In an ideal world, my hair would be able to tolerate a winter hat. Not just my hair, but me. I love winter hats. They just don't love me. They make me feel hot and bothered. My head itches. And I dare not remove the hat if, for example, I go from beach to café, because my hair looks completely bonkers after being jostled inside a cap of wool. Winter hats are for people with thick, lustrous tresses. Or a chic and stylish cropped barnet. Strawberry blonde flyaway hair just doesn't cut the mustard. I have to make do with a hood, which let's face it is never a good look. People always stare at me in an alarmed way when I walk along the beach with my hood up and pulled in tight. It's the expanse of forehead, I'm afraid. Without a fringe I look like Mr Potato Head's less glamorous daughter.
Olly and I walked along Porthkidney Sands this morning. He's been off school with one of those non specific virus things, but today he was much better. Not well enough for school, but well enough for some strawberry bon bons and a stomp. You may be able to tell from the pictures above - and apologies for their poor quality. I think I've picked up the non specific virus, and I didn't have any fortifying bon bons of my own - that it was rather windy. The sand was blowing up into our faces, getting into our eyes and mouths. We walked backwards to try and alleviate the problem, but to be honest it was rather a laborious way to traverse the beach. So we climbed up into the dunes and found shelter there. Olly played with the trains that he'd bought along, and I sat back and turned my face to the sun.
It has been a difficult week, what with lurgy and teenage hideousness, and I was grateful for this time spent in gentle activity. I was happy to let my mind drift here and there. I really loved sitting in the sunshine. Honestly, there is nothing better. The sun was primrose yellow; pale and wistful. No hint of the warmth that is yet to come. Just a promise of brighter days ahead. And for the first time in a while I felt a stirring of positivity deep within.
Once home, we went into the garden and set to with loppers and secateurs. For a good couple of hours we laboured in the borders, and I compiled a mental to do list. I felt that undercurrent of excitement that the garden gives me. It's so bedraggled and unpromising at this time of year. But full of plans and possibilities too. There are bulbs popping up all over the shop. There are shrubs that need to be moved around. There are sweet peas to be sowed in the greenhouse. I want to buy more Alium bulbs, and I have plans for the neglected bit down the side of the house. I fancy painting the fences, and have hacked back a rather invasive clematis and put it in it's place once more. Now we are inside. Alfie has an after school club, and Olly is inventing in the conservatory. I have made myself a cup of tea, and am going to grab some gardening books, and snatch a half hour or so before tea indulging in plans and projects.
I'm sharing a bit of the good, to thank you for letting me share a bit of the bad the other day. There's something very cool about the solidarity and support I receive from you all. You are the Person Centred counsellor that I have always strived to be.