FALLING WITH RELIEF INTO THE WEEKEND
“Its like someone has been drinking vodka here!” one of my companions said as we walked on the north side of Ardmore. We kept on coming across shiny shards of ice looking just like, as he said, a series of broken vodka bottles from an ill advised evening celebration. I made sure to keep Dash and his feet from the jagged edges.
I like these walks, they are meant to be about photography but on this one in particular, photographs rarely came to mind.
I had arrived a little early, after walking Dash in Dumbarton and doing the shopping while waiting on Wendy finishing her class. She arrived at the car full of the joys of the beginning of the weekend while I giggled at myself for my quick excursion into Liddles to see if they had any of the padrona peppers I love so much. I had walked out empty handed thinking about telling staff enquiring at my empty bags that I had only come in for the peppers. Maybe the person speaking on the radio last night as if he were the only person to have ever experienced poverty in Scotland, and the only person with answers and the lived experience to give those answers to his adoring audience had more of a point than I gave him credit for!
By the edge of the Clyde I put my wellies on and again wished I looked after my health better and that the reason my calves struggled against the rubber was really due to excess muscle rather than excess flab.
It was cold waiting. Dash didn’t notice but I did. I shivered; wished I had my thick coat and remembered the paths of this morning, with a film of rain water covering the ice below and my slightly stilted, cautious walk.
When the others from Jeans Bothy arrived we set off; me feeling slightly proprietary as I come here almost every day while some of the others have never been here before.
Kath asked me how my week had been and I don’t know why but I said
“Fine; a good week.”
My house might sell soon which means we should be able to pay off Wendy’s mortgage and a very good friend had phoned to ask if we would come to dinner with her and her husband when they visit in a few weeks’ time. As she has been out of sight from us, apart from texts, for the last five years because of the horrendous depression she experiences, this was the most wonderful news in a long time. She thinks it is a new medication she is taking that has given a hint of energy and excitement to her voice. Whatever it is, I am delighted. I would not trade my schizophrenia for her depression in a hundred years.
But despite that, yesterday had been a lost day. I woke bleary and unwilling to think and do, just craving a chance to go back to bed. In fact that is just what I did after the children went to school. The evening before, one of my best friends or at least she feels like one of my best friends even though we only speak occasionally, had told me that a cancer I hadn’t known about had returned and that they had stopped treatment for the moment, though when it gets worse again, as it surely will, they have some plans to help delay what will happen relatively soon.
When she calls we always talk about serious things but with a lightness in our hearts and the joy of launching into jokes and giggles as soon as we start speaking and so, when she told me the news, that by the way she had had a health scare, I continued to be light hearted while she said she now valued every extra day she had.
I wanted to cry at the same time as joking about the absurdity of life. I wanted to say
“You can’t die; you are my oldest friend. All those years of laughter and silliness and changing the world. I don’t want them to stop.”
Instead we carried on soothing each other with our laughter but when I reached yesterday, apart from walking Dash in the frost, I huddled in bed and regretted bitterly that this is how life is for all of us.
I didn’t tell Kath this. I wanted to but thought maybe there are better ways of having a Saturday walk than talking about sad things.
We were meant to be taking photos with a wintry theme, the far off hills were indeed covered in snow but today was much more typical: grey. Grey everywhere. A grey sea, dull puddles, grey smooth clouds though I have to admit they were very pretty.
Dash being on an extended lead kept on getting in people’s way so I tended to stay either at the front of our small group or towards the back.
I loved the walk; especially once it was clear we would go right round the isthmus. Getting slightly warmer with my movement, listening to one of our companions booming voice and the pleasure that he takes in just talking, meeting other dog walkers. Seeing cormorants and a variety of other diving birds. Ducks of all sorts drifting on the still sea, gulls on rocks; the crunch of the path, the glittering ice on some of the puddles. Holly, still with berries, a tug steaming west on the other side of the Clyde.
It was utterly peaceful, occasionally I would speak with someone. Different people would walk with different people at different times. Sometimes we were all posed in strange postures searching after our winter photos but usually we were ambling and my heart was expanding with the quietness of the day and the warmth of the company.
When I got home, vaguely thinking of going to bed, I found my family on the kerb; waiting on a lift I didn’t know I was meant to be giving them. We squabbled about whether Wendy imagined she had told me about this or I hadn’t listened to her tell me but when we got home again everything felt very good.
Instead of retiring to bed, we both tidied. I put on washes, put away clothes, made the hob and the surfaces sparkle, tidied away, put away, filled containers, put out the rubbish and now the children are home again.
Curry for James, Shepherds Pie for Wendy and Charlotte and at some point salads and things for me.
This is pretty perfect. I will pop outside to the shops yet again and then I can easily imagine spending the rest of the evening in my jammies in front of the telly with Dash and the rest of the family. Thank you Katrina, Kath and the photography walk and thank you for the grey day, there was a beauty in the sky with its slight streaks of shades of white among the cloud; a loveliness to the softness of the sea with its muted scattering of sunlight. I like that lesson, I may not be able to take pictures of it and the greyness may fall neatly into my mood but within it there was a very real and precious beauty.
(photos: Ardmore - 21 and 20 Jan 2023)
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