I love it that the nasturtiums are still flowering in my garden....I have a bunch of hot Africa in a vase on my green Devon kitchen window sill....these and starry orange calendula marigolds and tight curled yellow dahlias.
These have sprung up in the swimming pool border as well - Amaryllis belladonna ...they remind me of the ones which were growing everywhere by the side of the roads and all over the countryside when we visited Madeira this week 8 years ago...
a year after Robin's diagnosis ...
when hell was beginning to set in.
These have burst forth this week as well in the border...
I had to Google them ..Nerine bowdenii Isabel ...pink autumn gifts.
Today I remembered two of the things I love....and let myself have them.
Stories and cooking.
On the way back from Exeter early afternoon I'm listening to a radio play...a story about a man who dies of a heart attack while on a bird watching outing ...a long way from his home....and his two friends who are with him ...and their story ...and what it's like telling his wife...and how she copes/doesn't cope. Beautifully told.
I arrive home before it finishes so I stay in the car with the engine switched on, rain slashing the windscreen, the basket of market vegetables wilting on the back seat and listen till the end...transported into their worlds....remembering what it was like getting the phone call that Robin had died....and how different it was for her ...and how similar as well....the awful shock of it.
And then I un-pack the shopping and start chopping vegetables for the curries I'm making for lunch tomorrow ...for two friends ....who knew Robin well and looked after him with so much love and care when I was drowning ...replenishing the care that was dwindling in me.
Then I'm lost in the familiar, rhythmic world of turning turmeric and chilli, onions and garlic, spinach and carrots, coconut and coriander into a hot sweet fragrant melange ...another way of telling a story....feeding me and them....soul and heart and belly.
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