New staircase

This is the latest stage in the reconstruction of a staircase in the small house in the village - the first one we bought - which now belongs to my son and daughter. The attic was reached by a very narrow twisting stair, covered in horrible linoleum - you had to hold in your elbows and bend your head to get up, preferably closing your eyes.. Now that attic is going to be the main bedroom, something had to be done about the stairs. Enter my friend Ray. Some of you may have seen him before in his guise as a jazz singer, but he is also a builder.

So he's reached halfway now, and I noticed that there is the ghost of the old stairs etched into the wall higher up, along with a series of Ray's sketches of where steps might have gone. I have problems working in that house - although I steel myself and do it - because each time I'm there I'm reminded of the high hopes Teleri and I had twelve years ago when we bought it, of the good times we had there, of the way life then seemed to be - like stairs - marching ever upwards.

And now I feel a bit stuck in a halfway place - neither up nor down, as the song has it - wondering how long the sense of life interrupted is going to be with me, but also not wanting to leave it behind and make everything new. A feeling highlighted by all the moving tributes many of you paid to Teleri (Chaiselongue) on the anniversary of her death this week.

At least the stairs will be finished soon, by next week.