Marking time

I can't be alone in feeling that despite the apparent tedium of individual days during lockdown - especially, I think, at this time last year - time generally seems to have rushed by. And looking back, I'm more than ever convinced that it is the lack of individual milestones in our lives - these events, little or momentous, that shape our perception of time itself, that is responsible for this apparent haste towards the grave.

Last evening, I feel, will turn out to be a milestone. I can count on one hand the times we've had people round for a meal in the last two years, and last night's sharing actually doubled the number of guests if you don't count family. Not that they've exactly thronged our door, but we've had, I think, three visits ... 

I slept like a log for 6 hours and didn't get up till well after 9am. It was blowing a hoolie, though at the front of the house I'd not really heard the wind until I thought about it. Our bird-table was lying on the ground for the second time in its short life with us - it's now wired onto a fence post, so we'll see how it fares with the next gale (tomorrow, I believe). A rosemary plant in a large pot had blown over, and the empty watering can (I always leave it full, but Other People are less careful) had smashed a plate that should've been under a flower pot. Our bins are chained onto a fence and a wall, so they were all right; across the road I could see one on its side, rubbish everywhere. Despite flickering lights, our power remained on; my bestie had none in the morning and I know that along Loch Eck it was still off at teatime. And in the porch, posted there before I was even downstairs, was a joyous little thank-you card from Sarah and David, who were clearly less affected by last night than we were - it's amazing what 25 years' age difference does!

 Despite a tendency to fall asleep whenever I sat down, we did get out for a walk later when the sky began to clear and the rain stopped. Benmore Gardens was sheltered under the lee of the hill, so it wasn't until we reached the Andean Refuge that we had the wind still whistling round us. There were branches strewn everywhere - it wouldn't have been much fun to have been hit by one - and several heavy wooden garden seats were lying on their backs. Only two miles and a bit of a climb, but we felt better of it.

Blipping the flowers that came with our visitors yesterday. Here's to lovely milestones and more laughter!