Odd one out

Whatever else is going on (test results still awaited) and in spite of the ups and downs and grinding frustrations of my present state I've got some mobility back and that's extraordinary.

The aspens are still as glorious, though over the last day or two I've noticed the very first yellow leaves on the ground beneath the trees.  We're a week away from Lughnasa, the start of the harvest. The summer is inching its way along towards autumn, the nights now imperceptibly lengthening.  There's a way to go yet of course but the first signs are there if you look.  A reminder, even on hot motionless July days, that the world is ceaselessly turning, that nothing is forever.

When I'm walking by the river I feel the odd one out. Nothing new there and I'm wearing my differences much more comfortably these days. But even at weekends I'm aware that I'm the only person who is just walking for pleasure (as well as therapy in my case). With a camera. On my own. There are a band of regular dog walkers. One or two joggers very occasionally.   All of us smile and say hello as we pass each other.  Maybe they wonder what I'm doing or - more probably - maybe they've got better things to think about.

 A dog might be nice though. Just for the walks. Perhaps I could borrow one?

Today, July 27th, would have been my father's birthday. Someone else who loved to walk just for the sake of it.  I'll light a candle.    

Red

To Whom it May Concern

Look, thank you so much for caring . Over the years you've been an amazing support, a rock, and I wouldn't have got this far without you.  But please understand that when I'm upset, really upset and despairing, I don't need to be fixed.  I need to be allowed to be upset and to let everything out. To have the tears flow, to wail, to moan and to gnash my teeth. Honestly, it helps.  If you try to fix me I feel an unhealthy obligation to our relationship to demonstrate that your latest bright idea-which-will-solve-everything is just what I need, even if it isn't. Otherwise you might walk away and that prospect terrifies me. I couldn't cope with it.

So. Don't worry. I know that this phase will pass even though it's impossible to explain to you the reasons for my certainty.  Just let it be and just continue to be there.  Keep doing what you do so very well.  I don't expect anything else. Don't be frightened or anxious.  It's not down to you to make everything right. Really. 

Tests

July is turning into a month of tests, medical tests. Blood. Urine. Etc.  Something is amiss and they (the NHS and the nutritionist - coming at it from different angles) aren't sure what it is. Even the trifling exercise of taking blood samples sends me into minor shock, physically and then emotionally.  The dam wall is breached. Tears and more tears.  If I didn't realise it before I do now: these days I'm a delicate flower.

Now, the wait for results. The last one won't be through till early August.  How's the thyroid?  Liver?  Kidneys?  Blood glucose?  Haemoglobin? Inflammatory markers?  Metabolism? Just give me answers. Tell me what's wrong.  And (hopefully) what's right. I want hard facts. Enough of not knowing, of fog. 

Today a bit of recuperation. Pottering around the house in the ad breaks of the Tour de France.

Farmhouse

Grey-green

It had rained heavily overnight but in the warmth of July the paths were already dry by the time I set out for the morning walk.  No sun though, grey and overcast, and you had to pay attention and look for the things that make you catch your breath, that make you happy. I'm trying to make a point each day on my walk to find something that does exactly that.  I would almost term it a spiritual practice but that's far too formal and solemn and not what the exercise is about. Today it was the soft, muted grey-green of the trees (willow, rowan, sycamore) bordering the river. 
 
The start of the river path is marked by a group of three tall and majestic aspens. (I do love the French word for the tree: le tremble).   Is it fanciful to say that these trees have an aura?  Well, too bad because they do.  The leaves rustle and quiver, whispering, at the slightest hint of a breeze. I draw breath and relax a bit each time I enter the glade.

****

It's Tour de France time again!  I'm a fan. This year it's starting in Yorkshire no less, and ITV4 is as usual doing us proud with its coverage.  I have to admit I watch as much for the fabulous scenery as for the finer points of the race itself but there is just enough jingoism left in me to hope, probably vainly, for a British win.  More than that though I hope that the race is clean.

Pattern

The poor thrush flew full tilt into the closed bedroom window and was killed on impact.  I retrieved it - gingerly - from the patio. 

As I can't dig the garden I had to dispose of it in the rubbish. I can tell you, this felt like sacrilege. But not before recording and marvelling at the beauty of the plumage. Just amazing.