One of the worst days of 2020 for me was when we decided to comply with the sudden rule change and not have the twins home for Christmas. It wasn’t great for them either. It meant that the last time the whole family had been together was a day in early October when we celebrated my birthday at Kew.
I tried to have a sense of proportion – as a family we haven’t
suffered any Covid death. My work has decreased as a result of Covid, but Nigel
and the children are all in jobs. We’ve
been very lucky. But even so, I did miss
seeing our children.
For me this has opened a window on the way WWII was for so
many – feeling sad but determined not to grumble as it would be disrespectful
to others who had sustained much greater losses.
However, although I had tried to cultivate a balanced
outlook, when, finally, after eight months, we all got to spend the weekend
together, it meant a great deal.
Excellent weather gilded the weekend. As we walked in the countryside, the
hedgerows were at the peak of their loveliness with their lace trim of cow
parsley and stitchwort, and beyond, the yellow rape flowers Van-Goghed the fields.
But I would have been happy, even if it had poured down.
No comments:
Post a Comment