Good Grief 355

Lock up your snowdrops, or, Expectations and let the light be a warning.

Writing this after the weekend it was a weekend of two halves, as they say. A dreary and dismal Saturday and a spectacularly beautiful Sunday.
I seem to suit the first better. I blend in better.
The latter I might look forward to but then become easily outfaced by it all.
Last week my friend had emailed me at work delighted that she'd heard the first oyster catcher of the year.
It made me think about expectations. I think I might have written about this before here. Don't get me wrong, I love an oyster catcher and other harbingers of the changing seasons but it can all be rather loaded.
On Sunday the rest of the world was out in droves enjoying the sunshine. I had a little mission but not a lot of heart. Mission more or less achieved and fresh air and bit of exercise accomplished. I also visited the cemetery that I have written about before. I was overwhelmed once again by all the dead there that I know, or know of and by a feeling of closer connection there than elsewhere in the living world. I'm not sure it's such a bright idea to go there and I would find it very hard to define what it is that I feel and what it is that overwhelms me. The extra is of some snowdrops in front of a planter that I made up for the wife of my boss after he died. He was a curious 'Godfather' sort of character; not easy but a significant part of my life as work and life were inextricably mingled there for 20 years. I just find myself standing and wondering and not really sure I can comprehend any of it. I was glad to see it there; something of my own hand. His wife is still alive and active today and had talked of a headstone but nothing there yet and we are many years on now - I suspect she might be waiting until she's ready to join him perhaps.

I was pretty happy to leave and head home via a Candlemas service I seem to be repeating myself. A strange thing for this heathen but I'm a pagan sucker for lighting a candle with relative strangers and feeling a part of something even if it is living connection to memories of the dead. The vicar (new I think) was pretty irritating about how the light encourages us to live our lives fully and not lament time wasted in this life. That's the trouble with religion ... all these hidden subtle injunctions and little guilt trips. But hearts are in the right place and the mulled wine and cake was very welcome.