contrary impulses

After a slow, lightly grey-cast morning, come noontide and we're greeted with clear blue sunlit skies. Large whites flitter and dance around the lavender and aconitums whilst the peacock variety of butterfly seem to make the buddleia their focus of attention. The sun-soaked pale beige shed wall plays host to others of the peacock line as they idly stretch out their wings in a posture of submission to the sun god.

It's so easy to feel the lure of this sparkling day, to dash out, throwing all caution to the wind,and soak up the radiance through every pore, but then reality bites. I take heed of the warning notes, issued when my carcinoma was diagnosed, seek shade between 11.00am and 3.00pm, always cover up and wear wide-brimmed hats when outdoors ... etc. The strange thing is, with these proscriptions in place, although hot weather has never really suited me - to such an extent that I've remained incapable of understanding the sun-seeking school of holiday making,  I'm just beginning to appreciate that type of yearning!

So, I duly roll down my shirt sleeves, don a sun hat, and stroll down to the pond to feed the goldfish. Open the greenhouse door to be almost overwhelmed by the stifling humid heat that rushes out to greet me. I make my way to the totally shaded arbour seat at the top of the garden, make a mental note of areas that need a little tidying (in preparation for the time when I'll once again be able to perform a few lifting and stretching activities), rest for a brief while before returning to the welcoming bounds of the living room.

tetchiness abounds

Chest and shoulder muscles are really playing up, the pectoralis major more achingly griping than the deltoids and, as the day goes on I become increasingly tetchy. The heat of the day certainly doesn't help, 28 centigrade at present, as I've never been a hot weather person. Currently we're sat in the back room, curtains drawn, revelling in the cooler air current proferred by an oscillating fan. It's quite strange really, this coolly refreshing synthetic breeze serves to keep me reasonably alert, whilst aching muscles, minor digestive problems, and a muzzy head, keep reminding me of the need to rest.

I've just been trying, to little avail, to catch up with received e-mails but the least distraction from what should be a minimal concentration endeavour makes me feel quite stressed. 'Tis better just to float - wish I could be as laid back as a lot of people think I am - but, for some reason I just tend to keep swimming against the tide!

Attempting to relax is such a wearying business, leaves one without sufficient stamina to simply be. 

I know the garden is the place I should be, the place where I am truly me but, prevailing temperatures militate against my participation in such enjoyable diversions.

A Rather Special Day

Yesterday was my busiest day in, literally, years but there was a very special occasion to celebrate. Helen's sister Janet, whose husband died five years ago, was getting married to Graham. We were well aware of a marked change in Janet's demeanour for a considerable time before we were informed that she was "seeing someone"; whoever the someone was had to be special, rarely does one notice such a marked transformation in a person that one knows reasonably well!

A blessing for their marriage was held at St Wilfreds Church, in Harrogate, which we were pleased (although in my case somewhat apprehensively) to attend. Unfortunately, the temperature in the centre of the church was somewhat akin to a butchers cold store and, I was quite prepared to leave the venue before the service had even started. Fortunately a lady, who I assume was one of the church wardens, pointed out a radiator far from where the main congregational gathering was seated; it took some time before my uncontrollable shivering sttled down. It's the first time that I've worn a wooly hat inside a place of Christian worship and, I wondered whether it might be mistaken for a skullcap as worn by members of another Abrahamic faith, or perhaps I could have been an over-zealous Quaker (of a bygone age) who quite simply refused to doff his hat!

At least we did have a good sing in the final hymn, Love Divine; no matter what state my faith is in, I just can't help but to be stirred by Charles Wesley's hymnody. It was a terrific sense of relief to find that the venue for the reception, The Yorkshire Hotel, was more than adequately heated. Having spent the best part of an hour at the church, I still managed a further three and a half hours at the reception before succumbing to an overwhelming exhaustion, leaving just before the Ceilidh was about to begin. The speeches were among the most entertaining it has been my pleasure to endure. Fatiguing discomfort aside, it was wonderful to have been able to share in the celebration of this special event.

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A poem, SOMETIMES (for Janet & Graham), can be found on 'Mal's Factory'