One year on

It's a year since Mum died.

I guess, because we lived 300 miles apart, there's a sense in which she remains alive in the same way she always was to me, a presence in my heart rather than in my sitting room.

I have also found more concrete ways for her to continue to be part of my life. 

I brought home some of her calligraphy artwork and have been gradually framing it for myself and the children.

My favourite is an experimental piece which says 'the test of a vocation is the love of the drudgery it involves.'  This was a quote she often repeated, as she enjoyed every aspect of her calligraphy, and even learned how to cut goose quills and to make ink from soot and oak apples.

Amongst the artwork there was also a drawing - a swift chalk portrait of me as a little girl. If it were possible, everyone should have their portrait drawn by someone who really loves them. There can be no likeness as cherished.

And if I want a hug, I can still find her love in the indestructible sweaters she knitted me. 

There are many other ways in which her life still touches mine and I do believe that as time goes by, I think of her more, not less.

Well, well, well

Sometimes we are so busy rushing off on tourism expeditions in other places that we fail to explore our own stamping ground.

For eighteen years, I have walked up and down Holywell Hill in St Albans without showing the proper curiosity.

Last weekend, following a Ver Valley Walk leaflet with Trisha and Duncan, I was gobsmacked to discover that the eponymous holy well still exists.

In the incongruous depths of a housing estate, there it was. Now all neatly block paved, first appearances were disappointing. But peering into its depths, there was a magical glimpse of worn brick clothed in harts-tongue fern and emerald moss. Yes, this was old.

At least three legends are associated with the well.

St Alban, Britain’s first Christian martyr in the 3^rd century AD may have gasped for a drink there on his way to be executed higher up the hill. God miraculously brought the well into being to answer Alban’s prayers.

Or it may be that following his execution, his severed head rolled down the hill and came to rest here, and the spring flowed miraculously from the ground in response.

Later, King Uther Pendragon, (father of King Arthur) had a great battle with the Saxons in the ruins of the Roman city of Verulamium and healed his wounds here by bathing them in water from this well.

Or, as the Ver Valley leaflet pointed out, maybe the well was just a feature of an eighteenth century garden which once covered this spot.

Pah! I choose to believe the myths and miracles.

And I resolve to keep an eye open for what else I have missed while living in this historic city for eighteen years.

Try a new thing

At this time of year, part of me wants to stay in and hibernate, but part of me is ready to greet the new year with new adventures, and that is what happened last weekend.

On Friday, walking near local lakes with Carol and Diane I suggested we take a path that was new to us. We did. We gained views of a sunlit lake and got really close up to watch a goldcrest and redpolls foraging among the alders.  However, the end of the path was so flooded it looked more like a river than the nearby river did, and we had to retreat and go round the long way.

Saturday with Nigel, and again we diverted from our usual route, this time to explore an Iron Age settlement surrounded by a massive earthwork known picturesquely as The Devil's Dyke. We marvelled at the scale of the earthen banks, and read aged (and probably erroneous) signs declaring that Julius Caesar had fought there. Then Nigel managed to create a new circular walk from the settlement.  It ended up being a couple of miles longer than the amble we'd planned and we were both a bit weary and hungry by the time we regained our car.

So there are two alternative learnings I could glean from last weekend:-

• Don't try anything new - it'll cause you inconvenience.
• OR Take a chance on a new adventure and see where you end up.

I would say our experiences support both equally, but what I will say is - it felt GREAT to be trying something new.

Cosy Crime Debacle

 

It was very January today, when I went out for my morning walk - grey and spitting with drizzle.

UNTIL I saw on the pavement a short trail of Scrabble tiles.  

Perhaps I had stumbled into the pages of a cosy crime novel - somebody had left me a clue!

If I were to turn them all rightside up, and anagram them mercilessly, they would tell me what my next move should be.  Or perhaps the name of the murderer. 

This grey day was about to become much more exciting.

I stood looking at them.

On the other hand, lying there on the sludgy grey pavement, the grubby tiles were pretty unappealing.

And did I really want to get my hands dirty?

I sighed and started walking again.

Only another two weeks of January left to go.

Photo at top by Clarissa Watson on Unsplash

Second photo by Clare

insufficiently cutthroat

I've been collecting feedback and reviewing Christmas with a view to improving my festive performance for next year.

 There were many strong points but also some areas for improvement. 

I cleverly arranged for none of the family to have flu or Covid over the Christmas. I booked great weather, so our habitual muddy walks were bathed in sunlight. I managed to display just the right degree of fatigue so that everybody helped with the cooking and produced feasts which were not only low in carbon footprint but also delicious. 

On the other hand, I failed to be sufficiently cutthroat. I dopily omitted to secure a supermarket shopping delivery, meaning that Nigel had to trudge to Morrisons.

I left it too late to buy the Christmas Radio Times, forcing family members to scour a variety of newsagents.

Perhaps at least my failing has a use. It will supply my New Year's resolution. 'Be more cutthroat!' This seems a fitting end to the festive season.