покойся с миром Михаил*

Autumn has arrived. The wind, which wasn't blowing at all during the day, is gusting fiercely from the east, and the first rain is spattered on the bedroom window. We knew it was coming, but it still feels strange. And the temperature in our bedroom is distinctly lower than it was earlier. 

I was out earlyish this morning, having managed to secure an appointment with our excellent optician, not for an eye test but because I've been having a lot of bother with my eyes - irritated, dry/watery - "grumpy eyes", she called them. I emerged seeing everything yellow from the drops she put in to examine them, and clutching samples of helpful products to try. Having thus been roused from my usual early torpor, I went back out again before coffee and bought thrilling things - the local paper, some flour for bread... that sort of thing. Town was very quiet, with the odd group of people standing chatting - a big change from last weekend.

We spent the afternoon in the garden, repainting the shed and the gate with Cuprinol. We've been talking about doing this since the spring, and all through the dry, peaceful weather we've ignored it. Today, we were aware of racing against the precipitation chart - but it was satisfying to finish it, and it'll all be dry by now. I even remembered to put away the garden chairs and tie on their cover instead of letting it flap.

Tomorrow is the funeral of Mikhail Gorbachev, and the paper today was full of interesting memories - and a strange photo of Putin, who will not be at the funeral, beside his predecessor's open coffin. Gorbachev looked much more in death like the man I remember, and it reminded me, as did all the historic photos, of how we all warmed to him, this man who seemed urbane and approachable by contrast with Kruschev and  Brezhnev and Andropov, and the barely remembered Chernenko, who died after only 13 months in office. I bought the mug in the blip through CND, which shows the hope we all felt that perhaps the nuclear threat was receding after the years of "one minute to midnight". I took the mug to school, and used it for my coffee every day for years - no-one ever tried to "borrow" it, because everyone knew it was mine.

I remember watching Brezhnev's funeral on the telly while I cleaned silver (probably the last time I did such a thing!) - I wonder what we'll see of this one. I wonder if it's close to the convent in this photo  from my Russian holiday ten years ago. I can't imagine going there now.

*As far as I am able to tell, this means "rest in peace, Mikhail"