Gloom

Today's weather matched my mood - or did it bring that mood about? Whatever was the trigger, I was aware of internal gloom as well as that outside. Was it the continuing reminders of Christmas - a card from a French friend arrived today; she doesn't post Christmas cards but usually New Year greetings, and it served to remind me of how swiftly the time passed between the anticipation of being with my family and sharing holiday time with them and the sudden aftermath, with everyone back at work or school or poised for weeks of work-related travel. Anyway, I felt gloomy. 

I tried to dispel this feeling with some domestic goddess stuff. A box with a couple of kilos of Seville oranges came with the fish order, so today we got the preserving pan out of the loft and I sliced, by hand, a multitude of oranges (I like my marmalade with thick-cut peels, so a food mixer doesn't, as you might say, cut it for me). It's now all sitting in a slightly random quantity of water because I'm a bit stupid with metric measurements - I'll maybe add a little more tomorrow - and its pips and pulp tied in a hanky with a bit of string dangling in it. All very traditional. (I even use an antique glass juicer that belonged to my grandmother ...). 

All this made lunch slightly late, and then I sat catching up on parts of the Sunday paper until I could bear it no longer and we went out into the drizzle. The photo shows where we started our walk; I took the photo looking east down the River Eachaig that runs from Loch Eck to the Holy Loch, over which there's a slight pink brightness. The rain had stopped, and though the gloom merely became darker we walked west along the forest road to the water works on Loch Eck. By the time we were walking back, Himself was complaining that he couldn't see the road, so I was keeping up a commentary ... puddle...bump ...rough bit ... follow me here ...and then later ...car! This last was, I think, because of a tree down or some other obstruction near the foot of the Glen Massan road, so cars were coming through the back gate of Benmore Gardens and exiting over the cattle grid and round beside the river. 

By the time we'd finished we were both strangely tired, which at least kept my mind off my mood. Himself's curry and a glass of lovely red helped too. 

Maybe it's all these well-kent names dying. Some of them aren't far off our age. Let us not think on't.