One more step

Or maybe a thousand.

I got one of those fancy step counting watches for my birthday at the start of the month. I was fully intending to ignore the number of steps my shaky legs could do but somehow, curiosity got the better of me. The first day I checked I knew the number would be terrible as it had been a hot one. But when the temperature dropped, I discovered that while I could never get near the 3000 target, I could break a thousand. It is never easy to do but somehow it’s been good for me to have a little achievement to aim for.

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What’s better than an emerald ring?

For as long as I can remember, but not really these past twenty years, we’ve always been told that one day, dad would get my mum an emerald ring. I don’t think it was ever a serious request, but the notion hung around many’s an after-dinner discussion. Maybe one day, mum had seen an emerald ring and mentioned it to dad. Maybe not, but somehow the thought of it stuck.

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No return address

I sent my two on their bikes to post a card last week. It was only after they came back that I realised I hadn’t written my address on the back. What if they want to write back, or what if it gets lost? I worried that afternoon and then I asked myself, why does it matter if they have no way of replying? This way, they’re not under pressure to write back. The whole point of the letter was to offer sympathies, not to garner any recognition for myself.

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The dark out there.

I’ve always been the type who fears the dark, far-off places, unknown things and future events. When I was wee, an old man asked me why I was afraid of the dark when everything is the same as when it’s daylight. I haven’t forgotten that, but still the dark figures lurk. The year I went to France, my mum called it my ‘giant’. Right now I’m waiting for a letter inviting me to a spinal MRI and wildly hoping it doesn’t come…

These were my fears before but now, coming out of my safe lockdown house into the world has become my number one fear.

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Complicating kindness

I’ve had this knot in my chest since Saturday. Why? I read a tweet by someone who, rightfully or not, was destroying the act of clapping for the NHS every Thursday night. Admittedly, she did work for the NHS and had a very valid argument for her objection, mainly to do with the Conservative party. She turned it into the notion of people clapping while medical staff walked, poorly protected, to their deaths. She was, unfairly in my opinion, muddying the waters of good intention. I shook my head throughout the whole critique. No, you are being unfair to so many good people here.

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