First October Blog.
September has given way to, yet again, a bright October start. A touch cooler, though the sunshine would have you think differently. Children, and not a few adults, from the American Continent, will be girding their loins (metaphorically speaking) for the end of month, upcoming, Halloween shennanigans.
The idea came across the Atlantic a few years ago and revived some old, old customs of our own, in that area. Still, we modernise quite well. Took the celebration to our hearts, in many respects, though not as fully as our US cousins. Perhaps it is a sign of modern times. Especially in cities where most people have no idea who lives next door to them, these days. ( Once upon a time, you knew your neighbours, joined their parties, spoke over the fence – having a good old natter, chewing the cud with them – but now people have moved away, passed on). Neighbours are either unfriendly or do not want to be involved with people they do not know. It is a safety precaution, never letting your guard down. What a sad old world this is?
For a while, we had a few kiddies coming tound with parents, but I guess they have grown up a lot. Lately, no one has knocked on All Hallows Eve! In our house we light a plastic pumpkin, and this year have a small ceramic pumpkin. I used to make pumpkin pie. Sadly, I can no longer eat the pastry, let alone the sweet pumpkin filling.
‘Er indoors has already been watching the new series of ‘Scream’. Not to my taste ( no more than the original Scream films were).
Just a short piece:-
****** The old Cemetary Lane runs at the rear of the house. It is tree-lined, not very wide. It didn’t have to be. Just enough for a horse to amble slowly along with its cart carrying a sad burden. A ditch runs along both sides. An unwise track for a car. The only turning point would be at the gates of the Cemetary and church. Here there is just enough room to turn a hearse. Not that many are buried there nowadays. Only very old locals who have previously bought a grave, can use it.
I use the Lane to walk my Frisson. She loves scuffling in amongst autumnal debris, searching out creatures, trying to hide beneath the warmth of tree litter. The walk gives her a chance to exercise her legs. At home, all she does is curl up in her basket or, when it is colder, snooze in front of the fire. She is a lazy little darlingi, but I love her to bits. Since Douglas passed, she is my companion, my soul mate. I have no idea what I will do when it is her turn to pass out of this world. Eight years old, and I try to put the thought behind me.
Dogs, like the rest of us, I suppose, do not live forever. Some have longer life spans, it is true, but theirs are much shorter than ours. Could I bear to spoil her memory and get myself another dog? If I did take another on, it would mean that, as I grew further into my seventyeth decade, I too might pass on, leaving it uncared for. I would feel very guilty about that. And if I stayed the course, would I be fit enough, as time went on, to take a younger dog for long walks? I very much doubt it. My knees already give me a lot of pain, though I try to put up with it. After all, my Daisy is no Labrador and she stays pretty close to me, never running further than a feet feet away. With no cars to worry about, we can take our ease. *******
Something to think about.
Be safe out there. Happy Weekdays.