Moving on...

On Monday we went to my friend H's funeral in Melrose. It was very sad and somewhat strange. Two of my friends were killed in car accidents when they were 23, which was very awful. One of them was H's sister, and the other was one of my very best friends from when we were 5. Both deaths were huge shocks. I lost another good friend about ten years ago, but since then, no one of my age who was very close to me has died, which I suppose makes me very lucky. But I'll be 75 in the summer, so, facing facts, this is likely to keep happening in the coming years. My mum lost absolutely all of the friends from her youth; that's what tends to happen if you live till you're 90. Mum fortunately made various younger friends in her old age, which was lovely for her. 

H and I hadn't fallen out at all, but she became somewhat reclusive in her latter years, so I hadn't seen her for some considerable time, though we kept in touch. I always thought we might meet up again, but of course I now know that we won't. Her death is nothing like the tragedy of her sister's and my other friend's - 74 isn't a bad age. But we shared a lot of adventures in our youth - for example, we travelled round Canada and the USA on Greyhound buses for a calendar month in 1970 - and now we'll never again have chats and giggles about our journey. 

Anyway, I've done a lot of gardening this week, planting things and digging out bits of plants that had got too big and so on. There's nothing like gardening to make one look forward. The weather's been beautiful too, which always raises the spirits. Here's to life! 

 

Variety

Ah, spring, lovely spring. The garden is very daffodilly. 

And a bit tulipy.

And somewhat drumstick primula-ish.

I planted blue scillas years ago and, perversely, they insist on marching out of the flowerbed into the driveway, from where it's impossible to dig them out. Why can't they seed themselves in the opposite direction? I do love them, though. 

We did a recce for a walk the other day, along a former railway line from Bonnyrigg to Penicuik. It was a sunny day but quite breezy, with the wind in our faces, which made it harder to walk. 

Signs of spring in these pussy willows. 

This community woodland thoughtfully provided a bench for the weary traveller. We sat on it. 

It was all very jolly, but it was also six and a half miles, so we were pleased to arrive in Penicuik and have a coffee, before bussing home. 

Penicuik, pronounced Pennycook.

Smallest Granddaughter was delighted when a greenfly landed on her hand the other day. I'm not myself a great greenfly fan; they eat my plants. Still, it's lovely to see the world through a child's eyes.

Talking of eyes, I discovered recently that Son-in-Law 1 doesn't know the colours of his (two) children's eyes. I was absolutely astounded. We discussed this a bit, and he said, well, it's not important. Which it isn't, but I still can't imagine not knowing - well, the colours of most of my friends' eyes, let alone my children's. As I climbed into bed later that night, I thought to check that my dear husband, whom I've known since 1964, knows the colours of our children's eyes. And he doesn't! (He was keeping that very quiet during the discussion.)

I then thought to mention this to two separate groups of friends. I thought they would all express extreme amazement, but on the whole they all nodded and said "Mmm". One remarked that she couldn't really say what colours her children's eyes were, and then said the same as my SIL: that it wasn't important. And I agree: it's not important. But still...

Now, I'm not claiming special powers - I haven't got much sense of direction, for example and am not good if my computer misbehaves. But on the whole, should I want to think of the colours of my friends' eyes, I just imagine their faces and look at the colour. I mean, it's not an infallible system if it's someone I've only met a few times, but if I know them, I know their eye colour and, come to that, the shape of their teeth and their noses and what their hands are like and so on. Is this unusual, o bloggy friends? Surely not?

 

I have nothing special to report, though Facebook showed me a throwback photo of Big Granddaughter the other day. She's now 12 and quite noticeably taller than me. Our sitting room, where she is, is scarcely any different now. The glass and china on the shelves behind her have been minorly rearranged. The slippers on her feet are mine, and I'm still wearing them. They'd be too small for her now. She's a lovely child still but oh, wasn't she sweet? Sigh. 

Daughter 1's garden had become somewhat weedy and she didn't have time to do a spring (well, and last autumn) tidy, so I asked a gardener for an estimate to sort it out. He estimated £720! For two weedy flowerbeds in a smallish garden! Well, no. "Dad and I will do it," I declared robustly. 

So that's what we've been doing for the last several days. The main problem was Michaelmas daisies which had formed a thick mat and seeded prodigiously. We now think that £720 wasn't such an overestimate. But it's done! For now... .

Rule 1: Never let Michaelmas daisies seed. 

Poor old Mr Life doesn't really do gardening. He doesn't do it for me! But he loves his daughter. (Well, he loves me too...).
 

Lottery

On Saturday, we walked with our friends in East Lothian - five miles, from Haddington to Longniddry. It was perfect weather: sunny, not a breath of wind. 

It was an easy walk, along flattish paths. 

And we ended, as usual, with a coffee and chat. 

Yesterday we went up to visit Son and family. Here's Little Grandson on the swings. 

Son had a go too. 

And then we walked up the hill, into a wood

where quite a few trees were felled by recent storms

and more swinging took place.

So that was all very nice, but today I don't feel very well, and the husband of one of my best friends from schooldays has just phoned to say that she died this afternoon. She had dementia and so it's been very sad for a while, but it's still a bit of a shock. She was always a bit odd in some ways, even as a child, but also a very good friend when we were young, and lots of fun. Life is such a lottery.
 

Time flies like an arrow...

Big Granddaughter is 12! How did that happen??

#

And we went to the Botanics, where...

spring...

is...

definitely...

springing...

at least...

as far as (some of) the rhododendrons are concerned. 

 

Spring

Spring is a-cumin in and Littlest Granddaughter can play in the park after school. 

The great excitement in her life is that she's now got two guinea pigs. She's thrilled! I hope they live long lives...

Daughter 1's garden wall fell down during Storm Eowyn (well, it was pushed over by a blown-down buddleia in between it and the fence next door) and today Darren the Patio came and sorted this out. 

It's now all fixed and much smarter, with a smaller wall which can be weeded behind, and slabs for putting pots of flowers on, maybe?

My friend Janet wanted a fish tank with fish in it, but her family persuaded her that it would be a lot of work, so she got her friends and family to colour in a fish each and she's mounted these. I sent the daughters a photo of the finished "tank", and asked which one they thought I'd done, and within something like 20 seconds, Daughter 2 had screenshotted (is this a word?) the correct one and sent it back to me. How well she knows me! I wasn't surprised at the correctness of the answer, though the speed did surprise me somewhat. (It's the lower middle one with a yellow face, blue body and stripy fins. It's a bit pale compared to some of the others.)

Crocuses and daffodils splashing their colour in the garden. Gosh, a garden - or at least, mine - is a lot of work at this time of year.

These come up by themselves, but I've been slaving away cutting down last year's herbaceous perennials and waging war on bitter cress and that little willow herb with surprisingly long roots. Still, it's all worth it. I do love flowers. 

 

Offspring and snowdrops

Son and family came down at the weekend when Daughter 2 and Littlest Granddaughter were here, and Daughter 1 and family came over too, which was nice. Here are quite a lot of them playing with Lego. The person in blue, sitting on the sofa and bending over, is Big Grandson (13). He is currently rather long-haired. However, he does have beautifully thick hair and is still a lovely boy, though I would prefer that his hair didn't get any longer. 

We also played hide-and-seek in the garden. Here is Small Grandson, hiding (not entirely successfully) on a bench. 

But now, sadly, Daughter 2 and Littlest Granddaughter are back in London, getting trains. 

So Mr Life and I went to an exhibition. I like this painting by James McIntosh Patrick (1907-1998). It's of Stobo Kirk in the Borders. The light and the shadows and the roof shapes are very pleasing. 

Coincidentally, Mr L and I were down near Stobo yesterday, to visit Dawyck Botanic Gardens and to wander among its snowdrops. 

We did this last year too, and I probably took exactly the same photos then. 

There are millions of them. Well, I didn't count them. But certainly tens, if not hundreds, of thousands. 

It was very lovely. Isn't spring just wonderful?