Two goodbyes this week. I did my very last things for my Artlift Referrals Manager work – final meeting, final handover of stats to the university, final invoice. So that’s all done now. The other goodbye came at the end of the week.

Most of the week was prep, though. As my reader knows, I do a lot of prep for all my work. This coming week is packed, so I had to do all the prep last week. On Monday I did my end-of-month accounting, and went to a TADS meeting; all steam ahead for our next production of Much ado about nothing. On Tuesday I did the prep for a workshop I’m running tomorrow morning, had my last Artlift meeting, and ran a really good session with my group in Cirencester.

On Wednesday I wrote the TADS meeting minutes, had several long phone calls, and had another really good session, this time with my group in Hereford. In the evening I saw The promise, which was worth seeing. I caught up with all the email on Thursday – hooray! – and had a yoga session, which always makes me feel two inches taller. I did the prep for the next Cirencester session, and for a workshop I’m running on Wednesday morning, and for the next Hereford session, and for my young people’s group in Pershore. And I cut the grass.

Gosh, this is boring! I didn’t write any poems at all this week, although I did manage to cut a long one down to three minutes, which I suppose is creative in a way. No, actually, I did write two poems, as part of a session at the hospital – another good session! I paid some Poetry on Loan invoices, and gave blood. Much to my surprise it was ok; quite often I’m anaemic and they won’t take it, but it was all fine this time. I did the hospital writeup and cleared out some clothes, and planned some poetry performances I’m doing for TADS next Saturday, and answered all the mail.

And on Saturday came the other goodbye. I drove up to Cheshire to meet my brother and his wife. We buried some of my parents’ ashes under a flowering cherry tree at the church they went to; took some to a place called Parkgate that they loved, and left the final lot on Thurstaston Hill – a place we went to often when I was a child. I haven’t been there for 50 years, but it all came back to me as we started climbing. Anyway, they are now in their final resting places, and I waved goodbye to them. It wasn’t very emotional, really; this is all part of life, and just something that needed to be done.

And on Sunday I didn’t do much at all. I needed a rest before this week, which will be full on, with no farewells at all.

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