A Returning

 Last Tuesday I declared to N that I was feeling restless, missing the big long walks I used to be able to do before the arrival of grinding arthritis in my feet. I felt that the steroid injection had done its job so well, that it was possible to tackle my first one in 4 years. And where I wanted to go was a bit of a trip down memory lane. 

You see, I used to live at the foot of this hill. In my dog days, I would walk with him to the very top on a regular basis. We saunter up past the standing stones, up along the crumply fields with their intriguing hummocks and folds, along through the copse full of twisted trees that soared over our heads, and out into the wide open space. 

This place. 

It has air. Big skies. A curiously shaped stone. A tiny whimsical tower. It has the curves and falls of its Iron Age fort. It has my heart. In a way I cannot define, I belong to this place and I’d dreamed these last 4 years of being back up there. 

The old dog is gone now but I still packed an extra sandwich, an extra bottle of water, like I used to do. And we walked and walked, slowly. Not saying much, focusing on each step. Drawing the thick summer air into our lungs. Feeling muscles sit up and say “I remember this”.  

At the top, we sat and drank it all in. Had the place entirely to ourselves - crowds get drawn to the Cotswolds, the Malverns. This is ours. I let myself feel the sheer joy of being back up here after so long, after thinking I’d never get to see it again. There were a few discreet tears of sheer bloody joy. Relief. Thankfulness. 

Buzzards wheel and scream freely up here. The wind tugs at your hair. Memories wave from the corner of my eye. Turn my head too quickly and they shyly hide again. The clouds tumble over themselves in the sky, chasing their own shadows on the ground. 

We walk the perimeter and I can feel the ghosts of the tribes that called this place home jostle beside me. They chatter and laugh, argue and fuss. They cook and craft, look after the beasts they’ve brought in with them for protection. Until one bloody day when their fortress falls. Skeletons have been found in the ditches. Broken weapons. This place holds them and me. 

And then we leave. I look back as much as I look forward. Tired and dusty back at the car. T shirts sticking to our backs, water bottles empty. Feet firmly back on the ground. 

Oddments

 I try to be really careful with my news consumption at the moment, dipping into my newspaper of choice once a day and Twitter twice. The never-ending dialogue of catastrophe and verbal sparring and lack of nuance can really drain a persons energy. 

But I am careful to keep check of articles I find funny, interesting, reassuring or a plain old hunk of good news. 

Here are some of those I've found recently:

1. Earth Overshoot Day was delayed this year by nearly a month. It's not much, but hey, take your good news where you can find it. 

2. Simone de Beauvoir revealed as an Agony Aunt! How amazing would it have been to take your problems to Simone, have her pull on a Galouise and shrug, Gallicly. "Mon petit, 'ee is not ze right one. Make your own way"?? 

3. Wicked Leeks included a list of things to do with a courgette glut and I am forever grateful

4. There are online jigsaws! Soothing and with the added benefit of making me feel like I'm 10 again, wiling away a rainy Sunday afternoon. 

5. A recent Vittles newsletter on the "life changing magic of cookbooks". Cooking connects us more than we realise: "The question I have been asking myself lately is why do I love cookbooks so much? Why are they important to us? The answer is complicated: what I do know is that I have learnt so much beyond recipes from cookbooks even though the things which have enriched me have rarely been something I actively sought. They are a comfort to me, an escape, and a balm for my soul. Imani Perry, Professor of African American Studies at Princeton said recently: “Living defined by terror is itself destructive of the spirit. Joy was never an evasion of the depths of the wounds, it is literally a sustaining life force”. Anti-blackness is all too real in this time and fighting racism is life-draining. Very little sparks joy in my life, but some cookbooks ignite such a big spark that they practically light a bonfire. Black joy is fleeting; I’ll take mine where I can."

6. When I was somewhere between the ages of 7 and 12, one of my favourite characters in fiction was Ramona Quimby. Naughty and funny and clumsy and living a completely relatable world. This Twitter thread about how she'd be now was everything. 

The Happy Things Round Up

Okay, I'll admit it. Even I'm struggling to find the good about this week (*rests head in hands briefly when remembering who's just got the top job of running the country*) but it is out there, I promise. 

1. Facebook is not necessarily all evil, stolen data and cat videos! Sometimes it's a force for good. See how the people of Aleppo are keeping their histories alive. 

2. A wonderful piece of craft, combining the words of the most excellent Michael Sheen with a whole-hearted swear, all in lovely stitches. If only embroidery had been like that at school. 

3. Something to bring a happy tear to your eye. A Twitter thread (yes, I know they're a bit of a bore but in the absence of a blog to send you too...) about LGBTQ acceptance and growth.  

4. For those of us who have mothers with opinions on what we wear...you ain't seen nothing till you've seen the WhatsAppMama Instagram account.  

5. Lucy Ellman has a new book out - hurrah! I've loved her work since Man or Mango: genuinely funny, inventive and take-no-prisioners writing. Long-listed for the Booker, but don't let that put you off. If you need shaking out of a reading rut, she'll do it.

5a. It's published by the amazing Galley Beggar Press. Support small presses where you can - they take risks where other, bigger, publishing houses won't. 

6. And finally, this. Because we need love around here, and lots of it. Plus it's going to look awesome in the bedroom when I've finished decorating in there...