The tenderness of life

Well, a whole lot of nothing has been happening here - which is strange, because I somehow haven't had time to do much to my current quilts. Son and Daughter-in-Law and offspring had a weekend at the seaside in the west of Scotland, where the sunsets were beautiful. 

Biggest Granddaughter was in a little show - a version of Jack and the Beanstalk in which Jack (wisely) runs away from the giant. Then his unpleasant mother and granny go up the beanstalk instead and get eaten by the giant. Jack subsequently shins up, finds the giant sleeping off his meal of Jack's relations, pinches the giant's money and lives happily ever after. Morally rather dubious but quite funny. Biggest was Second Chicken. Not a starring role but she sang nicely and remembered her (few) lines. 

The Edinburgh Two came here and the Brio, once so much the centre of Big Grandson's life, got an outing. Biggest Granddaughter played with it a bit but also practised turning herself upside down. 

It was VERY WET yesterday. 

Littlest in London went to soft play. 

And that's about it, apart from a bit of gardening, three choir rehearsals, a daily letter to my friend who had the stroke (she passed module one of dressing and washing using her left hand this morning! - I don't know if there's really a Module 1 or she was just teacher-joking, but it's good news anyway), some walking, a bit of patchworking, quite a bit of socialising and the book group. 

Oh, and on Tuesday we went up to Perth to drop off - no, to hand carefully over - the bottle of whisky to be auctioned. While we were there, we tried to go to Branklyn Gardens, but they don't open till April 1. We thought we'd go to Scone Palace to walk in their grounds - only open Friday-Sunday at this time of year. So we tried the museum and art gallery - closed till Thursday. Ah well, we had a nice walk along the North Inch. 

We chose a house for ourselves. I rather fancy the one on the right, with the sloping gardens down to the river and the little hexagonal summer house. 

This, in the High Street, is a sculpture by David Annand based on a 1941 poem by William Soutar called "Nae day sae dark", ie "No day so dark".

Nae day sae dark; nae wud sae bare,

Nae grun sae stour wi' stane,

But licht comes through; a sang is there;

A glint o' grass is green. 

Wha hasna thol'd his thorter hours

And kent, whan they were by,

The tenderness o' life that fleurs

Rockfast in misery?

This means roughly: No day so dark, no wood so bare, no ground so hard* with stone, but light comes through, a song is there, a glint of grass is green. Who hasn't borne his difficult (thwarted) hours and known, when they were past, the tenderness of life that flowers strongly from the rock of misery? 

An optimistic thought. The poem is engraved inside the ring.

It's supposed to be a happy chap holding the ring - to support, I suppose? -  a sad one, though actually they both look a bit ambivalent. 

William Soutar knew things about misery. He was bedridden with arthritis and TB by 32, and died thirteen years later. Poor chap. But at least he's remembered. 

How time paddles on by... and how different from my previous lives. Not unpleasant, though. Not complaining. Enjoying every moment (well, most of them) and appreciating being able to use my arms and legs. 

*"Stour" normally means "dust" but I looked it up and it can also mean "hardness, harshness", which seems to fit better here.