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More coast

It’s a steep old walk out the village.. try that when it’s icy.

More tropical Yorkshire weather, more time by the coast. This time beautiful, old Robin Hood’s Bay. Welcome to the eighteenth centuries busiest Yorkshire smuggling port. Maybe the name came from this being the legendary ‘give to the poor’ hero’s seaside refuge, maybe it came from local fairy folklore. One thing is for sure, if it was Robin Hood or a Forest Elf, I hope they got wrapped up warm. It’s a place to blow away the cobwebs, it’s a place for the thickest of thick woolly jumpers.

Many many years ago, a young me came here on an outward bounds course. It’s funny how time expands and enhances the memories. I remember vividly climbing during the middle of the night, through a dark, waste deep, raging stream filled tunnel. A tunnel that went on for several deadly miles, finally after one of the greatest feats of human endurance, emerging onto the windswept beach. From this very exit…

Unfortunately it doesn’t appear to be very waste deep…. and pacing the tunnel out, it’s probably 50 yards long at most….

My whole life has been based on a lie 😂😂😂😂😂

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Seaside

Switzerland has so many wonderful adventures to offer. Such a small country offering so much.

Yet there is one thing that Yorkshire has over that LANDLOCKED Alpine Paradise.

SEASIDE

If your thing is bleak, windswept sprawling beaches and a frigid North Sea, followed by Fish, Chips and Mushy Peas, then it’s the Yorkshire Coast for you. Case in point…..

On a typically tropical Easter Day, donned in a million woolly layers, we bravely ventured to just North of Whitby. To Sandsend Beach.

Cold YES, worth visiting, MOST DEFINITELY.

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How long

I have a friend from university who has steadfastly shunned as much new technology as possible. He has no home computer, still uses video and vinyl, has no cd or dvd player. Doesn’t own a mobile phone. Actually he doesn’t really like any phones. The result is any communication is handwritten letters, it’s like a blast from the past.

During one protracted letter exchange, a conversation which would now normally take seconds was played out over almost a full year.

Remember that climbing trip to Glen Coe…

Oh yes, that one…

How on earth did you fall into that stream….

Effects of gravity probably, wow it was smelly, but you found that cowpat to fall into….

That was the biggest cowpat ever, covered head to toe….

That was not produced by a cow, size of that thing, it was a dinosaur….

We looked a right state sitting in that cafe that evening….

We did, but it was a great climb….

Happy Days….

It’s been a while since we have climbed….

It is, life happened….

How long is it now, must be 10 years….

I’ve just checked my photos, I think our last climb was 21 years ago….

Really, wow, where does that time go………………..

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Lane

It’s now been over two decades walking down the village back LANE. Actually it’s really about navigating the dangers, dodging the potholes. The many many many potholes, mile after mile of them.

In places it’s more hole than tarmac. During the day it can be bad enough but at night, on those late dog walk. Yet, over the years the myriad ankle breakers have become ingrained on my mind, almost subconsciously I now know which way to step, hop, jump and sidestep. Without thinking, without looking, I flow through the pothole dangers. Who would have thought it, on that LANE, I almost become a cross between Ethan Hunt and Neo. On that LANE I could be Mission Impossible, could be The Matrix.

Just on that one LANE, no where else. Which unfortunately rather cuts down on my movie superhero stardom chances. That would be one dull thriller…. THE LANE.

But then in other places, there can be more movie potential.

The kitchen destroyed another item today. Its third Glass Coffee Press. That’s on top of countless plates, cups, glasses, jars, bottles and yes even spectacles. You name it, the kitchen floor has destroyed them. Who in their right mind puts a stone floor in a kitchen. Such a defect, such a negligent act, that’s Towering Inferno incompetence. Maybe that’s the second, more marketable thriller….THE KITCHEN FLOOR.

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No Sun

Yorkshire is kinda stuck in weather, stuck in cold, grey and damp. It’s not just here that gets weather like this, even in my favourite place, Switzerland. Sometimes we would wake up to grim alpine weather, yet it didn’t stop the family adventure. Waterproofs on and off we went.

Happy GREY days.

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Time

Hawklad’s Mum had a bucklet list of places she really wanted to visit. She was blessed to tick off quite a few locations from the list but sadly a few still escaped her. One such place was in Switzerland….

A small lake called Blausee found near the river Kander in the Bernese Oberland. A deep blue lake set in stunning surroundings which is completely fed by underground springs. As a result it is crystal clear and you can clearly see the bottom of the lake, even though it’s 12m deep. It’s apparently MAGICAL.

Photo from My Switzerland

Frustratingly we were frequently in the area but never quite made to the lake. It was always one of those,

We will get there NEXT TIME…..

TIME does run out, so if you have those places to visit, don’t let time runout on them.

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Sigh

That’s as bright as it’s been really….

But at least there are the first signs of this year’s flowers.

I recently bumped into someone we got to know at Hawklad’s first school and she asked after him with the following words…..

“Is he now over his Autism….”

Deep sigh…. Where do you start with that….

What’s really worrying is those words came from a Teacher.

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Sky drawing

Pilot having fun or maybe a pilot realising that a packed lunch was left back at The Terminal.

Lovely blue skies from a few weeks back, it’s been definitely not blue skies since then. The fields keep on getting muddier.

Perfect weather to reread Wuthering Heights, no wonder the classic grim tale was set in deepest Yorkshire.

I was chatting with a postman this morning and he talked about a man who lives near a surrounding village. At the start of January, he had moved into an old farmhouse a few miles away from the nearest housing. He told the postman that it had been weeks since he had spoken to anyone. He has no family, he didn’t know anyone in the area and was really suffering from the isolation. He had signed up to a local walking group but the walks have been cancelled due to the state of the paths. He had signed up to the local golf course, but that had been shut for weeks due to flooding. The postman was his only social contact currently. What made it so much worse was that when he went shopping to the local city supermarket, no one would ever make eye contact with him. He described it as being ‘invisible’, like he didn’t ’exist’. The supermarket only has self service checkouts so he couldn’t even chat to someone scanning his shopping.

That got me thinking. How often do I go shopping with my head down, with my walls up.

I strongly suspect that’s happening way more these days, a pandemic certainly hasn’t helped. What is clear, more people are feeling isolated and cut off. More and more people are struggling, feeling unseen.

Tomorrow I’m going to make an effort to keep my head up when I go shopping.

Eye contact, maybe a smile, maybe even saying HI.

Posted on by bereavedandbeingasingleparent · 49 Comments

Straw Castle

The last storm toppled the walls of this STRAW CASTLE. The Farmer won’t be happy.

At least it is still in better shape than the local stone castle.

One of the first post funeral trips I managed by myself was to a book fair just a few yards from what’s left of this castle. It wasn’t easy or enjoyable but I did do it, a step forward back then. One of the books I brought home was a ‘how to survive bereavement’ guide. It quickly ended up in the bin but I do remember one thing it talked about. How talking to a lost loved one might feel natural but wasn’t a good thing. Apparently it just stopped you moving on.

I clearly didn’t listen to that gem of advice that well.

Even after 7 plus years, if there is any news about her SON, I tell her. To me it’s not about moving on, it just seems the right thing to do for us.

Maybe one day someone will produce the shortest ever bereavement guide. One page. Maybe it just needs to say.

Every grief journey is unique. As time goes on you will start to figure out yours.