Author: Rare Bit Blogging

I’m going for a longer walk with Claire this afternoon. I can’t wait to be in the bright burnished autumnal countryside and have a good chat. It’s another stunning morning and the rain has decided to go to Spain, quite literally. These beautiful sunrises are worth getting up for and it isn’t too cold yet.

I’m really excited about practicing. I bought some new music online and the pieces all work really well on the harp, and it’s music I love too! It evokes childhood memories and warm happy feelings of being loved. It’s amazing how music has the power to conjure up cosy comforting winter nights snuggled up by the fire in front of the telly.

Walking with friends is great. Walking alone is great too. Walking’s the best.

The end of November and December are quiet. My ego is panicking but I’m quite pleased. I tried booking a holiday but couldn’t decide on a destination so after a fortnight of research, I gave in and decided to start the process of getting a new kitchen at last. With hindsight, a holiday would have been easier. I know exactly what I want, getting that is a bigger challenge.

I received the CAD images yesterday. My heart sank. It was nothing like what I’d described to the young designer who came round to measure and take photos. I wonder if they were listening. I often zone out so why wouldn’t they? Maybe they were pondering what to have for dinner or the activities they were looking forward to at the weekend? I’m pretty sure they didn’t imagine spending a lot of time in the kitchen they CAD’d for me.

I get a bit antsy in September. It’s the thought of a long winter ahead, the dark cold nights stretching endlessly, encroaching onto that precious early morning daylight, stealing brightness like a selfish seasonal thief. Then I remember there’s autumn first. Bright blue skied sunny crisp crunchy crackling leaf autumn days are the best.

I found this cool thing on my phone which cheered me up:

I haven’t felt like blogging for some time. I’m doing a lot of personal writing but nothing public. I found it hard to justify writing about my everyday life whilst watching increasing evidence of global collapse in front of my eyes. Crisis after crisis. However I do feel an urge – obey it I must. There’s no writing group for 3 weeks either. My motivation is somewhat selfish – committing to writing a daily blog helps with my literacy, focus, memory and imagination!

I got really stressed last week. I played for a very quiet Fayre and went straight up to North Yorkshire for a wedding the following day. The bride had some really demanding ceremony requests and I got really worked up about those. Although my practice demons proved hard to handle, I was pleased to be pushing myself rather than simply playing the usual requests. I was reminded of how I was when I was doing a lot of orchestral work – I didn’t let it go until it was right. I’ve still got that desire even if my repertoire is a far cry from Wagner and Puccini.

I’ve found the wedding work tiring this year, the driving, setting up, things that wouldn’t have fazed me a couple of years ago. The amp is brilliant and I can play for much longer without fighting to make my harp audible. The extra weight is the only con.

My feet haven’t been well since I bought running shoes online just before going to France. After a long walk along the coast near Marseille I got blisters the size of golf balls on both heels. I’d never seen anything like them. I Compeeded them and kept going during the rest of my trip. My heels subsequently cracked. They got so bad last week that I couldn’t face walking more than a mile. I was heartbroken.

I went for a biomechanical assessment last week. That morning I finally burst into tears after my stretching session when most muscles in my body were throbbing and my feet were incredibly sore. It was such a relief to have a bloody good sob.

The previous week I had a skin and nail appointment. That chiropodist suspected foot psoriasis. I played it down though I was devastated.

The biomechanics chiropodist was kind and extremely thorough. I was told to bring as many pairs of shoes as I wanted (7) and she asked a lot of questions. She examined my feet and said she’d never seen such hyper mobile feet. Oh crap I thought but she reassured me it’s preferable to having arthritic feet. I left with orthotic insoles fitted with metatarsal domes. I could feel them niggling at my neuroma but the effect on my posture was almost instant – no more knee or hip twinges. And thankfully, she doesn’t think it’s foot psoriasis 😃 4.5 miles on Saturday evening were almost comfortable. If I can walk, I can work.

As wedding season drew to a close I decided to complete a thorough health MOT on myself. I want to stay as fit and healthy as possible. I’m not worried about grey hair and wrinkles but I am determined to stay strong, mobile and independent. I went for a DEXA (bone density) scan a couple of weeks ago. Considering the state of Mum’s bones, it’s a wise idea. Results soon. Blood tests all came back normal.

My psoriasis is troublesome. I try to accept it but when the itch is there, it’s all consuming.

You see what I mean? I sound like a whining hypochondriac but from what I gather, it’s quite normal to be preoccupied with health as our bodies need more support as we age.

And then there’s the state of the arts. I mean, WTF is going on? Another orchestra in dire straits, yet I look at social media and every orchestral harpist looks focused, busy with gigs and happy. My brain can’t comprehend this dissonance. To say that the music world is in a precarious position is an understatement.

(This was written before the US elections)

The latest remedy I’m trying for my skin is infra red sauna. I go roughly once a week for an hour. It can get quite intense at the end but I feel cleansed and invigorated afterwards. It’s a dry heat, up to 52 degrees and it seems to penetrate my core. After my first session it felt as though I’d been in a desert for an hour, my body heated from the inside out. I look forward to that hibernation in a hot pinewood cocoon. Sometimes I zone out and the hour flies by. Other times I read. There’s no difference to my skin yet but there are a few more things I’d like to try before calling it quits.

The leaf fell silently into the soothing swirl of the stream.

It slowly whirled its ghostly time lapse dance in its watery grave as though in a trance.

Pale green in Spring, it unfurled, viridescent beneath the bright summer sunshine.

When autumn came it withered gold, old and wrinkled, tired, brown.

It rustled quietly in the cool morning sunlight, detached, and it fell down.

Granada:

In light of the above experience, I asked the owner of the ecoshop at the end of my street for restaurant recommendations where I could eat reasonably healthily. He suggested El Higo (The Fig):

I was so well fed and the staff were so friendly that I returned for lunch the following day before taking the train.

Ronda:

There seemed to be more restaurants in Ronda. There’s even a 2 starred Michelin guide restaurant with a €180 tasting menu. I took my time to make my selection as I wanted one special holiday meal. I got it at Tragata, the offshoot of the above restaurant:

It was fun and I got a bit emotional eating here.

(Un)fortunately they were closed on my last evening so I went old school traditional:

The maître d’ bore an uncanny resemblance to someone. I couldn’t put my finger on it. Then it dawned on me.

At the Alhambra:

These were taken on a short stroll through the Albaicín:

I was sad to leave Granada. I got into my groove there but I hadn’t experienced the delights of Ronda yet!

I arrived (via Antequera…) at 9pm to rain. There were no taxis outside the station. I checked on my phone – my accommodation was a 10 minute walk away so off I went. I was so excited to have arrived and I wanted to get a feel for the town.

The streets were quiet for a Friday night and I felt safe. I walked past a dramatically uplit church. Further along there was a building with small painted statues of religious figures outside. The pavements became small cobblestones and I was taken back in time. My suitcase wheels rumbled noisily. I paused to check I was on track, avoiding a busy looking bar with joyous weekend revellers outside.

I arrived at my home for the next few days and gasped. It was quite luxurious and tastefully decorated.

The light switches were beautiful. They made a satisfying click-clack sound.

The bedroom was huge and I needed a map for the bed. I went up the final flight of stairs to the terrace. Yes, it was there as per description and it was still raining so I saved that until morning.

I went out to get supplies and realised just how heavy the rain was. Water was streaming down the street. Just my luck.

There was a nice vibe despite the weather and the shop assistants were genuinely warm and friendly. I got back and settled in. It was late and I was tired.

I slept like a baby again. I was unplugged. I felt so calm and relaxed. After breakfast I went to explore. Punto Nuevo was top of the list and it was a mere 30 seconds further than the shop I’d visited the previous night. The bridge was busy and I waited my turn to take in the views and, most of all, the vertiginous height:

It was a highly impressive aesthetically pleasing feat of architecture and engineering. And practicality. How much time was saved by building that bridge. During my 4 days in Ronda I saw the bridge from most angles:

It’s a small town and I had purposely factored in enough time to relax and do nothing.

I saw the bullring:

but didn’t feel the need to visit. I appreciate that bullfighting has great historic significance for the Spanish but it’s an unnecessarily cruel and sadistic sport in my opinion. There are other ways to prove one’s manhood and skill.

On the second day I headed down to the Arab Baths, which were serene and impressive in an understated way.

I enjoyed it, especially the welcome I received from the bath cats:

There were lots of cats in Ronda 😻

On the third day I went walking through the Cuenca gardens. Several short flights of steps zigzagged downwards leading me through a horticultural labyrinth.

It was drizzling. I kept walking until I came to a building which fascinated me. It was the Casa del Rey Moro. I debated whether to enter, and saw this sign:

Unfortunately the house is derelict, but the gardens were stunning. There were even peacocks perched on the pergola:

I decided to go down to the mines:

A couple were enjoying a simple picnic at the bottom of the seemingly endless staircase. It was a nice quiet spot and refuelling before tackling that ascent was a good idea.

This was the only day I felt a little lonely and in need of a chat, so I messaged my friends and felt connected again. I was also fed up with the drizzly weather:

but it was February after all and I had a brolly.

I’m very independent and I enjoy my own company but you can have too much of a good thing! I realised I’m not adept at reaching out and asking for help. I’m working on this.

And that, dear readers, was Ronda, bringing my holiday to a close.

Due to train connections and an early flight, I spent a night at a hotel near the airport. I made the most of it although it wasn’t the most walkable area:

I looked for a taxi to take me from the airport station to the hotel. It was a 2.5 mile trip. At the taxi rank I was told it was €16. I feigned indifference but inside I was shrieking. I’d gone slightly over budget and I’d need another taxi in the morning to take me back to the airport. Can I walk it? I asked hopefully. Yes yes, said the taxi sharks. You turn right there and turn right again a bit later. Off I went, happy to get my legs moving.

After about half a mile I got a suspicious feeling it wasn’t going to end well as the pavement turned to path, then to nothing. The path was next to a busy 6 lane road and in front of me was an elevated roundabout with no pavement. Beneath it lay wasteland enclosed by high fencing.

I had just passed a fuel station so I turned back and asked there. The attendant said it wasn’t walkable and it was actually quite dangerous. My heart sank. I left despondently and saw a taxi filling up. I asked if he was available. Yes he was, and he took me safely to the hotel for… €16!!! Better safe than hospitalised/dead. And at least I didn’t have to go back to the taxi rank ☺️ I worked out they’d sent me in the wrong direction too *shakes head*

This was the greatest misfortune I suffered on holiday.

Going away helped shift my grief to a manageable level, although grief never goes away. It becomes bearable but it’s always there, like a dull thudding ache. My experience of grief was an engulfing numbness. I know it served to protect me but all I could do was function very basically. Life was grey. There was no joy, no emotion. It’s still early days and there are times when my mood is flatter than a taco. I have absolutely no energy or focus. Is this grief or menopause? Does it matter?

I don’t think anything can prepare one for grief. The grief I had for Dad felt very different from my grief for Mum. I don’t have any words of wisdom about grief, except trust the process. And I found that holidays provide an effective antidote. I’ve just booked my next trip…

I’d prefer to walk on pretty pebbled patterns than concrete and tarmac any day.