The sort of day that might well be the norm for the next few weeks – we picked apples all day. And once one’s said that, one’s said it all. Or very nearly, since there is always breakfast to talk about, as well as what one does in the evening. Today’s breakfast was only notable in that I unearthed a nearly drowned cockroach in my cereal, so was unable to eat it. (Both its.) And then, as I said before, work. It seemed a little easier today (tho’ only a little) – it’s still bleeding hard work. I find it difficult to concentrate on working fast, which seems to be half the battle – it’s much easier, at least for me, to lapse into daydreams, to think about the past, + the future. From time to time – tho’ this is true throughout the holiday, it’s just that I get more time to think now – I think about Dad, + about things that happened to him. One of the projects I’d like to take on when we get home is to write some sort of biography of Dad – I don’t know how elaborate. That would involve talking with Uncle Tom, Auntie Eileen, +, of course, Mum. That’s one of the things that occupies my mind.
It was a hot day again today, but we managed to pick 5 bins again – we aim to up it to 6 soon. After work, Rob, Val and I drove into town, stopping off on the way to buy some beer. We got our pictures back from Safeway – 4 films – + we were really delighted with them. They were all good, + a few shots were absolutely magnificent, especially one sunset that Val had photographed from the Alaskan ferry. On the road back, we stopped off for a swim – it was beautiful. And then in the evening we cooked a sort of risotto of rice, peppers, tomato, onions, mushrooms, courgettes. It took a long time – it was really dark by the time we finished – but it was worth it. Then, natch, bed.
Not so much picking as unpicking all of that about my dad. He had died very shortly before we left, so I suppose I was still dealing with what I thought about that. Auntie Eileen was his sister, Uncle Tom his brother-in-law, married to another sister. And no, that book has not been written. Never will be, now. I did chat one afternoon with Auntie Eileen, but I should have recorded it, even made notes. But I didn’t, and so all that she said is rather fragmentary now.
Interesting that I should have referred to our time away as a “holiday”. That is never the way we describe it nowadays, and I am guessing that it will soon enough acquire the name we give it now – the trip.