Time

Where did the week go? I can't believe it's that long since I sent anything out from The House of Stories. It's been a bit strange this week. Time flew, or as Tony would say, that's the trouble with tempus, it fugits.

There have been two days when I had to work my socks off. (Then I had to put my socks back on, but you shouldn't really put socks back on because they get smelly, so I put them in the wash and put some clean ones on, and then of course I had to do the washing. BTW, I have some socks with kittens on that Daughter gave me because she's like that.)

Now, the middle of this week was our wedding anniversary, and believe me, anyone who can put up with me for all those years deserves a treat. Anyone who can put up with him for all those years deserves the George Cross. We had been thinking about driving off to the Lake District and finding a Bed and Breakfast somewhere, but that was all put on hold because a friend of ours from Mytholmroyd had died, a delightful lady, who passed too young and too suddenly. Her funeral was on Wednesday, so we went over to Yorkshire for a bittersweet two days. We stayed overnight with The Sunshines, then made that lovely drive through hills and moors to celebrate and mourn a bright shining life and be part of that community again, one of the happiest, strongest communities I have ever belonged to.

Yesterday we scooped up my parents and went for a tour of some favourite places from long ago - Blanchland, and the Derwent Reservoir where Dad used to fish. Blanchland is a hidden secret. It used to be an abbey - the name is said to come from the white robes worn by the monks - and the houses are almost all made out of the old abbey buildings. There are cottages in what used to be the cloister. The reservoir is a place of big skies, trees, and fishermen. Children rode about on their bikes, knowing they were in a safe place. Dad looked out over the water. There was peace. For the first time this week, time stood still for us.