Whilst Denise is walking in Lanzarote, I’m waiting in Limbo.
Waiting for the latest barrage of wind to wear itself out, so I can get outdoors and continue preparing the garden for the growing season ahead. I’m waiting for the poultry lock-down to reach its end without being extended again. Waiting for Denise to come home and togetherness to resume. Waiting for the electricians to fix a date for wiring up the croft chicken shed. And, dammit, I’m waiting for British Telecom to finish off installing the landline at Carrick Eriskay so that I can make good all the holes and trenches and get the house ready for guests again. (Wasn’t it enough that I had to do all the cabling work (indoors and outdoors – including under the road) myself? That was supposed to have speeded things up!) But above all, I’m waiting for my own restless anxious state to settle down, and find the quiet steady frame of mind in which I can get on with things that need doing – anything that needs doing, regardless of external frustrations.
Denise is good at that. Her answer to any difficulty is to just get on with it, especially if ‘it’ starts with dusting down and cleaning up. In fairness to myself, once I get going, I keep going. But more often than not it’s Denise makes sure I get going in the first place. That said, the learning-to-cook is entirely self-driven: I need to break through the wall of self-disbelief and move on …
Another bout of bad weather kicked off overnight, and has been building up all day. Tomorrow, Friday, will be worse. Rain – just showers, thankfully. It’s the wind. 50-60mph. Nothing catastrophic, just a bullying wind that grinds you down, wears you out, and not even with a name to attach the curse to.
Desperate to get outdoors, even at the risk of coming home soaked, Tilly and I set off up the lane towards Eiseabhal. I picked up the camera for just-in-case. The other day there’d been a group of Eriskay ponies hanging around at the old fank, sheltering from the south-easterly wind. One of the older boys looked like Midnight. It’d be good to get a photo of him, for old-time’s sake.
There were hoof-marks cut into the soft grass of the old track – but no ponies. What we did find, though, was a brief spell of sunshine that reminded us – all this will pass.