All too soon my kids had to go back, and I was very sad, as I don't see them that often, and hardly knew my grandson. But life had to go on, and it was hard enough to cope with Joe leaning on me so heavily.
He did not learn his lesson yet with always trying for a bargain, and one morning as I was cleaning the bar, he came in with this minute brush. 'Darling, I bought you this thing that will make cleaning the ashtrays so much easier, come and see'. I rolled my eyes to his hand holding this little brush, and snorted softly! But he was on a mission, so he took a dirty ashtray, and after dumping the cigarette ends in the bin, he started laboriously to scrape the clinging ash out with his new brush. I was rolling my eyes like a bolting horse, as I just dump the ashtrays in the dishwasher after rinsing them, and voila, clean ashtrays. But Joe was adamant for me to try this thing out, and to see for myself how much time it would save!
I yes and amen'd, but the moment he left I put the thing away very deeply, sure in the knowledge that by the time he came into the pub again while I was busy cleaning it, as he usually went up to the cottage for a rest if he had to help with breakfast, he would have forgotten his wonder cleaning gadget.
Another thing that tickled me pink was an old, cracked ashtray with a picture of a Grouse, that he was kind of protecting like it was an artwork made of the finest porcelain. I would every morning after cleaning it, take this monstrosity and put it on a table against the wall by the pool table, so it was out of eyesight, but every day when I went back into the bar, it would be back on the counter.
One day Joe called me into the pub, a look of utter concern on his face, and asked me why I kept on putting the ashtray by the pool table, as it would break if it falls on the tiles! 'Yippee'!, I wanted to shout, but luckily kept myself in, as he looked so worried, but until today it is still a mystery to me. Liz and self had speculated a lot about it, and came to the conclusion that it was given to him by the love of his life, and maybe it was the only thing left about her that he could cling to!
One afternoon I drove up to Comrie, and turned right on a new road that I have never been on before, and, as I usually do, I turned off at a very small road, called Glencorrie. It was awesome, the age old trees that grew towards each other across the road, bathing everything in a cool green haze. This was just what I needed, as I found that when very tired or stressed out, there is nothing that revived the spirit like walking in a forest, or even just sitting under a green tree. Further up I came to a little cottage where one could stop and walk. I fell in love with the little cottage!
It was glorious, the road leading steeply uphill, and looking down on the farms with the cattle and sheep grazing contentedly, was pure bliss. I knew not to walk too far, as I still had the dinner shift, and if I get too tired now, I will have trouble at night. What a nice surprise when I found the road lined with berries of all kinds, of which raspberries were the most abundent, but it was when I saw a clump of wild strawberries growing on a slope that I realised how lucky I was to spend six months of every year in Scotland. The strawberries however was passed bearing fruit, so I took a vow to come and pick some the next year, but for now I was as hungry as a horse, as I didn't take my lunch on my walk, so I had a nice picnic a bit further on, as I wanted to see what else there was to be seen.