Catching Time

Last Wednesday I found myself bombing down the A3 to meet my mother-in-law muttering curses at the other drivers as I attempted to beat time. As the Black Rose (my beloved Land Rover) accelerated towards Guildford, I heard a popping noise and looking through the passenger side mirror, saw the rear wheel trim fly off into the traffic behind us. Before I carry on this moral tale, I will admit to the fact that I knew the trim wasn’t secure as someone had damaged it a few days before and I hadn’t got round to getting it fixed. Anyway, as I saw the black bit of plastic tumble into the distance I had a fleeting thought to pull onto the hard shoulder and attempt to retrieve it. Idiocy I know but nevertheless the notion momentarily entered my stressed out brain. Of course I didn’t although I did send a prayer up that no headlines would appear the next day for pile-ups caused by irresponsible Land Rover drivers.

It wasn’t until a few days later as I allowed my mind to wander slightly as the Black Rose took to the autoroute that I realised that the above could so easily be an analogy for my life lately. I’ve spent far too long rushing forward, ignoring the little things that need fixing then wishing I could go back and rectify the problem so it would never have happened. I’m sure this ‘ I shoulda, woulda, coulda’ thinking happens to all of us widows and widowers. We are either looking in the rear view mirror at the parts we’ve left behind or constantly whizzing forward trying to find a settling point. Or maybe that’s just me. It’s very easy to say you only live once so enjoy the moment but as yet I haven’t reached the tranquility zone. Actually that’s not entirely true. Having driven the 10+ hour journey from London to L’Horte, most of it through driving through torrential rain alongside little French voitures doing a hundred miles an hour, the Black Rose carefully offloaded her precious cargo (Callum, myself, three dogs and all the Christmas presents) at the place I call home. And although my back had seized mid-journey and I was beyond exhausted, there was no better sight than the old homestead.

Yesterday I woke up stiff and sore and having had virtually no sleep due the aforementioned plus a very over-excited Arry and Alice ( Yogi I feel, was more empathetic to his Mum’s pain), I opened the shutters to be greeted by a cerulean sky welcoming me back. It has taken a whole day to calm the frazzled mind , mainly due to the dynamic duo seeing the property as some sort of Winter Wonderland that could disappear at any moment but now I can feel the hectic brain cells slow to a lazy crawl. It’s good to be home. So Merry Christmas one and all and I hope everyone gets a chance to sit back and switch off. From the Widow plus Woofers.

“The dog lives for the day, the hour, even the moment.” (Robert Falcon Scott)