Death and Dying on this Beautiful Day

Budleigh Salterton this afternoon,

famous for its pebbles, smooth as new potatoes, which you aren't allowed to steal for your garden rockery - a criminal offence now.

And  its seagulls  - famous for stealing your ice-cream out of its cone as you walk along the promenade. Their cousins in Sidmouth and Lyme Regis have it down to a swoop-and-grab fine art.

We escaped unscathed today as we promenaded and licked our pistachio and toffee ice cream cones,

passing this boat planted with wild flowers, with a row of little name plaques nailed to the side. Robin assumes they are for dead people.

The beach huts look newly painted ready for the holiday season which started last week,

these three kids bored already, throwing handfuls of pebbles out to sea - the seagulls keeping a respectful distance. I take this photo while I'm waiting for Robin to come out of the loo for the second time.

This morning I put long, pale mauve aubergines, yellow courgettes, red onions and orange peppers to roast in the oven with sloshings of olive oil and fat slices of garlic. I prepare a kilo of black currants  - scoot them off their little stems with the tines of a fork, pick out the leaves and stray tiny spiders, wash them - the currants -  and put them in the maslin pan with a pint of water. And start hoovering the stairs. Luckily I remember them in time before they boil over. 

Then I bring the washing in out of the rain for the second time - keep thinking it's going to clear up. It does in the end but I can't face hanging it out again. The plastic roof in the kitchen starts to leak. The first time this summer which tells me how little rain we've had till now.

When Robin comes home from his time out with a dear friend, tired but happy, he wants to sleep  - doesn't want to eat lunch. So I finish the hoovering a bit crossly, make the jam and bottle it, write emails and make birthday cards.

By the time we finish lunch it's nearly 3pm but the sun is out so we drive to Budleigh Salterton, park at the end where the river comes in, and walk into the town along the beach.  The sea is a sparkling.

 I can feel Robin's reluctance, his misery. 

Is it because you don't want to be here really?

No, I'm just thinking about all the people who died in the second world war. And my parents and your parents and your cousin who died. It's just so sad.

It is.

And I want to say, But what about this beautiful day? We are alive right now and being sad means you are missing all this.

But I don't say it because I know he can't help going into this dark place - his death and dying obsession -  and I can't get him out of it by being reasonable. And especially not by being irritated or making him wrong. Which I used to do. Let it ruin my day. 

So I walk beside him, irritation fading, holding his hand and I turn my head to look at the sea and the wide horizon beyond it. And think about what flavour ice cream I'm going to choose when we get to the shop.