We WILL Overcome

 

Having suffered a mega attack of the gloomies due to facing Christmas under the restrictions, then we all have to face yet another lockdown period until mid-January when all we are promised is a revue, a fit of Gloomies is not surprising. As somebody who is usually bursting with bright ideas for my love of writing and reading lots of poetry, it is not at all nice, when out of the blue, I had a dreadful nightmare that I could not shake off even after thought that I had woken up but with such a start, believing that my dream was fact.

 

My dream was, that I had suddenly thought that the way I was feeling was more than likely an indication that I had contracted the deadly virus. Leaping out of bed awake, but having not stepped away from the dream, I began sniffing with all my might and waggling my tongue wildly because I was sure that I had lost my sense of smell and also taste. One of the symptoms that interviewees had described on TV and radio. Without putting on any lights, I had darted out of the room barefoot and bare bottomed (I sleep in a rash vest or a tee shirt without jammy pants). I almost ran into the kitchen, where I opened the fridge and then the cupboards and began to frantically start opening jars, bottles, and packets, lowering my head and trying to smell them. I was sure that it was true, I couldn’t smell anything. I opened all the tea packets and tins; Rooibos… nothing. Dilmah’s Valley of the Kings, sniff, sniff…. Nothing. My best Earl Grey, even the Turmeric tea that friends had given me, sniff sniff…. Nothing. I stopped stock still for a moment and thought; what was the best food stuff smell I could think of.  A moment passed then I turned to a low cupboard the other side, where spare items not yet needed were kept. A new jar of my favourite coffee, that would be it. I searched for and found a new jar Clipper, Papua New Guinea rich roast single origin arabica coffee. Using all my strength I undid to new screw top, opening the cutlery drawer, I grabbed a small knife and stabbed violently at the gold paper seal, I tore the sealing paper all off and stuck my nose toward the pot but still I smelled nothing. I was horrified. How could I have caught the damn bug, when I had been isolated for ten months not meeting any of my sports friends, not having hugged a soul, running in the earliest hours in the woods to stay away from crowds. My heart sank and I thought that I would never get back to sleep even if I returned to bed. I sighed a huge sigh and realised that I did feel very tired but my heart was racing still. I poured some milk into a cup at popped it into the microwave for while then added some chocolate powder and a big slug of Grand Marnier and stirred vigorously.  

 

I opened another cupboard and took out a couple of Rich Tea biscuits I was talking to my little cat Birdy while I made my drink and dipped a biscuit in the hot chocolate until it was soggy-ish, then popped the biscuit into my mouth and bit the soggy side off. MMMMMM, hot chocolate with Grand Marnier and a dunking biscuit and did it taste good? MMMM… MMM. I smiled at the cat picked up the cup and another couple of biscuits and returned to bed. I recited the 23 Psalm in my head, which is one of the things that I have done at bedtime since I was a child, I sipped the lovely warming comforting drink. Turned the light out and went to sleep.

 The nightmare scenario had not woken Steve; nothing does. He woke up before me in the morning and went out to turn on the coffee machine. When I walked into the kitchen, he asked me what on earth had gone on there, since all the jars and tins were still littered everywhere. I told him about my dreadful dream and he laughed his head off as he started to tidy up the mess I had made.

 

Steve doesn’t worry about anything very much and so he is very good for me since I am a world class worry-guts.

This morning we went out together just for a walk, we both have tight muscles right now but luckily it is still a long time to a point in this strange time until there is even an outside chance of travelling somewhere to have a race holiday.

 

All things must pass and even though it seems as though this life will never be normal again; it will slowly creep that way once the vaccine helps to restore us to a more resilient state once more.

 

As we walked by the river and along the moat path, we saw the swan family there preening themselves and Steve took some nice photos of the almost full-grown swans that were tiny cute little cygnets in the spring and true to the story by Hans Christian Anderson they are almost fully white now with small beige patches. Life has not changed so much for them as it has for us this year but they have got through it until they are looking almost as lovely as their parents and I believe that the outlook will slowly improve for the rest of us. Eventually. We will overcome. 

 

 

 

 

A Christmas like no other

 

The river Arun and Arundel Castle looking their very best on a still sunny day.

To say that Christmas would not be the same this year would be a mammoth understatement. The approaching weeks seemed to me to be something of a nightmare for me. Certainly dream like; in that it was like being suspended in a vacuum to me.

 

This whole year has been horrible putting it mildly; a slow creeping foreboding, from the start as we waited, in disbelief that this was happening to us. I cannot bring myself to write the name of the monster in our midst any more. To me, it is as if there has been a slow time-slip back into the middle ages where a vile unstoppable disease slid into our lives, and our homes, killing at random. At the same setting up a division among the people of our amazing planet. Half seem to have sailed off up a river in Egypt, where they can live in denial even in the face of the great piles of refrigerated corpses.

 

It’s true that this time, there are not primitive carts being dragged through to streets with a filthy wretch of a crier shouting, “Bring out your dead”.  The death toll having passed 70.000 souls is shocking and as in the time of the Black Death during the middle ages, when in fairness the people had no idea what to do about it but throw the corpses on a shallow grave, on a fire or in the river, yet these dreadful statistics are being received with about as much importance as a gnat bite by all of us who know better or at least should.

 

                                               Sunrise on Christmas Day 2020

The rest of us, the other half, have done our best to follow the guide lines and stay in our home as far as possible. To behave in a responsible way and try to safeguard, not just ourselves but also our families, friends and neighbours. It seems to me that we, the sensible set, have lost the battle to the rabble, who are leading their lives exactly as they always have, without a care in the world for the older or vulnerable older folk in our midst.

 

Somehow, I feel like Alice during her nightmare Adventures in Wonderland, being surrounded by things that are totally alien to normal life and a lot of characters and creatures that could be dangerous, like the Queen of hearts and her willing minions, the rest of the pack.

 

Christmas Eve was the first time we have gone into somebody’s home for a meal since last July when Steve celebrated his 70^th birthday. My daughter Jacqueline and her husband Jacqueline had suggested that we spent Christmas Eve having dinner with them and exchanging gifts, as they had also done for Stephen’s birthday last summer. This celebration is something of a tradition between us and it was planned that we could still keep the required distance apart, since they have so much more space than we have in our own home.  The most awful thing; not being able to embrace my own daughter was be an emotional experience, though unavoidable. It was a splendid evening with an imaginative table decoration theme and meal prepared with artistry and flair in a perfect Christmas atmosphere. I need only mention a perfectly cooked main course of dainty Pheasant and Partridge fillets on a soft bed of creamed potatoes with sliced Girolle mushrooms on the side to paint a picture of somebody who is very much at ease in the kitchen.

 

This was in stark contrast to my total failure to get to grips with the festive season myself. All I have forced myself to do has been to open the Christmas cards. In the frame of mind that has held me firmly with a sense of having lost touch with reality and the impression of feeling cursed for so long over this year, I have not even put them on display as I have always done in the past by attaching them to our pretty leaded glass doors in the hall by sticking them with white tack. I didn’t wrap presents either just gave them placed in a bag to loved one who deserved much better treatment. Even that much, I have found to be a challenge too far, at a time when I could not invite friends inside in our home for months on end. Ten months to be more exact.

 

Even in normal times I do not over do the decorations. I like to stick to what to me, is the whole point of Christmas time, that being; that I put out one of the two dainty nativity scenes that usually only spends a bit short of eleven months of the year packed carefully and lovingly away. That was always it, in our house; Nativity and Christmas greetings cards. No Streamers, no tree, certainly no balloons. Nothing this year, due to my total failure to place a rocket up my rear end and make an effort in the face of this miserable year that has really got me down.

 

At dawn on Christmas Eve, Stephen and I touch a lovely walk in the woods and along the banks of the River Arun in Arundel. The photos today were our record of what a wonderful day that was weather wise. The river surface was like glass, reflecting the beauty there abouts. A still river surface is rare on the Arun, a stretch of water that seems always to be moving under the surface. Thank God and all the angels for the beauty of nature.

 

 

 

 

 

Into the Woods

Both Stephen and I felt tired and a bit off colour this morning when the alarm went off at the usual time for us to get ready for our Sunday run. The sound of the rain on the French doors brought us down to a slower pace to reconsider. Coffee first. Dreadful habit really, and one that we completely kicked for a while about forty years ago, during which time all our bike rides went to towns 15 to 20 miles away from home where we would cycle to Brighton, Horsham or Chichester, where there was a major coffee chain outlet. We would stand in the queue and inhale the smell of the freshly brewed nectar of the siren lobster lady, as we have long thought of her. We would order a black tea or a juice or a mineral water and drink that sitting inside to maximise the aroma of the evil liquid that we so wanted. We didn’t indulge in that passion for a good few years until we both decided that life was too short for such denial and what in the name of mercy, were we causing ourselves such suffering for. The fall back into the old addiction was short and sweet, very sweet. However, we did after serious discussions limit our daily intake to three cups per day with 3 pm as a no arguments, outside time limit. This rule is still in place and is manageable.

 

Back to today. We had had a tiring week, that involved a lot of miles in the truck earning a crust of bread with the work that presented itself. Within the UK and much of France, we know exactly which motorway rest stops have which coffee chain. We have done the same amount of exercise this week and had days of the same length and eaten the same food; Steve slightly more than me. This is because he does love his cooking but one of his downfalls/best points, depending on how you see it, is that he pays attention to his meal presentation (it is never just a messy pile of grub). So, what happens is that he like both dishes to look identical both have the same amount of everything including any art work trimming.

 

Knowing which side my bread is buttered, I rarely make any comment concerning the portions. One little trick that I have become quite proficient at is drawing his attention to something, maybe a passer by or a pretty bird on the lawn or some activity over the road or simply Miss Birdy the cat. Then during the time his attention is focused elsewhere, I quickly pass something from my plate to his. Finally, I will admit to being a lightweight and push my plate over to his side of the marble top table once he has cleared his plate. This seems to work, without him getting upset that I didn’t eat the dinner that he had slaved over a hot stove to prepare. 

 

This morning, instead of anything very energetic once it had stopped raining, we opted for a little Qigong. Well actually, we did several of the usual YouTube sessions with the same instructor but then Steve had found a new teacher and asked if I would like to see what her lesson was like. It was much slower and more deliberate than group we regularly follow and repetitions certainly did repeat. There was an in-depth set of Swimming Dragon that went on for an hour. It took each tiny part to pieces, so there we be no chance of not doing it correctly which we were most grateful for and went alone with our slow jerk free mood making balance and detail easier to follow.

 After that we took our second coffee and decided that since the weather had cleared up considerably to go out for a walk in the woods and gather a few photos, rather than run, putting our obviously tired muscles under pressure having spent a couple of hours clearing our muddled brains and relaxing our tired bodies.

 We chose to walk through the little wood that our cousin Sally had painted beautifully, she had had it made into a greetings card that had arrived yesterday and I had posted on Instagram. The painting showed that pretty woodland in summer and we had not run through there for quite a while, because in winter it can be very muddy indeed and that means slippery of course, neither of us needs to tempt any falls; falls can be costly to training programmes.

 

 We had been walking for about an hour and were deep into the woods even at the slow pace because it was getting a slippery with all the fallen leaves and the heavy rain that we have had lately. We had just made a turn onto a very narrow path when a large dog came hurtling toward us, barking and growling and with considerable amount of paw skid going on. He was an Alsatian type with a wall eye and a bit scruffy looking. Now I am of the opinion that any dog’s behaviour is all about the care its owner has taken to train it, not to mention how he or she has cared for it. This dog was badly behaved and was showing aggression. Steve was about fifty metres away from me and we both have the idea, right or wrong, that in a situation like this the best thing to do is to stand still and give the owner a chance to call it back or come and get it and put a lead on.

 

 

We heard the owner before we saw him and we also unfortunately saw his other two dogs. One a largish Collie cross type and another smaller Heinz that he had restrained and straining on a lead. The scruffy Alsatian run in unruly circles trying to herd in, Steve and myself. Steve moved toward me but I said it would be easier for the man to gather his dogs if we stayed still. The man was shouting at the dogs in a nasty aggressive way and they were not taking much notice of him at all, both dogs tearing around the two of us barking snapping and growling. Even that was not even as load as the foul language pouring out of the mouth of the man. He stopped shouting at the dogs and starting pouring out abuse at the two of us. Putting what he shouted at us a politely as possible, he said that we were a mental pair of self-abusers of various kinds and if we had carried on walking the dogs would have taken no notice of us. That was strange since we had stopped to stand still because of his dog’s unruly behaviour. The torrent of abuse from the man’s filthy mouth was endless. Neither Steve nor I are afraid of animals and I am sure the dogs knew that, because we were ignoring them. Eventually, that unpleasant man gathered the dogs and moved away in another direction.

 

Stephen and I moved on in the direction we had been walking, when clearly having taken a huge circle through the woods around us, the biggest dog, the Alsatian-ish creature came charging towards us from the front making one last sweep and I swear it was smiling as if to say “Goodbye hope to meet you again”!

 

We did actually feel most sorry for those three dogs because I said earlier, dogs can only learn from their owners, they take the patterns of the home and from the people who feed them. We felt sure that we know without doubt, which one in their household was the nasty aggressive ignorant one.

 

The rest of our winter woodland walk was absolutely lovely.