Monday 6th January

20 Reasons to be Grateful (thanks to Ian Drury)

Lunches on a Sunday with the family.

Friendships that warm me

Watching the rain from inside

My husband  putting salt in the dishwasher

Finding cherries, red, sticky  and sweet in the cupboard

Radio 2 in the morning, driving to work

Radio 4 dramas

Terry Wogan

The windchime

which John has mended 

is dancing in the wind  today

Sherlock Holmes on TV on a winter evening

The view from my bedroom

Being able to see the sea from a distance in these storms

A brown poncho which is too ridiculous to wear outside, but is comforting me inside today

S and B getting engaged, how old fashioned, how lovely.

Sometimes that cup of tea is just what I need.

Songs and music by talented musicians

Poetry

Cheese, any type.

I love to see the sea from my upstairs window here, and at the  moment am really glad that I can watch its tempers and antics from a distance.

The Archers is on and I sink back into my chair immersing myself in the familiar characters. They fit me like a pair of old slippers, I know their weaknesses and their strengths as if they truly were my neighbours.

Sunday 5^th January

Pinned on my board, photos and scraps of paper remind me of friendship and activity in the old year, and make me a promise that this cold new year will open out to new experiences and laughter.

Saturday 4^th January

Since his baby was born, this taciturn young man has been blossoming into fatherhood, and returns home from work each day longing to see the changes in the baby since he left in the morning. He used to pass by dipping his head to avoid chatting, but now updates us with the baby's progress.

She comes back from putting the horses away for the night, with the exhilaration of the wind and rain evident in her whole body.  As I watch from inside, she and her spaniel bound up the outside steps and into the welcoming warm of the evening.

January 3^rd 2014

The end of Christmas?

A thick green trail of spent pine needles marks our route through the living room, across the kitchen to the back door. The denuded tree slumps at an angle in the back garden.

I pick the needles from my skin, leaving tiny acupuncture wounds . Every time I move I feel a new prickle - these needles get everywhere! We will be finding them for months. 

2^nd January 2014

The rain has temporarily stopped. From my top floor room  I can see the grey sky reflected in the huge puddle which has grown across the garage roof.

As I walk alone down the lane to the sea the evening is drawing in, but there is a bird singing  somewhere close by. Peering upwards I can just make out the muted flash of red of a robin redbreast who is keeping me company on my walk.

On my desk sits two photographs of fathers, looking out at me from the past. Tarnish has bloomed on the silver frames turning them a pale golden hue.

Downstairs I can hear the hum of the television, but up here, on the top floor, the wind is in charge, blowing gusts of rain against the windows. With each gust, the Christmas lights dance outside on their wires, their glitter tawdry against the might of the elements.

( I am struggling with the small stones, not sure I have got the hang of them yet) 

1^st January 2014

A day for practical tasks - sorting books, some I will keep and some send out into the world. I am sitting on the floor, my legs and back aching, and find a book of poems written by Hospice volunteers, As I read, my aching limbs are forgotten and suddenly  I am crying, tears dripping from my face. I realise I am thinking of my dear friend, who is facing her final illness with quietness and grace, and of her partner struggling to help practically and submerging his grief in activity. I have been doing the same thing.  I do not want to pretend this is not happening, instead  want to have the strength to stay present with my friend and her family, acknowledging their grief, and my own.

This book seems to have been sent for a reason.