Good Grief 93

Textures. So many textures in a day.
This is the railway platform I sat at this evening.
The seat was wet after the day's rain but I was glad to sit.
It was dark and solitary.
I was struck by all the textures and colours that lay before my very limited outlook. I hunkered down in my hood, zipped up and in shock. How absurd.
Who would think a trip to the local town to drop off a vehicle could feel like the crossing of a continent?
When my husband was alive this would have been perfectly straightforward - we would have taken 2 vehicles, made a day of it, done something nice perhaps.
I started off worn out after all the work stuff lately, but even so ....
It began with not being able to start .... 'Right' I thought ... 'it's going to be like that, is it .... Right ... here goes ....'. I was determined to take each step at a time and not to take it personally ... persecuted ... me!
First the AA. Difficult for anyone to get to me at the moment with all the access problems. AA man rings not knowing how to get through with all the road difficulties. He makes it, he gets me going. Nice AA man.
Off I went ... the wind, rain and mist over the top was something else .... storm and tempest .... on I went.
Then I had to find the mechanic's new place ... I had checked it on google maps (he had said he would be able to give me a lift to the station). It was down a dodgy private road where some chap has set up his own bizarre toll charging system, then along what looked like a bomb site, and on until I arrived at some new units. I rang my chap who said he wasn't there but to leave the van and post the keys .... I did.
So ... a walk into town, only a mile or two, no pavement, dwindling light, sodden verges, fast traffic .... ok, that's fine ... if in doubt ... blip.
Thank god for blip, here I was walking along, in the rain, it could have been heavier, it could have been worse, in the fading light .... looking for a blip. I started to think this was quite funny.
Then into town, each stage of this journey was becoming a minor triumph.
Every step feeling an effort.
I looked in at Christmas trees in the windows of homes and thought, 'Christmas is elsewhere'. It wasn't a sad feeling, it was rather nice. I don't mind Christmas not being 'here', not feeling a sense of Christmas (whatever that means) for myself - it is quite nice looking at it unfolding around me.
Ok, next goal - Waterstones. I went in and the assistant asked if she could help, I thanked her and said no. I went back and said, 'Are you B?' .... 'Yes', she said. I said, you don't know me but my mum is in the room next to your mum. Your mum told me you worked here. And we are both here ... hundreds of miles away from our mothers who are next door to each other down there. I said that I would be heading down for Christmas and so if she wanted me to take anything down for her mum .... anytime.
I went to buy a couple of children's picture books, I love children's picture books, I particularly liked this one about crayons that quit.
Good, doing ok, I thought. Then I felt rough and thought I hadn't eaten all day so sat for a cup of tea and cake.
Next step. Take books to friend who was flooded, then get the train.
The house was in darkness - all the carpets etc. were on the street outside. I posted the books through the letterbox. I suspect they've gone elsewhere for Christmas.
Then I made it to the station where I took this blip.
I wondered how I would get from the station to my home.
I had felt too tired to ask for help, too tired to get organised enough ahead of all of this to arrange for a lift if possible.
I thought I could walk but it is several miles, dark, wet and yuk, and I am exhausted. I could get a taxi - expensive but probably sensible.
As I sat my friend texted. She was working late ... serendipity. I walked from the station to work - hugely relieved and she gave me a lift home.
How ridiculously epic can a day feel ... every conceivable texture with layer upon layer ...