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But things are not normal. There is a huge space inside me, just empty. I know that the finca will help to heal me, I can feel it working it's magic already. I made bread using the outdoor oven. I'm out of practice. It burned a bit. This always happens when I leave the embers in the oven. But I don't like taking them out, they are super hot and I don't have alot of manouvering space around the oven. It's our design flaw. Too late now. Once the burnt bit is cut off it will be fine. Bread making was actually really quite comforting. There are a number of things that I can do to help me through my period of mourning. I have come back with a heavy cold. This is what happens when you mix with people and hug strangers. There was a lot of that. Today I feel quite grotty. Head aching, nose blocked and throat sore, not to mention the strange empty space inside - time is the only cure for all of my symptoms. I have a list. It reads like this: Felted bags - exp

Well it came. The phone call I was dreading followed by the rush to the airport, the long journey home to Scotland while a lifetime of memories played and replayed themselves in my mind. The spring planting was left to Steve, the dog and the cats, so central to my life, forgotten, relegated to the sidelines. All thoughts focussed on only one thing, getting home in time. In the end I had plenty of time. My dad lived for another week before pneumonia (what was once called the old man's friend) stole him away from us.  He had said everything, we had said everything, there was nothing left to say. We began repeating ourselves. I watched as various family members arrived still hoping and then struggled to accept what we already knew was to be the only inevitable outcome. Alexander Carson 1923 - 2017 My stepmother, stepsister and I became sisters in the true sense as we sat with him through those long hours holding his hand, cooling his brow with a cold damp cloth and moistening