27th June 2012 Wednesday
Today I didn’t leave the house. I got tired of the drama in my head. I took deep breaths. I prayed. I cried. I made lots of phone calls to the CAB, to the secretary of our neurologist, to Age UK, to my sisters. I roasted beetroots and red onions for lunch.
Then I made jam. From last year’s fruit in the freezer. Six jars of strawberry and redcurrant - dark ruby red. Ten jars of Victoria plum - a strange murky brown - could be mistaken for chutney but sweetly fragrant - catapulting me back to last summer - the tree at the allotment its branches dripping with heavy rose blushed plums.
Because I was stirring jam I couldn’t watch the tennis. But I had the TV on in the sitting room so I could hear the cracking sound of balls on racquets and the crowds cheering.....taking me back and back to all those Wimbledons I’ve absorbed since I was twelve years old.
A comforting summer ritual that never changes - when everything else is wobbly, shifting, uncertain......
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