Memories

I've found that a feature of this past, strange week - in the UK at least - has been the tendency to drag out memories for inspection and introspection. Ok, that's a kind of slender link to today's main photo - a vintage (perhaps 1966?) MacBrayne's bus sitting incongruously outside a front door in a Toward garden this afternoon, perhaps linked to a wedding in the coming week (there were huge marquees in a neighbouring garden). I can remember the sick-making qualities of such vehicles, the jerk of the gear-change, the smell of the upholstery ...

The introspection came in the form of considering the change in attitude to events that takes place over the years - or over my years, if you like. Think of a child saying "I can't wait till my birthday...Christmas ...the holidays...", and the corollary "I'm bored... I've nothing to do ...". As far as I'm concerned, that's all gone. There's a reluctance to look forward to anything - perhaps because it may never happen, or because there's so much to do before it does happen, or because you're going to panic about it anyway - and boredom has been replaced by relief, at the moment anyway, of having no huvtaes, even for a day.

Which brings me neatly on to the fact that tomorrow is an unplanned bank holiday which means I really have nothing to do (other, of course, than the usual business of deciding what to have for dinner and doing something about it). My Pilates class is deferred until Tuesday - and I have painting on Tuesday, and a vaccination appointment. And my first thought on contemplating the day was relief. Verily I grow old ...

Extra is a collage of church this morning, when candles were lit for HMQ, and of the gentle rise of the waning moon, first seen through my window as it cleared the hills and later from upstairs as it lit up the sea below even as the clouds drifted over its face. Now, looking from the study window as I write, it's looking very traditional, very clear and curved among the stars. 

I shall see it from my bed tonight ...