Sunday a day of rest

I have been up since 5.30, the moon like a bright coin shone through the bedroom window, now it is but a pale ghost of itself as the sun outshines it.  Chickens out and fed, there is a cold nip in the air as the season rolls into Autumn.  Our friend, Colin, who we went with the other day has sent information about another site a henge at Ampleforth, called Studford Ring, buried in the countryside, maybe we will go and see it.  Also an extract from the book he is writing about the invasion in the North by those Angles, Picts and Saxons, that leave traces in the land and etymology of the village names.

I took note of the pagan worship of the well, a small gesture amongst the trees, in actual fact behind the Mauley Cross was a large shell filled with little things like nuts, a need to leave an offering  The other day I learnt that someone who does not like the church and who buys my eggs, does not like giving money to the church.  Of course the money I get from the eggs goes to the church not because I have a religious bone in my body but because it is the sanctuary of a long history and its stones need to be kept in shape.

Not judging is a difficult task, tittle-tattle, gossip are all part of a village community, our village for instance has two camps, the upper and lower end of the village hardly communicate.  And if you attend functions at the neighbouring village community hut - yikes.

Yesterday LS had ordered logs for the coming winter from someone called Mark, a knock on the door (and the logs) in the afternoon revealed the smiling face of the father of the bride a few weeks back, the man who had so tenderly arranged roses over his wife's grave.  He needs that church for the remembrance of his wife, and the wedding of his daughter, not for the fortnightly services, which are so poorly attended, he needed the world in which he lived to stay the same, acknowledging the generations that have passed and that the ceremonies of birth, weddings and funerals are recorded.

Long conversation with my daughter yesterday on the phone revealed that her world is going well.  She is busily working on her house, painting etc.  Apparently one of the things you don't feed dogs is the remains of corn on the cob.  They only have a small bowel and those chunky bits can get stuck.  She had done it to Teddy the whippet, and Matilda, fount of all knowledge, gave her a lecture.  Daughter feeling guilty took Teddy to the vets, who told her she could do one of three things, 1) do  nothing, 2) x-rays, costs a fortune, 3) injection which would make the dog violently sick, she opted for that!

Matilda attached (as always) to her mobile

And now to take Lucy a walk, she who is often up during the night always sleeps like a log till 10 am and is a reluctant walker at the best of times....