Then there was last week...
The Monday after The Wedding we went to Yorkshire.
Joyce, the friend and mother of a friend, who died on New Year's Eve didn't have her funeral until the 19th, mainly for logistical reasons, needing to wait for official documentation and the like. As there were five of us going from Warwickshire, we shared a car, which was somewhat cosy but sensible. We stopped to eat on the way, then arrived at the house, which is in sight of the church; when the time came we walked over there together, having collected others en route.
St Wilfrid's is typical of English country churches, in that a Norman foundation had bits added as and when parishioners could afford it over the years. It's a mishmash, architecturally, but really charming.
It's not terribly well heated - there's a reason our mediaeval ancestors wore so many clothes - but inside it is simple and, I think, beautiful, though the Reformation saw off the wall paintings that must have been there originally. We all modestly sat a fe rows back, until it was pointed out to us that the seats "Reserved for Family" were actually for us, something I found rather moving. We are very much a "found family" of the Whedon variety, though with fewer superheroes.
The funeral was a simple affair, attended by several generations of people who considered Joyce to be their own friend, not just a friend's mother. xrseyre spoke about his mother and the impact she had on so many people and the Vicar (Hi! My name's Pete) was able to talk more - he knew and both liked and respected her, which makes such a difference at funerals as at weddings. There were no flowers - Joyce disliked cut flowers - but a row of planted baskets, one for each member of the close family, which will find a home in the garden of the house she lived in for so long (she and her husband sold their old house to their son and moved into a bungalow across the garden about fifteen years ago.)
I did take a photo inside the church, though only with my Nexus:
That's a real Norman arch there. Probably at least eight centuries old.
We then went to the Parish Hall, just outside the back door, for tea and cake - both of which were very welcome, as was the warmth and the sense of feeling in one's toes and fingers.
We stayed and chatted till the last of the guests left, at which point we realised one of the church doors had been locked - we could get in, but not through. We walked round through the churchyard, where hosts of snowdrops were in bloom - a real symbol of new life.
We went back to the house for more tea (compulsory in that family!) and then set out back home, arriving just a little too late for Broadchurch but ready for a rest.
On the Tuesday I forced myself to go to my Italian lesson, though I feel less and less capable in the language. On Wednesday I avoided doing much at all, apart from pottering and putting a few things away.
Then, on Thursday, I graduated. R came back for the day specially, which was very sweet of her, and my friends M and R came too, so I had a good support team in attendance (Dave too, of course.) It was fairly typical of such events - indeed, I wrote a list of probable clichés down before the Chancellor's speech and ticked off all but two. We were told how lucky we were to be there, not to lose touch, that Warwick has a great international reputation, that we were all pleased the Vice-Chancellor was knighted in January (I definitely wasn't. He's an overpaid jerk IMO) and then we all got our five seconds of glory, walking across the stage and shaking hands.
Yes, I had a goody bag too, though as R pointed out, it wasn't a patch on those from writerconuk. The slogan IN touch, INformed, INvolved ought really to be joined by IN debt, as many students are these days. The finance, accounting and business MAs were inundated with International students - very large numbers from China and, going by the names, Greece.
We went home and celebrated with wine and a tasty salad, made by the lovely Dave, who has been a rock throughout. I am so very lucky to be married to such a good man and close friend.
Friday I did b*gg*r all, as I had promised myself, and not much more on Saturday. It will take a while to pull myself back together, I think.
If you have followed me through all these posts and picspams, you may deserve a medal, or at least a mention In Dispatches. Thanks, anyway.
Joyce, the friend and mother of a friend, who died on New Year's Eve didn't have her funeral until the 19th, mainly for logistical reasons, needing to wait for official documentation and the like. As there were five of us going from Warwickshire, we shared a car, which was somewhat cosy but sensible. We stopped to eat on the way, then arrived at the house, which is in sight of the church; when the time came we walked over there together, having collected others en route.
St Wilfrid's is typical of English country churches, in that a Norman foundation had bits added as and when parishioners could afford it over the years. It's a mishmash, architecturally, but really charming.
It's not terribly well heated - there's a reason our mediaeval ancestors wore so many clothes - but inside it is simple and, I think, beautiful, though the Reformation saw off the wall paintings that must have been there originally. We all modestly sat a fe rows back, until it was pointed out to us that the seats "Reserved for Family" were actually for us, something I found rather moving. We are very much a "found family" of the Whedon variety, though with fewer superheroes.
The funeral was a simple affair, attended by several generations of people who considered Joyce to be their own friend, not just a friend's mother. xrseyre spoke about his mother and the impact she had on so many people and the Vicar (Hi! My name's Pete) was able to talk more - he knew and both liked and respected her, which makes such a difference at funerals as at weddings. There were no flowers - Joyce disliked cut flowers - but a row of planted baskets, one for each member of the close family, which will find a home in the garden of the house she lived in for so long (she and her husband sold their old house to their son and moved into a bungalow across the garden about fifteen years ago.)
I did take a photo inside the church, though only with my Nexus:
That's a real Norman arch there. Probably at least eight centuries old.
We then went to the Parish Hall, just outside the back door, for tea and cake - both of which were very welcome, as was the warmth and the sense of feeling in one's toes and fingers.
We stayed and chatted till the last of the guests left, at which point we realised one of the church doors had been locked - we could get in, but not through. We walked round through the churchyard, where hosts of snowdrops were in bloom - a real symbol of new life.
We went back to the house for more tea (compulsory in that family!) and then set out back home, arriving just a little too late for Broadchurch but ready for a rest.
On the Tuesday I forced myself to go to my Italian lesson, though I feel less and less capable in the language. On Wednesday I avoided doing much at all, apart from pottering and putting a few things away.
Then, on Thursday, I graduated. R came back for the day specially, which was very sweet of her, and my friends M and R came too, so I had a good support team in attendance (Dave too, of course.) It was fairly typical of such events - indeed, I wrote a list of probable clichés down before the Chancellor's speech and ticked off all but two. We were told how lucky we were to be there, not to lose touch, that Warwick has a great international reputation, that we were all pleased the Vice-Chancellor was knighted in January (I definitely wasn't. He's an overpaid jerk IMO) and then we all got our five seconds of glory, walking across the stage and shaking hands.
Yes, I had a goody bag too, though as R pointed out, it wasn't a patch on those from writerconuk. The slogan IN touch, INformed, INvolved ought really to be joined by IN debt, as many students are these days. The finance, accounting and business MAs were inundated with International students - very large numbers from China and, going by the names, Greece.
We went home and celebrated with wine and a tasty salad, made by the lovely Dave, who has been a rock throughout. I am so very lucky to be married to such a good man and close friend.
Friday I did b*gg*r all, as I had promised myself, and not much more on Saturday. It will take a while to pull myself back together, I think.
If you have followed me through all these posts and picspams, you may deserve a medal, or at least a mention In Dispatches. Thanks, anyway.