Got to the end of today somehow – food helped. Had the ingredients for a not quite salade nicoise for lunch which reminded me of happier times in France. No anchovies, but a slice of mackerel, green beans, eggs, tomatoes and potatoes. Purists would sniff at the potatoes, but I love them. It’s pelting down with rain, but still takes me back to sunny summer lunches in the south of France.
And then trip to sympathetic GP who’s given me more meds to help with the depression. Call in on a friend on the way home who’s been feeling very low, a recurrence of a lifetime of her serious mental health problems. It’s raining, I’m wet and scared of slithering on the leaves, so I walk very gingerly. When I get to her flat, she’s made supper for us; soup, toast and mince pies and tea. First mince pies of the season, a bit early, but perfect none the less. I like to do a comparative trawl of all the mince pies on offer, takes a lot of stamina and training.
I know how much effort that has cost her and really appreciate her thoughtfulness. We sit in the warm and chat and both feel a bit better. The presence of another human being, themselves in trouble, the recognition that we’re not on our own, gives us the hope and strength to carry on.
More tea and biscuits and the crossword and with winter now truly declared, time to get the bedsocks out. We live to feebly fight another day.