A Blogger's Nostalgia

You should know by now that this is the season that holds the most nostalgia for me. This is the time that I find myself thinking of the friends long absent, but not yet forgotten. And the people standing on the edge of my memory. One day they will slip beyond, but for now they hold on, and I find myself thinking of them from time to time. 

I can't help but remember fondly the early years of blogging. How different it was back then. There were so many bloggers that captivated me with their words, and although I never had many readers, there was a real community spirit to be found amongst those who came my way. I found myself involved with a travelling notebook, and even attended a virtual ball. I can't tell you how much those times meant to me.

Nowadays, blogs seem to be more focused on commercialisation. I appreciate the need to monetise when the opportunity is available, but product reviews and guest posts make for dull reading. Despite my expansive reading list, it's not often that I read on. All of my old blogging friends have moved on, their original blogs abandoned, much like my own, but not quite forgotten.

There is one friend who remains with me, a friend who was there from the beginning.Her blog is the only one that I read without fail, and she is the sole reader of mine. And if her eyes are the only ones that read these words of mine, then I couldn't be more glad. If I don't blog for myself, then I blog for her.

Walk Out to Winter

"It's cold enough for snow," I heard a woman utter as we walked home from church earlier that day. The snow hasn't come yet. I wonder when it will. I don't relish the prospect of driving in it, but that doesn't lessen the excitement I feel at the thought of a proper snowfall soon.

We walk out to winter, treading grit into the pavement with each footstep. Moth grinds it beneath his feet, sliding with every step. He is unnerved by the thin sheet of ice that has formed across the surface of the puddles. He wasn't expecting them to break when he jumped in them. 

I woke one night to a commotion outside my bedroom window, and looked out to see festive lights had been fastened to the lamposts. Shortly afterwards, a huge Christmas tree took centre stage in the community garden, much to the delight of the children. Next weekend we will serenade the streets with carols and watch the neighbourhood glow with festive illuminations.

Suddenly

It takes only an eight letter word to signify the rapid decline of a situation. We saw her just a month ago, on our return visit, and she seemed the picture of health. I didn't think for a moment that it would be the last time I would see her. 

Perhaps that's why yesterday's news came as such a shock, even though we heard, just over a week before, that she had received an unexpected diagnosis, the severity of which had not been established at the time. 

No further news came to us until yesterday. I was halfway through writing her a letter, one that I was confident there would be time to finish later, and maybe others still. That letter will never be sent now.  

The geographical distance makes it hard to take in her absence. Her face, with its radiant smile, surrounded by a wave of frizzy grey hair, comes to mind so easily, an image that I fear will be more difficult to summon with the passage of time. 

We only knew her for five years, but we saw her at least once a week in that period. Being part of a small church congregation was like having an extended family, and she was like a favourite aunt. She came to mean a lot to us.

As worship leaders, we would sometimes arrange services together. I remember fondly the autumn afternoons spent in her kitchen, helping to clean up bric-a-brac for the church bazaar. And several of us joining together in her sitting room for afternoon fellowship.

The last time I saw her, she was standing in the doorway with her husband, waving us off after our visit. That was only a month ago. 

And suddenly, she went away from us. 

I take comfort in my faith that I will see her again. But that doesn't lessen the sense of loss I feel now.

A Bit of a Guddle

We are living in a cave. I try to see past the primitive walls of crumbling plaster, but all I see is the plaster dust that coats our clothes whenever we get too close. The normal daily mess of a young family is less agreeable when accompanied by the extreme chaos of a home under construction. It's hard to find anything when nothing has its place.

And still we are tearing down the walls, loosening the plaster and raising the dust to accommodate sheets of thermaline. We are draining the system and replacing the radiators, the cold spurring us on in our endeavours. Someday soon the walls will be coated with new plaster and paint, and the bare boards hidden beneath new carpets. 

A lady from church summarised our situation perfectly when she commented that we're in a bit of a "guddle". After taking in the blank expressions on our faces she kindly explained that guddle is a Scottish phrase for mess!

Currently our house is at its worse, but in the coming weeks we'll watch our home emerge. 

I've Met Someone

That is to say I've made my first friend. I didn't expect it to happen so soon. Last time it took a lot longer. 

I met her on the nursery run. It started with the usual hellos. But then one day we walked home together, Moth hand in hand with her beautiful dark haired daughter. 

And we found we had a lot in common. When I told her about my first move from the Westcountry to the East coast, she told me a relative of hers did the same move but in reverse. She, too, has lived in different parts, and only recently arrived to the village.

Last weekend we joined her family and friends for a small gathering on Guy Fawkes Night. I brought homemade pumpkin pie and her husband set off fireworks in the garden.

Perhaps to some this seems a small and insignificant thing, but to me it's worth recording. It's good to have found a friend.