Saturday night.
Giant football sun.
Walking
through
the
park.
Duck
tails
all.
The
beginning
of
spring.
Sunday lunch at Cakeadoodledo - the cafe at Quickes Farm on the way back from Crediton, visiting a dear friend with my sister.
It looks like a roast beef lunch with all the trimmings - which it is except without the beef - which is actually a chestnut lentil and cranberry loaf with a red wine gravy. All delicious - especially the roast potatoes.
The last time I had Yorkshire pudding was in 2002 when I cooked a Christmas lunch for the family who wanted roast beef. Yorkshire puddings are not my favourite thing to make and as one member of the family was famous for hers I was advised to buy some 'Aunty Bessie's' ready made, frozen Yorkshires for emergency back up.
Sure enough on the day mine were a disaster - they turned into soggy pancakes( even though the oil was smoking hot). Aunty Bessie came to the rescue, lunch was a bit late but they were pronounced the best ever Yorkshire puddings by our expert cook. I never confessed and took all the credit.
Just recently I've been afraid that I'm forgetting Robin because if I think too much about him I start getting tearful and overwhelmed and I'm whisked out of my day into the past. So it's as if I've put my grief in the freezer. To take out in emergencies when suddenly I can't remember his face, or what he sounded like or his laugh, or what our life was like before his dementia. And I can't remember who I was. Or how to connect to myself now in his absence.
But late last night in a moment of longing it all flooded back to me.... doubled up and howling on the sofa...swamped by a river of ice floes.
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