Driving

I drove over to Ilkley in Yorkshire this evening to pick up my mother. Re-reading that, it sounds funny, but I'm not going to re-write. Set off about half past six, quarter to seven. I came off the M60/62 and headed on the M66 Bury-Colne-Skipton route. I love the spectacle of Saddleworth Moor high on the tops, but this way, the Colne direction, I enter Yorkshire through the quiet way in. The hills spread almost immediately beyond the towns and you sense very soon that the countryside is nearby.
The sunset tonight glowed to my left and then behind. Deep rose flushed with warmth. And as Addingham and Ilkley loomed, Beamsley Beacon and the moors and tree tops lay tinged in a golden pink glow as the sky began to darken and the sun dipped behind the horizon as at a private bonfire.
The air smelt clean and of straw. I know what I mean by that! A tractor ploughed late. Three horses, sheep grazing, cows, heads down nuzzling grass.
It was a good drive. It felt like home.

Yet again...

Ha. Ever get the feeling you've loaded the gun and shot it at yourself?

Hope

"There were many ways
Of breaking a heart.
Stories were full of hearts
Broken by love,
But what really broke
A heart
was taking away
its dream -
Whatever that dream
might be."

Pearl Buck

Rough Water

Is it possible to turn the boat around and paddle back up river?
Can you do it alone if you've got enough determination and strength? Can someone else help when they don't know the bends and turns and where the rocks are as well as you?
There's a sandy cove that catches the sun. It's an easy place to pull up the boat; gentle, restful, once you know it, there'll be no surprises.
Someone's standing on the bridge. You crane your neck and squint but you can't see where the road leads. Into the mountains?
Turn the boat around and paddle hard or stay with the current and see where it leads?

Tribe of Doris photos

Love

Strange how things connect with a common thread. I went to my Uncle George's funeral last Monday. He had a wonderful 100th birthday at the end of June, which was a joyful celebration and then, August, a full church of friends, colleagues and family. The vicar asked how we can judge what is a successful life: the amount of love around. There was lots of love and respect for Uncle George that day. I'm Auntie Joan's god-daughter, so was asked to read Chapter 13, 1 Corinthians. We all know it.
'I may be able to speak the languages of men and even of angels, but if I have no love, my speech is no more than a noisy gong or a clanging bell.....if I have no love, I am nothing...if I have no love, this does me no good.
Love is patient and kind; it is not jealous or conceited or proud; love is not ill-mannered or selfish or irritable; love does not keep a record of wrongs; love is not happy with evil, but is happy with the truth. Love never gives up; and its faith, hope and patience never fail.....' and it goes on.
I hadn't rehearsed this version and I hadn't planned on the entire chapter. It came as a shock when I opened the order of service and saw it all printed out. Thank goodness it was printed out. I read through it a few times to look for where to place emphasis. The vicar spoke of love. He gestured me to the podium and microphone. The family sat at the front. It was a privilege to read.

And the next morning, we drove down to Somerset to the Tribe of Doris Festival. And that emanated love and forgiveness and kindness echoing the sentiments of the funeral service.
I'm going to try and retain all that, remember it - live it.