Word for 2024

 Self

To be honest, I've been a tad manic this last year. Way too much to do, tending to lose stuff, much too much to get round to and no end of organising and sorting and such. The Forth Bridge has nothing on the buckets on my stairs...

And, not enough Art, Creativity, Fun

So, Self

Time for My Self

Self Care

Constructive Selfishness

And, no, I really don't have an opinion about your opinion about this...

So, let us suppose...

...that I have done something to offend you, or, more likely, that has made you offended, not my absolute intention.  You ask a series of questions via an email I don't much use and which I don't see for a couple of days. When I do see these questions, I answer, as reasonably as I can, and send the answers.

And, you discuss me without this feedback, without telling me I'm being criticised, and without having the grace to tell me that you are having this discussion

Now, what do you expect my answer after all this to be? 

Quite right 

Quote "Bugger the lot of you"

So, all my volunteer work, my time, my effort, my writing and attending meetings at awkward  times and my making samples and making displays and giving stuff for fundraising and all and all and all, is dismissed, because YOU got something rather badly wrong and have not the grace to apologise, or even say that you've heard from me. Hmmm

Bugger the lot of you

Bugger the lot of you

Bugger the lot of you

Bugger the lot of you

And the high horse you are sitting on

Advice To Widows*

 In no particular order, and to be added-to

It's OK to be sad, angry, despairing, disorganised, untidy, extravagant, frugal; to sleep late; to get up in the middle of the night and read; to garden all day and get really dirty; to sit in your armchair and snooze; to go out and party; to stay in and sulk...

Don't let anyone tell you how you are feeling. They really really don't know.

When they ask "how are you both?" my answer is usually "he's still dead" (John's answer at the end of his life was "Still dying" which has to be the best conversation-stopper ever...) - if you aren;'t sure "How are you?" is plenty...

It's your house now - shrine it up if you wish but don't feel obliged - I discussed the changes with John before he died, somewhat to his surprise. The big bedroom became my workroom within a couple of weeks, and the little office that was his is now my Post Room and was the first thing I remade. The little sewing room is a cosy bedroom and I'm happy there with the cat snoring next to me. The cupboards got turfed out and re-arranged, and all his odd foods went to the Food Bank or the compost. I sorted a lot of books and tools for sale and firmly disposed of all the scruffy clothes

Talk about him, don't let him slide into oblivion. He was lovely, and irritating, and selfish and selfless, and you miss him, so keep him in your speech and heart

Yes, doing all the bloody jobs is just dreadful, it was so nice to come in sometimes to clean dishes and a cooked supper. Having to take out All The Rubbish and Sharpen All The Knives sucks.. And knowing that if you don't hoover it or pick it up no-one else will also sucks

Do try to keep eating properly - I did well for a year, badly for the second year, then better again... The temptation to live on buns was tremendous but damaging

Talking to yourself is a good idea. Shouting at the walls occasionally, also a good idea, doing it all the time is hard on the voice

Get out and about. Even in full lockdown I went to the Post Office twice a week (I like to eat) and spoke to people in the supermarket and in cafes. Sanity was helped. Lack of physical contact was the hardest thing, but I really do not want a lover, however nice. Men my age want a housekeeper, or a Nurse With A Purse...

I'll add to this later, perhaps. Prompted by having an operation on my thumb and then being single-handed and one-handed all at once for two weeks... Self care sucks, too...

* and maybe for widowers too, how would I know?

Twixtmas

 Tidying, tidying, sorting, sorting. 

Sewing room unearthed

Command Central  (dining room) - hey, look, floor!

And access to the shoe box, I can put my sandals away!

These rather undetermined and nebulous days are both hard and easy - although I'm not very energetic I have got a lot done. I have cleaned rugs and put lots of sewing-machine plates away (mostly from my bedroom floor!) and poked a lot of seriously dirty corners with a sharp Henry.

So now to work on my Block Of The Month for February's launch, and find a Word For 2022...

I don't like to admit it...

...but I have been feeling stressed. I've spent all my Widow money, have had to let my cleaner go as I can't afford her (but she was turning a bit weird on me), and it's Winter, dark, cold, and rather soggy.. Season of Mulch, as they say...

And yesterday, as I was finishing my supper and about to light the fire and slump gently, I found a whole bunch of emails telling me that my eBay account was suspended because I had caused some kind of (unspecified) risk "to the eBay community" and also that every transaction for the last month, items I have bought, paid for, and received, was apparently cancelled... WTAF? 

So, I mooch webwards; find advice; email eBay, get a standard response,: do it again and again and again. Give up, go to bed, lie awake fretting. As I don't ever sell on eBay and have good results from buying there (and absolutely everything stops with a supension) I was more than cross.. I set up another account, just in case.

Then this morning, with no reason given or apology offered, all is reinstated...

This is bullying. You just have to wonder why they can't just give a REASON so that at least I could admit or deny it...

Oh, I wish I didn't have to bother, but it is a useful source of Stuff

Back to the stocktaking, the sewing, and supper, which at least is worth eating...

And I got my Booster jab, my flu jab, finished a quilt top, hoovered the sewing room, perhaps it's not all bad.. Just need to stop grinding my teeth when I'm asleep...

You were always happy to see me go away...

 ...and no less delighted when I returned. It's one of the things I most valued about our life together - that you didn't assume I would vanish or misbehave if out of sight, and that you trusted me to know how to enjoy and manage and do things...

When I was asked, the first time, if I would like to go to an Instructors' weekend for the Wild Goose Qigong, you said "Shall I put some diesel in the van?"

Not "Oh, don't go" or "Oh, I don't trust you out of my sight" or "You can't do that with a strange man in your car" or any such. It makes me happy still that this was your first response..

I drove to Scotland to Dance and Gather, by myself, singing "I'm over 50., I can do as I like" all the way, and stayed 13 days. it was the furthest I had been on my own and the longest away in my entire adult life...

So, now I'm off to tour around England and Scotland and Wales on my own, in a borrowed wagon, with books and machines and tools and, I hope, with good people to visit and lots of nice places to see.. You will be with me, in spirit, and we will have a good time, I know it...

Kite show, 2005

Rant Warning

 How come, when someone appears to be relatively civilised, adult, and cultured on the phone, they turn out to be a nasty, foul-mouthed, shouty ignorant, uncultured, stupid, bad-mannered four-year-old in person?

And, if promised a nice break with good food, travel, change of scenery, mutual conversation, and a bit of touristing, did I get  a week of being treated like an idiot, contradicted, shouted-at, disparaged, my car criticised, told every 5 minutes I was stupid (now, you actually know I'm not stupid)  and that everything I did was wrong, in my whole life?

So, I'm angry, and sad, and I feel that I was conned, but at least I'm not that unpleasant...

Grrrrr!

Mostly

I've been managing, but some days I really think that there's just too much to do. The garden calls, but it's hard work, and by gum there's a lot in the "to burn" bags. And the house is full of stuff that needs putting away. And the newsletter. And the patterns stuff. And organising a holiday (now, that does seem like a good idea) in a couple of weeks time. And the Antiques Market (I do hope it doesn't rain, but I have arranged most of that)

And...

And...

And...

And I just want to go back to bed and sleep, and sleep, and sleep...

Rattle of Spring...

 Would be a Rustle, but that seems too quiet

I always knew when something was bothering you, because whatever-it-was would vanish from your conversation.. Lately, this seems to be everything, and I feel ever-so-slightly like I need to justify what I do...

It's not so dusty lately and the evening house glows nicely

in the pinkness of evening

I wish you could see...

Perhaps you can...

Snow Light

Lovely light at the end of the day

I was shovelling snow, to get out of the car park. Snow plough shut me in
I'm so grateful for my big beastie of a car in this

 

Cold, and a bit Lonely

Enough said...

 

Word For The Year...

... is Unblock

I have been finding it hard to get motivated, and some days, to get out of bed, and I fail at the least little catch-point, then find I have abandoned a good deal of work for the sake of getting finished. So, although this is not such a great image as last year's Renaissance , I think it may well be more useful

Image - full moon just about to breach the clouds, taken with my phone...

One Year Ago...

....today, I brought you home from the hospital after your last, futile surgery. The journey was frightful - I couldn't get the car close to the door of the hospital and there were no dropped pavements, so you had to walk that last bit to the car on unsteady legs and a walking frame.  And I was so relieved when we got indoors, and I got you to lie down and have something decent to eat and a nice cup of tea.. 

In your bed in the dining room, which was where you stayed. Yes, a few times we got you up and dressed and in front of the TV, and I did get you washed and sometimes got your hair washed and all those were so bloody hard to do. And you never got up again, not really.. I sat with you and watched you fade away, and we talked a little, and you read a little, and then all those things were gone too.. I found this image in my phone, sent from yours in November. I had a later one, but I can't find it..

And I think I am scared of losing the memories, and the security, and the pleasure of those things, and all and all..

I talk to you a lot, but you have got to be pretty poor at replying, although you have been, lately, in my dreams, which you almost never were when you were alive...

Oh, my love, I feel like I'm letting you down. I'm so tired, and lonely, and demotivated, and the house is a mess..

I did clean the bathroom, because that was always one of your jobs. Funny, though it doesn't get so grubby just from me washing there

ETA

Here it is

30th November, his last conscious day. We were mardling, and I took this with his phone and sent it to mine

Post-operative News

Well, I was all geared up and dressed and ready to go into my post-op appointment this lunchtime, and the phone rang.. 

Now, at the moment my phone is firmly off most of the time, and no-one who isn't known to me gets through...

And it was my lovely surgeon, who was stuck in traffic and, being efficient, was calling people who he was supposed to call later, to do "on the phone" consultations.. Not quite what I was expecting, but that's OK

And, as we are in agreement that things are improving steadily, and I am seriously happy with not having to go into a big hospital at the current emotionally-stressful time, all is good...

So, I burned another ceremonial fire of paper and brambles, and I'm slumped gently in front on the TV, and I'm soon to bed. Life, maybe, gets back to something I might regard as normal. I've packed some post, and I'll do some more tomorrow, perhaps I can catch up.. And the business will rearrange itself around me once more..

If you are reading this, please do not email me with comments, thanks

Two sorts of progress

The back is healing gently, I can walk a bit further each day, bend a little nearer my knees, and I'm managing with far less pharmacology, which is fine. I'm really tired, and that is not helped by being bored and trying to do too much, but that's totally in my nature. i slept for 3 hours this afternoon and woke up to the sound of much-welcome rain... I really don't want to have to take naps, seems just such a waste of the daytime
So, yes, perhaps life will be tolerable, and I may eventually not feel too disabled by all this, but that's a bit distant at the moment. I hate feeling needy, really don't want to ask for help all the time, and I get so very lonely. Phone calls and lunch-with-HB and emails are OK, but I really miss having a second person breathing in my space..

So, for you, my lovely man, so far, so very far..

It's almost 7 months since I looked around and found you had gone, between one breath and one not-breath, so quietly. I have found it so hard, I've been angry to the point of shouting at you so many times. I find myself in floods of tears from a tiny reminder. I know this is normal, but hey! it's not my idea of useful.

How dare you leave me with all this stuff to do!  I haven't got time to do all your jobs as well as mine. And I'm sorry I wasn't more appreciative of the small stuff you did every day.

The shouting is a waste of time, of course, because you really aren't here. I have known so many people who left, but didn't really leave; a presence, however tiny, would be such a comfort..It seems that an afterlife is dependent on your ideas, not mine...

All I have is little piles and big boxes and stacks of unsorted Stuff, and handwriting. Everywhere, labels, notebooks with cryptic oddments and sad little lists and a whole big box of cards and notes and odd things you wrote to me over 30 years..

Enough. I'm feeling sorry for myself, and that won't do..

Sleep well

Just been in for much-needed surgery...

...at the local private hospital, doing urgent elective work for the NHS at the moment.. 
I have had a minimally-invasive microdiscectomy, laminectomy, and nerve decompression.. I hope, soon, to have a working leg...

This post is an edited version of a couple of emails, saving on good writing and low energy! I sent this one just before I went in


<<Should only be in overnight, but I will have 6 weeks of no lifting, twisting, or bending (haven’t quite worked out how putting on socks goes with this*). I plan to take orders but not send anything for the sewing-machine stuff for three weeks at least. Did my last batch of post last night (four tescobags full (new measurement, officially recognised by the EU))

The hospital is private and only doing surgery; own room, shower etc, so not too appalling or noisy for a night. And the surgeon has a great reputation, and is something of a pessimist. I have had enough of optimistic surgeons; the one who last had his knives into John was full of “Oh, he’ll be home in three days and walking just fine” which turned out to be a nightmarishly noisy and disturbed 8 days and never walked further than the bathroom again… I prefer pessimistic.. He also has a terrific reputation and I keep coming across people he has fixed..

The pre-op stuff, which last time with John was 3-1/2 hours trailing round endless chunks of hospital with a wheelchair and Paul to push same, was almost all done on the phone, while I sat in the garden and drank tea.. I do hope this turns into a regular idea, as it is just so much better.. I had to go in on Tuesday for bloods, Covid test, and height-and-weight stuff, but that was OK, took less than an hour, and it was so nice to get out and drive my big car - it will probably be 6 weeks before I do that again. 

I also think that this weekend’s (July 4th) beach, bar, and brawling idiocies will cause another big flare and more lockdown, so I think my impeccable timing has managed another good strike…

Off to charge up my Kindle, which is full of new books, and pack my bag…

And my garden is just lovely, and Paul will come and cut the grass; Abi will come and do housework, I knew there was a reason for having children <grin>

>>

And just after I came out, 

Well, that was interesting. I now have a complete understanding of why people pay for medical treatment.. Large clean single rooms; quiet; windows you can open, see out of, and with trees outside. Very passable and freshly-prepared food and Hot hot drinks (although, as my hearing is pretty good, I did work out that us NHS-paid bods got a much simpler and less-exciting menu.) Lots of nurses -  I needed lots of help in the night and didn’t wait more than a minute or so for it to arrive… No middle-of-the-night blood-pressure checks - unless they were worried, they said most people can last 6 hours.. (That’s so hard if you are struggling to sleep)

No parking charges, or mad scrambles to park. More than enough spaces...

Probably the best local surgeon (by all accounts one of the best in the country) working there under the NHS with his entire team. He came in before and after surgery and again this morning, with no  trailing retinue of snotty students. He had lots of time to discuss treatment, future possible problems, etc. (I don’t mind teaching, but some of the students are beyond a joke unpleasant and/or condescending. Actually, I approve of teaching hospitals, as did John, but they make for rushed consultations most of the time)

No shortages of PPE, kit, equipment, ancilliary staff. Big clean nonscruffy towels in a nice wet-room bathroom (sadly, I didn’t get as much use out of that as I would have liked)

As compared with 5 nights in a store room (literally) at the Norfolk & Norwich (nurses coming and going all night to find stuff and a bed at a very funny angle), on a ward where the only Disabled-access bathroom was reserved for men. I appreciate that this was an “extra” bed and I needed it, but really!

(I did spend the last two nights at the N&N in a “private” room with ensuite shower etc. but that was because they did actually decide to treat me instead of umming and ahing. The private facilities at the N&N have been taken over by the NHS full-time)

There again, my spine is a permanent mess, I have lost 3cm in height (possibly more, that was before the surgery) and 90% of two discs, and I’m going to have to rejig my business yet again.. 

>>

I’m home, cat is keeping me company, I’m showered and fed and amazingly sore and so glad to be back in my nice peaceful space... I just need to stop myself going nuts with boredom and doing-too-much-too-soon (always a danger with me) and keep on taking the drugs...

*Turns out that socks, and picking-things-up-from-the-floor, and putting on shoes, is all down to yet more extremely ugly but functional gadgets, issued with instructions BEFORE the op by a charming and helpful and not-condescending Physiotherapist... She started in standard old-lady-speak, and transitioned extremely smoothly to you-know-what-you-are-talking-about technical terms.. I wish more medical bods would do this <sigh>. Then I got a check-up and are-you-managing-well-enough before I came home.

I have a spondylolisthesis at L5/S1, have not yet discovered the grade or whether anterior or posterior.. More stuff to ask!

The Widow...

...has made Jam. And Damson curd.
Need some fancy labels.
John picked the damsons, right at the end of his active life, from our lovely damson tree. The freezer is still pretty full
I had forgotten just how messy jam is!

The Remedies of Dr Bach

I have used these for some years, recently more off than on. John would take them if offered, and my good friend Lizzie would dowse a suitable one and then I would go to the tin and dispense... Good for emotional stuff, stuckness, loss of confidence, you know, all that hippy woo, or would be, except that they work. The one you have come across is Rescue Remedy, they even sell three formulations of that in Tescos

And the tin was a bit of a mess, and impossible to dowse over, so I made a clean-up, and a re-stock, and a new/old box.

I don't quite remember where this box came from - I buy up what I politely call Dead Men's Boxes from time to time, usually hugely jumbled, messy heaps of spares, old screws, bits of paper and trash with a smattering of treasures included, from retired or dead sewing-machine mechanics. If I'm lucky, I get to meet them and they are usually happy to see me go away with a car-full and a bit lower on cash. If not, I meet widows or sons with slightly baffled expressions (why would this lady want these?) and these lots tend to be messier and cheaper.

So this lovely box is made from the base of a small (German?) sewing machine, with a slightly random lid attached with brass hinges. The lid is missing a bit from one corner and is a totally different wood, but that's OK. Inside, it had horrid plywood dividers, which I removed and burned. And this delightful label...

...which gets to stay. I polished and sanded and waxed just enough to make it shiny and not so much that the patina (and the tea-cup mark) were lost, and made a tray from very thin ply enclosed in fabric, so two layers - there was only just room, so the ply is very thin...

Here. with the top layer removed. I also have and use Bailey's remedies now, and I have a few of these. They seem to work together pretty well, and I can dowse the whole box happily...

My old Bach list is now thumb-tacked inside the lid, and I am happy with this altogether...
I buy these from Yorkshire Flower Essences and I have always been impressed with their service and care

So, all tidy. Something for me. Don't do nearly enough for me these days..

Two days off, apart from the phone, I think. Naps, eat nice things, slow down...

Angry Part the Second

Still simmering, but putting that energy to good use in a good many ways. Burned a lot of rubbish. Shifted and sifted a lot of crap, and nothing sits on the stairs. Next, the big pile of belts, manuals, case parts. It's all so damned slow.

Found that I can dowse, and teach the skill, not that I doubted this for a moment.

Working on the Wise Woman, because, by all the gods and fishes, she is just so powerful..

And claiming my life, my space, my time, my sanctuary, my work...

Onwards and onwards, I think, with steam coming from my ears...

Angry

Because I have lost so much that didn't need to be lost. Because surgeons follow stupid sets of rules about what needs to be done and how, instead of asking the patients what they want and what they can deal with and live with, so they waste a life that didn't need to be wasted.  And because we had four years of a nasty oozing wound for no good reason. And a year of chemo, for no good reason, and obfuscation and mealy-mouthed euphemistic "palliative" "care", and referalls that didn't and long, long waits in waiting rooms with no amusement value whatsoever...

Because I have lost something infinitely precious to me, the qigong; because my stupid teacher wanted a class full of ladies who want to fuck him rather than a room full of good students who look after each other and appreciate the heritage, and because then I got self-conscious and lost the will to practice.. And because his teacher could not forgive something not my fault, and just made meanness and more meanness that I didn't deserve.
A waste of time and energy and this magical infinitely powerful stuff which was so good for me.

Because my house is a mess and full of crap that I don't like or want, but which seems too good to get rid of.

Because I can't find any damned thing when I put it down, and I spend so much time each day looking for lost things, a waste of my energy and time and frustration

Because the idiotic bad back is causing me so many knock-on problems - the drugs are not good for me, they put weight on me and are addictive (and I have had to chase the prescriptions so many times), the pain is disabling, the lack of mobility is disabling, the lack of flexibility and strength is disabling, the uncertainty is causing me despair..

And because the world is so obsessed with one medical thing, that I can't even discuss any of my problems with a doctor. Surely they aren't all out of the office?

Because I need to be competent and keep my business going and I run away from big orders and witter about...

And because the todo list gets longer and longer and I really can't prioritise.

And I'm angry, because pretty much all of this could be solved (not the idiot surgeon, that's too late) if only I just got on with everything..

So, time to catch my breath, kick the collective ass a little, tidy up, throw stuff away, finish all those stupid jobs, get the stocktaking properly under weigh, and stop crying.. Time to stop feeling sorry for myself...
After all, no-one else wants the job...