Monday, 13 November 2017
Waiting for opo.
On Sunday we went treasure hunting.
That was welcome therapy to detract from my painful knee, hip, and shoulder.
Daughter, High Horse (school teacher) has a new project underway - as her brother W would say “she’s on one.” Granddaughter Katie, and I have been co-opted.
I am not sure what all this is about, but earlier in the week I was consulted on how to drill holes in glass. Within the family I have a modest reputation for DIY, but I think that is only because they have less aptitude than me. I recognised this as a challenge that High Horse knew I would be unable to resist. Normally I rebel when somebody poses the leading question “What are you doing on Wednesday?” If you reply “nothing” you are then doomed into an unwelcome commitment, but on this occasion I decided to play chicken and asked no more about her need for holes in glass. There is some parallel here with my current reading, a bio-novel based on the life of Shostakovich* who refers to Stalin and subsequent communist tyrants as POWER and the author delves into Shostakovich's guilt and feelings of cowardice at his repeated capitulation to POWER. I was researching on You Tube pronto, then ordering the appropriate drilling bits on the Internet.
On Sunday it was suggested that I should join HH and Katie for an expedition to Half Moon Bay south of Heysham. There I was instructed to become a beachcomber and slowly scour sand and pebbles for pieces of washed up sea-glass. The glass is opaque as was my grasp at that time, and still, of the planned purpose. So there I was on a glorious sunny day, but with perishing cold wind direct from Greenland with my Paramo jacket zipped up above my chin, hunchbacked, head down, and the cold starting to penetrate my several layers of clothing, limping slowly, and appearing as some eccentric to the abundant dog-walkers and family groups who were sensibly walking more quickly in the interests of keeping warm and self preservation.
Katie joined in enthusiastically, perhaps she knew more than I did. I think others had been on that beach looking for our treasure - it was not all that abundant, but between us we collected what HH reckoned was sufficient and then we had pure joy and fun with Katie flying her kite.
I am now waiting to be summoned to drill holes in glass, the reason for which is still unknown, perhaps it's on a need-to-know basis?
I think I'll go and listen to a bit of Shostakovich, or what about some suitably abstruse Philip Glass?
* The Noise of Time, Julian Barnes
I have just received a call bringing forward the date for my knee operation to Wednesday 29th November.