It has, in some ways been a quieter week. Having sung quite a lot the previous week I then went to choir practice on Monday evening as usual. I am looking forward to our imminent concert.
Although I find the endless rote of the ‘commercial Christmas’, with tedious efforts to get us to spend vast sums of money very annoying, I find the real meaning of Christmas very poignant. To me it is a wonderful celebration of the birth of Christ.
I found some great Christmas cards in Oxfam the other day, which with my love of sheep seemed rather apt.
They are a small model of a sheep in cotton wool on a green background, and the words ‘Baa Humbug’ and inside ‘Season’s Bleatings!’.
I wish I had bought more than one packet as the local shop has sold out.
The dogs have been out rather reluctantly in some cases, and got back home after muddy walks. I was not pleased to discover that I had failed to shut my bedroom door and had to wash all my bedding, not once but again a couple of days later as well!
Some trees are still covered in leaves, of the most wonderful russet shades and the ground is covered in a carpet of fallen leaves. Our countryside seems ever colourful and ever varied, no matter what the season.
On Tuesday evening I had been asked to speak to the Tuesday Group of ladies from the church at South Cave. The meeting was held at one of the member’s houses, a beautiful bungalow, decorated in impeccable taste and it was a pleasure to be there. I arrived a little early and was made most welcome. Soon the group assembled, and they were such fun.
The group had started many years ago as a meeting for the young wives of the village. Now, I was informed, it is a group of grandmothers!
I had purchased a load of wild bird food and on the Wednesday, I restocked the bird feeders. The birds need it when the weather turns nasty. The birds round me seem to know and wait, none too patiently, in the hedge for me to finish, before descending in droves to gobble up any offerings.
I even noticed a pair of wrens, that I have not seen before in the garden.
A good friend of mine had died after a long illness and I was invited to the service at Harrogate Crematorium on Thursday. I set off, in glorious sunshine. The service was a fitting tribute to a very fine man, Bernie McGee. I had been privileged to know him. As we came out of the service, it began to snow, so I made my excuses and headed home, and I was right to do so.
As I drove east, I met snow coming down in thick flakes and settling on the ground. The main roads were not too bad, but my drive was carpeted in snow when I got back. I then went to walk the dogs, but three refused point blank and went and hid under my bed. The remaining one, Brock, started out but after only a few minutes was cold and unhappy so we got back, and I dried her off.