Victimness

 Saturday - Lyme Regis and its fossil  street lights...

Golden Cap...

 and the view from the Cobb....forever associated with Meryl Streep and the French Lieutenant's Woman.....

Sunday along the banks of the River Dart on Dartmoor at Fingle Bridge and along the ridge below Castle Drogo....

On Saturday I wake to a  brief pale rainbow.... blessing our Exeter roof tops...and believing it's a happy omen...

Later, in the brightness of Lyme Regis by the sea I'm inspired and delighted by the gorgeous array of unusual, freshly made and flavoursome salads at the Old Mill Bakery all served in an edible bread bowl. I try to explain what 'yeast' is to my husband but the task defeats me.

 I'm mellowed by the warmth of the sunshine, the fantastic performance of the constantly changing clouds over the sea, over The Cobb, over the boats in the harbour,  - the beauty of it all.

I'm patient, grateful, hopeful in the company of my husband. 

 All day on Sunday the clouds stay brooding and grey - we walk a two hour  shady circuit along the green River Dart at Fingle Bridge, the turning-gold beech trees our companions, and up into the clean air of the ridge with Dartmoor forests below us.

I ask my husband just to say Hello to the people we pass by with their dogs and their children instead of trying to make them laugh with other comments.....which embarrass me.

He says, "That's what you would say, not me." 

But still he tries.

Today the rain never stops. Instead of my yoga class I go on a shopping spree  - my friend sits outside the changing room in Marks and Spencer's and gives me a thumbs up or a shake of the head each time I come out in a different long or short  top.....so lovely not to have to decide on my own...especially as I'm feeling vulnerable and fat.

I'm already cold to my core when we drive back from Sidmouth this evening... after my husband's EFT session....debating, wondering about the unanswerable question ....How much of it is the effect of the brain disease and how much of it is a choice?  To be a two year old in pain, having a tantrum about being controlled..... or an intuitive, warm hearted sixty-one year old still with something to give - even with all the loss of his language/life as he knew it? And my part in it all....

At a roundabout he cuts in front of a car speeding fast on his right. It unbolts me...and I turn away from him, close down my love, the cold seeping into my heart, freezing any ripples of kindness as I drown in the harsh wave of victimness ......and  forget all is well.....for a little while.