn’t want to phone them on a Saturday; the office would be closed, so we’d have to phone someone’s mobile. I did have one try, but got a wrong number – I didn’t know if it had been the number on the card that was wrong, or if I’d mistyped. So we set off.
When we got there, the management were at first reluctant to let us have the key without a letter of confirmation, but eventually did so – we all thought that the postal strike was the likeliest reason why it hadn’t reached us. And so we started to settle in. It was just as we were walking back to the caravan after a while in the centre building that the lady from reception caught up with us and said that another family had arrived. We said immediately that we would move out – clearly a mistake had been made somewhere, and we did not want the other family’s holiday to be spoiled. At first, they offered us a place in another caravan at another site (which happens to be just a couple of miles from where we live), but then when we arrived with the key having cleared our stuff out of the caravan they told us that there wasn’t a space after all.
On the spur of the moment, rather than drive home with our tails between our legs, we decided to drive to my mother’s. It meant driving past our house (almost) and then the same distance again, but we just couldn’t face the thought of returning to the house we had left that morning.
So here we are. In a way, it has been good to spend a few days with my mother. She has just sold her house, and bought a smaller place, so this was our last chance to spend some time in the old house.
I don’t usually leave it until the day we leave to start packing. In fact, I packed the first item last night – son said I was to take my swimming trunks – I usually forget them, probably because I don’t enjoy swimming. So why am I blogging, and not getting on with it?
The last entry was a bit of a gnomic utterance – it was kind of you to pay any attention at all, let alone respond.
These days, I’m just tired. And the silliest things throw me. I have been kind to myself, and bought a new camera. It’s an Olympus ‘point and shoot’, perfect, I thought, for carrying with me everywhere, and taking advantage of unexpected opportunities. Such as this morning, as I sat in the front of the bus, and was intrigued by the quality of light spread across Edinburgh by the rising sun. I got the camera out of my rucsac, but, as it happened, there wasn’t really a photo there. At that point, I guess, my phone rang (or buzzed and played), and, I suppose, answering the phone, I forgot that I hadn’t closed my rucsac properly.
No problem, until I descended the stairs to get off the bus, and as I reached the bottom, heard a thump behind me. The camera was lying on the second bottom step; I don’t suppose that it had fallen far, perhaps a couple of feet at most. It doesn’t appear to have been damaged – but with a complex piece of machinery, how do you know? What if a fault develops over time? Part of me says – it crashed to the floor, it must have suffered some consequence. Another part of me says – surely they’ve designed the camera to withstand some rough treatment; it does have a metal body. I’d feel silly, taking it back to the shop, or contacting the manufacturers, to say – well there doesn’t appear to be a problem, do you think there should be?
As I say, the silliest things. It’s just that I don’t know how to deal with them. In this case, perhaps, the best thing is to be relieved that it didn’t, for example, fall on to the street, and to learn from the experience. I’d like to take the camera everywhere, but, to be honest, taking it to work probably isn’t a good idea.
Although, I guess that if it had, someone could have said that it wasn’t Scottish enough. But, to me, yesterday evening had all the spirit of a real ceilidh. Not just dancing, but songs and games as well. It was focused on the children, but adults could join in (indeed, were encouraged to do so). All credit to Gary Coupland, literally a one man band, keeping everything going. And many thanks to Jan for the heads up. I hope that you’re feeling better – I should be returning your compliment, and keeping up with your blog, and I would have known that you’ve had a particularly difficult week.