A funeral today, of a man of 93. I didn’t know him, but I sat on the organ stool feeling most awfully sorry for his poor widow, left alone after 60 years of marriage. Their daughters flanked her in the pew. I couldn’t see one of them as the pulpit was in the way, but the other one was in tears for most of the service. It made me cry too – I’m getting too much of a wimp to play for funerals. I admit that it pays well though – Weeza was here when I got back and she was impressed.
Everything is either confidential or dull. Not private, you understand – I’d probably tell you all about it if it were merely private – but it leaves me with little to write about, concerning what’s going on now, at any rate.
We’ve got a social event on at the church at the end of next week – I’m doing the cooking – and four of us decided that we’d better meet to make final arrangements. There was a slight hesitation when I asked where the meeting was to be, so I suggested we might meet here. “I love coming to your house, it’s so welcoming. And comfortable” said one. I was a little surprised. Scruffy and chaotic, I’d say. I suppose not many people would like to live here, but maybe it is quite relaxing, knowing that I really wouldn’t mind if you came in with mud on your shoes or put your feet up on the sofa. Tilly might give you a look as it’s her sofa, of course.
Al says that one of the beehives is nearly ready to swarm. He’s got a third beehive ready and will split the colony soon – last year, he lost half his bees when his single hive swarmed. He was able to rescue the situation by dividing the remainder, and they both survived the winter. In fact, it was a blessing in disguise, as his original queen was decidedly edgy and the colony was quite aggressive. These two are sweet-natured and don’t mind people at all. The bees don’t make so much honey though, he says. There’s a cherry tree near the house and they have been enjoying the nectar for the past week or so. Lots of trees are in bloom at this time of year, so there’s plenty for the bees to harvest. Apple blossom next. There’s hardly anything prettier.