Mountains

Here we are. Immigration at Gatwick airport was enchanted with my new passport, and carried it off to show to all the other immigration officers. Something about improved security. We had only an hour to make the connecting flight to Edinburgh. There are vast distances to be traversed at Gatwick, and horrible security queues. We could have done without her enthusiasm. But we caught the plane, by the skins of our teeth.

My arm is better. As you see, I can type. I can knit, after a fashion, and cook, after a fashion. I can get completely dressed, including fastening a bra and inserting the arm in necessary sleeves. I can have a full-scale bath. All of these procedures are slow and somewhat painful, and I am gloomy about how far I am from full-scale weight-bearing and car-driving health. But it’s progress.

I’ve started the Therapy Scarf, of Debbie Bliss “Maya” from stash. Report soon.

But for today,

Greek mountains.

Here’s Pelion. We never got a distant profile view of it. We were just on it. This is the view from the terrace, with grandsons Archie and Fergus.



Here’s Ossa, photographed from the car on the way home. I took half a dozen pictures – is that it? Maybe that’s it. But when we finally saw it, we knew.



And here’s Mount Olympus. My husband had never seen it. I had, when I went alone on the occasion of Fergus’ birth, five years ago. We went together at Christmas three years ago (when my other arm was in a sling), even had a delicious lunch one day on the slopes of Olympus, but never saw it.

On clear days, it is visible from Helen and David’s house. The trouble is, there aren’t many clear days. But November 1, the day we left, was one such. Here is a picture from the balcony of the house.



And here is one I took a few minutes later, a few yards downhill from the house.