Flowers and grandmothers

The dog and I continue to walk out every afternoon, although the weather remains dodgy.  We haven’t been caught in any more hail, but sunshine is usually mixed with rain.   It rained so hard in the night that the river at the bottom of the field was leaping and churning and reddish brown with clay and mud.   

The rain is bringing on the wild flowers, though; all manner of stuff that I can’t even find in our flower books, including these things which might be purple dead nettles - or something much more peculiar.  They have little purple bits sticking out at the top and remind me of the Tiny Clangers.

 

There are also meadows full of dandelions.

 

 

Today I was remembering, Jessie, who I met on holiday about 15 years ago.  Jessie told stories which had no proper conclusion, involving phrases which she often repeated.   Reporting the speech of others she would always say, “And then he/she said, ‘Jessie I have something to tell you’”. 

 

One day she told me a story about her grandmother.  When Jessie was a young  woman she went away on holiday.  When she returned her brother said to her, “Jessie, I have something to tell you”.  Then he said, “I am afraid our grandmother is dead”.  “How terrible”, said Jessie, “I must see her.  Where is she?” “I am afraid you cannot see her,” said Jessie’s brother.  “But why not,” said Jessie, “I love my grandmother, I must see her”.  “No, I am afraid you cannot see her,” said Jessie’s brother, “Jessie, I have something to tell you. I am afraid she burst”. 

When she told me this story,  I had to suck in both of my cheeks to avoid laughing.  This would have been a terrible thing to do about to someone remembing their dead grandmother.    But I still don’t understand it.  I don’t see how she burst.  Jessie never explained.

You might gather that nothing much happened today.  Except that the dog has started to give Fascist salutes in her sleep.