The Pandemic.

 

Only three words to describe the weather in Scotland at the moment:  drizzly, dreich and dark.  Edinburgh city is usually a bustling, busy place at this time of year.  I miss the bright, noisy German Market; the shop windows with flashing lights and tinsel; the crowds appearing in the centre preparing for the new year concert.  But now, with the pandemic, all is closed for the winter and will remain this way till an all-clear is given.  That may be a long time away. 

I have an urge to help during this time, but the options seem limited.  Round the corner from my house there is a church which has been helping the hungry and homeless by serving food to the people standing in line outside the doors.  This year all has been cancelled.  There are opportunities for helping others, but mustering up the energy to contribute seems difficult.  My body and mind are often in  torpor.  My phone skills, whatever little I had,  have deteriorated to the extent that I find it difficult to talk.  Zoom has certainly provided an alternative to face to face meetings:  the U3A photographic group and some sessions with the Buddhist community have helped to overcome the solitariness that has come with the lockdown.  But to actually pick up the phone and talk has become so difficult.   

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Now that both my children and my five grandchildren have moved out of the city my wife and I have been looking at various options.  After 31 years at Elgin Terrace in the heart of the city, moving is not an easy choice.  A couple of houses have appeared on the market in Livingstone near the kids, but they've been sold too quickly for us to keep up with an offer.  

Certainly, our old house is in need of repairs and we've arranged for a pre-evaluation in January.  That should give us some time to make a few cosmetic repairs, especially in the cellar where some water has been leaking and causing a small puddle at the base of the outside wall.  But with the situation the way it is, the selling and buying may take longer that we want to wait.

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Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

BY ROBERT FROST

Whose woods these are I think I know.   

His house is in the village though;   

He will not see me stopping here   

To watch his woods fill up with snow.   

My little horse must think it queer   

To stop without a farmhouse near   

Between the woods and frozen lake   

The darkest evening of the year.   

He gives his harness bells a shake   

To ask if there is some mistake.   

The only other sound’s the sweep   

Of easy wind and downy flake.   

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,   

But I have promises to keep,   

And miles to go before I sleep,   

And miles to go before I sleep.

Photo: Yeshe.  Whin Park, Inverness