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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I see you

At the beginning of lock-down I persuaded my parents to have a Duo call with me. My mum said “peepo!” when she saw me. Last week we had a zoom church service. The first five minutes were filled with people seeing their friends and saying hi. Over and over. It was funny but also the most joyful thing I’ve seen in this dark time.

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#stockholding memories

I have a confession to make: I hate the whole #makingmemories thing. My reason? My bad health meant that I was rarely able to create or involve myself in outings like that. What usually happened was that I would wait at home for my family to do something and then show me the photos, or I would sit somewhere close to the car and watch for them tramping back. Always, I wanted to be with them, but over time I’ve learned to accept my ‘staying behind’ life, and enjoy hearing the stories of all their adventures without me.

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The blackbird’s song

I couldn’t write my usual blog last week because I saw so many people telling us how to think, feel and behave and I felt yet another one of the same would be too much.

I’m returning to my usual today because I miss the discipline of positive thinking I practise every Monday. I’ve partially replaced it with my daily candle-lighting tryst, but I do have another tiny thought to share with you now…

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Eggs

He rummaged through the broken pencils, bits of chalk, rubber bands and old receipts to find a thin ring-bound notepad. He took it and the only working pen to the table. He looked out beyond the dripping tap, the empty counter and checked the sky. Grey but not black. He’d be dry at least. The rhyme, Old Mrs Hubbard came to mind as he reached in his pocket to find his money. He pulled out two 50p coins. He had half a loaf of bread and a scrape of butter so that was enough for today. If he got one other thing, that would last him for nearly a week. He didn’t need any more than that. Best to leave the rest for others.

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