Post 337: Careful response to unnecessary regrets.
I woke at 7am, then at 8, 10 and 12 for the pills, but I didn’t know if I should get up or stay out of the way. I heard nothing from the other end of the cottage, so I guess I’ll be ok.
After I wrecked the otherwise lovely day in Dorchester with some overzealous and over-cautious advice on the way home, down ever-narrowing lanes that led us back to a quiet evening of unsaid thoughts and forgiveness, I wondered how much back-peddling I’d need to do today. Hence, staying in bed and swallowing pills and sleeping on in the comfy bed, would be best.
The only trouble was the water — I’d run out. I needed more, and that was in the huge lounge or the car. The car was out of the question, as I didn’t want to see it for a while until I had untangled my inappropriately directed directions from yesterday, so sneaking into the lounge would have to be done.
I got dressed, and in stocking feet, skulked over to the table and two bottles of water.
My Darling’s bedroom door was open and close by, as I didn’t know what else to do, I grabbed my book, Finding the Edge, found the front door key, and headed out with a seat cushion from home and an intention to lie low outside in the sunshine.
Oh my, I settled on the cushion and breathed deeply.
The little bench outside number 2’s front door was set pointing at the sun, pushed back against the stones of the cottage wall, all of which sat in the milky Dorset sunshine.
I opened the book in the afternoon silence but kept reading the same line again and again. The host, Darren, was weed-killing on the white small-pebble courtyard surface — the pesky weeds already pushing through the ground, making the perfect look imperfect.
I read the same line again.
For a while, before Darren came out with his sprayer, the quiet was interrupted by distant small planes, a few very near road users passing by, and the loudness of the birds and animals around the cottages in the farm that circles us.
A woodpecker to the right and somewhere behind me were the cows. To the left were the garden birds and fancy pheasants, and in the distance crows to-ing and fro-ing to their high tree nests. There was nature everywhere, loudly presenting itself in this out-of-the-way place.
As the little hairy legs got around the yard, helping the spray tank to kill the weeds, I offered a welcome hello.
This inadvertently started a long conversation and stopped all the useful yard work being done. Once we got started, we went on to chat over all manner of topics.
The birds and cows took a back seat while we two humans took over making our own noise and upsetting the courtyard’s quiet. The weeds drew a breath of relieved air, and the little hairy legs now just shuffled in little circles as we chatted.
In another while, we were rumbled.
Claire, the hostess, was obviously getting hungry, by the opening line of conversation after coming into view and patiently waiting for one of us to pause…
“When are we having lunch?” she asked politely.
He replied, “After I’ve emptied the tank — it’s nearly empty. I’ll be a few minutes.”
And with that pledge imparted, the hostess headed back home, and those little hairy legs quickly emptied the dregs of poison on the unsuspecting weed heads and then disappeared.
Ah, how peaceful it suddenly was again. Then—
“Morning. Finished talking, have we? Do you want a cup of tea?” My Darling asked in a loving way.
“Oh yes please,” I nervously replied.
When the tea arrived, my Darling had a cup too, and I not only accepted a hot cup but a warm pair of lips connecting with mine — a wonderful moment that set the atmosphere straight.
We were ok.
⸻
After enjoying the milky sun and long conversations about this and that, we decided not to use the car today. A wise decision on both parts, and something that defused the ticking time bomb.
We needed to buy toilet roll, but that could wait.
“Shall we pop out for that walk we promised ourselves? I’ll get your hilking sticks from the car,” she said.
“Yep — I’ll get my boots on,” I happily replied.
I haven’t used those sticks since our eldest son bought them for me in the Lake District (Cumbria) up near where he lives, and I never really got to try them out — only once, which was a very long time ago. A year, maybe.
Anyway, we were now suited and booted for a farm lane walk to the nearby church, which is only halfway up the hill to the south, heading for the sun. Nice.
From here, the only way is up — but as we are in such fine tranquillity, this is the price you pay.
We set off, but we hadn’t got out onto the road before I had problems using the right-hand stick. The frozen shoulder and shoulder weakness were giving me pain.
So my Darling said she’d take it, the stick that is, if it was shortened considerably.
That was great.
Holding hands, we set off with a stick each, just to help steady our ageing legs — my ageing legs.
Only a few hundred yards up the road and my Darling tugged at my hand.
“There’s meant to be a shop up that way — is it ok if we look for it?”
I could see no reason not to, so we turned left up the other hill.
We were at the top of the first small hill, and I looked at the next hill with absolute certainty that if we went down it, I’d never get back up.
So we had a chat, studied Google Earth, and decided to send an envoy. My Darling would go, and I would encourage and wait where I was.
So that’s what happened.
The only problem was that although it was 3:50pm when she got there… there was no shop. So there was also no toilet roll.
When my Darling got back from the walk to a village called Ibberton, the one without a shop, we hugged a while so her poor little legs could recover from the steep walk back up to me.
Then we set off home to cottage number 2 fairly contented that we tried at least — and we did try hard.
We got back safely. In fact, it felt safer traveling by foot than by car along these tidily lanes.
Also, sharing the hiking sticks was a brilliant use of the walking aids for poor old folk like us.
The promise of faux chicken Kyivs with a roast was my treat, which I couldn’t refuse, and after BGT and Disney’s Toy Story 2, then a few Sunday night game shows thrown in, we had a thoroughly lovely night helped down with a bottle of Shiraz.
A great end to the Sunday in the Dorset wilderness.
Good night.
