One Year Ago

So much has happened in the past year that I haven't really had time to stop and think.  Nor have I had time to grieve properly.  For one year ago I was coping with the idea that I no longer had a Dad around.

You would think at my age it wouldn't matter so much.  The Hobbits had gotten to know and love their Grandpa.  I didn't rely on him for advice although looking back I wish I had asked more.

In fact, looking back I wish I had done a lot more.  Starting with getting him out of that damn hospital ward once I realised what an utter pit it was.  Yes, looking back that is one of my main regrets.

My last day with my dad was spent at his bedside, thankfully not in that awful ward but in a ward where patients were cared for with respect.  I held his hand.  He couldn't speak at this point but his eyes said everything.  For the first time in ages he looked healthy, happy and chipper.  Almost back to my old Dad really.

I wanted to stay - Mother was complaining that she had to get back to the dog and so I, the dutiful daughter, had to take her home.  In my mind I planned my visit for the next day, our next steps into getting him back and getting him into a decent home as the dementia was at the stage where Mother couldn't have coped.  It was stupid, I wanted to stay.  I knew my cousin was coming in and so I let myself be talked into leaving.  Sometimes I should listen to my heart and not other people.

I turned, gave my Dad a cheerful wave, told him I would see him the next day and that was it.  I have the picture in my mind of his expression as I left.  Did he know how close he was?  Did he want to ask for us to stay but couldn't?  By the time I got home my Dad was gone.

My cousin later told me how moved he had been by how my Dad died.  That it was the kind of ending we all should aspire to.  My Dad smiled, a tear rolled down his cheek and then that was it.  Sometimes I wish I had been there.  Sometimes I am selfishly glad that I wasn't, I couldn't have then taken on the subsequent task of arranging a funeral by myself - nor could I have done everything that happened next.  I would have been too busy grieving.  Too busy to make sure everyone else was all-right and tickety-boo.  Too busy to be the dutiful daughter.

My Dad's funeral, like his death, was appropriate to the man.  People remembered fondly (and don't we all wish to be remembered in that way), old photographs were passed around, anecdotes were told and laughter outweighed sadness.

Because my Dad led a good life, was a decent, honest, warm, kind-hearted man.

A rare species.  And for that, always missed.

There Goes The Neighbourhood

Nothing changes the mind over a situation as quickly as discovering this has happened at some point between coming home from work and our attempt to leave for the school run this morning:

So as the Narnia winter keeps this crappy little town in its grip the intelligence of certain individuals shines through and we are £75 worse off plus a planned trip to the craft fair is on hold until tomorrow smashed windscreens notwithstanding.  Throwing snowballs at cars when the snow is more like ice - that about sums it up.

This new place I had looked at, it isn't perfect, it is far from perfect.  It is also far from here and that can only be a good thing.  *sigh*  Sometimes things roll on and it is hard to see a clear picture.

Grrrrrrrr

This is how it is these days.

When I was growing up my parents subscribed to The Reader's Digest.  I quite liked reading through the articles, trying out the word games inside although I would never have bought it in a shop.  Still, products shouldn't be entirely aimed at the young - a nice, gentle magazine for elderly people, I presumed I would fit into that category the day I started subscribing.  It would seem not.

I used to like having a browse around Borders, I used to like having a browse around Woolies.  Both shops stocked things I haven't been able to find anywhere else.  I noted that once Woolies went the price of stationery went up but perhaps it is just a personal niggle.  I miss finding that one thing in either of those shops that would be a treat to buy.

So this recession (misspelling of depression - with a deliberate small *d* there?) has its casualties and although they may seem minor it may not hit home until later when the little things that made life more pleasant (book shops, toy/stationery/everything else shops) are gone.  It is the small things that are pointing out how unfair the world is, how slanted towards those who have everything - looks pointedly towards the greedy bankers and their fat bonuses who are *still* making a fortune.

Maybe at some point things will even out.  There is enough money in the world for every single person to live a comfortable, happy life.  In fact, come to think of it, if the UK and US and every other country is in debt...who are we in debt to?  Who are we owing all this money to?  It can't be the banks, we had to bail them out with hard-earned and easy spent taxes.  So who do we owe the trillions to?

And all this rambling train of thought because I'm still pissed off that Woolies is gone!

Like a worm on a hook

When the Hobbits are old enough to read accounts of this time I wonder what the history books will make of our ex-glorious leader Blair? 

Having been married to one I feel I have the right to note that he acts very much like a manipulative liar.  And like the manipulative liar he convinces himself that what he says is truthful - it is an artform he has truly mastered.  If you say it often enough, no matter how much removed from the actual truth it is, then it becomes the truth.  I've witnessed it, I've believed in it and I have been suckered into it.

No matter what, while he wriggles like the proverbial worm, it is almost assured that Blair will not be fed to the fishes.  It is a showpiece, a theatrical act for a gullible audience - the sheeple who will think what a nice man he is, couldn't possibly lie and be deceitful.

Watching this, from the distance I have now from my own experiences, I can spot the signs.  How many other people can and how many others simply go with it because it is easier than making uncomfortable accusations against a "nice man."

::Welcome to the Year of the.......::

Celebrity Death Year Rolls On

Although 2009 seemed to have a shocking celebrity death nearly every other week it would seem that 2010 is starting with the intention of upping the numbers and trumping 2009.

So amongst the likes of Jean Simmons and that rugby commentator from Hawick comes the news that J.D. Salinger has also gone. 

A New Year

Not necessarily starting out the new decade the way I wished.  For the most part I have been not so much running to catch up but simply running and watching my life disappear in the far distance.

Car = money pit.

Job = not what I would wish for.

Home = chaos.

Self = who is that again?

There is my task list, right there.  I need to fix these things and fix them properly once and for all.  Last year was spent run ragged helping out everyone else.  I spread myself far too thinly and have managed to create a rather unfortunate situation where I have done so much for others that they no longer see the need in doing anything for themselves.  That needs to end.

I sometimes wish I could get some more positivity in my life.  I know how but it is just finding the time, finding those few minutes where I'm not being expected to do things for others or feeling guilty because I haven't managed to do 6 loads of washing, dried them and put them away all in the space of one evening - an example, one of many.

First things first though, I really need to get a night of decent sleep.  That should be easy enough - right.  Right?

(Note: I could write the entire list of "To Do" but it would be truly frightening.  For me.)

First Foot

First post of the new decade, the last one was a bit of a roller coaster ride and not exactly enthralling for optimists.  In fact if anyone got out of the past 10 years without once feeling a touch of depression about the state of things then bravo.

Time marches on and to be honest we are the only animals to mark it (which is conjuring up images of peeing on things but nevermind I know what I mean.)

The snow and ice are lying thick on the ground, untouched by plough or tractory beast from the council.  The next 10 years will pass and so on and so on.

Eight years ago on this night...

I was lying in a hospital bed feeling very, very large and cumbersome and wishing that the two little aliens tumbling about in my vast stomach would come out. 

They needed to you see, even though it was a few weeks before they were due their grand entrance. 

There I lay,tucked into uncomfortable scratchy nylon sheets in a too warm ward surrounded by horrendous decor (really would it be too much to choose a *nice* colour?)  Alone, which was prophetic in a way, wanting to see my babies so much.  Waiting and waiting for them to decide to begin the twinge that would indicate things were happening and the gel (oh they don't tell you about where they put the *gel* do they!) had finally worked.  Because if it didn't work then it would need to be under the knife.

My mind chased with thoughts and dreams and wishes.  I could never have presumed what would eventually happen although the signs were already there.  My priorities had changed, from the first moment the stick turned blue on a cool day in early June.  My priorities had changed indeed and left him behind.  The desires of a nurturing soul are much different from a selfish soul and too often they cannot be brought together.

I slept that night, despite the monitors strapped to my stomach drumming out the beat of their hearts.  Or perhaps because of that.  Because for every night since I have given thanks that they were born healthy, hearty and whole.  Two tough little cookies; two wonderful little boys; two totally independent and interesting Hobbits.  And I am so glad I am their mother, I am so glad I've gotten to know such little men.

All He Wants For Christmas...

Just dance...gonna be okay...

The Hobbits had a dance recital at school this week.  Part of their gym class I suppose, I usually hear fragments of what is going on until the last minute but their gym teacher gives each class a theme and they do a little dance routine according to that theme.  Youngest Hobbit's class did a sort of Highland-crossed-with-Irish dance while Eldest Hobbit's class did a very impressive "kaleidescope" with his part being one of the green team.

All in all it was good fun.  I know the Hobbits love to dance although dance classes are completely out of the question as that is "girls stuff" and therefore not to be considered at all.  Which is a shame.  Still, while there is MTV there is always the opportunity to dance around the living room without a care in the world.

Randomness

Oh crap

What did I say again?  New starts and all that - blah, blah, blah.  It feels like an endless rush at the moment.

On the plus side I have a lovely photograph of another Guide Dog pup (who lives with another walker but for whom I have always had a soft spot - point; for the dog and not the walker this soft spot occurs.  I do not travel down that particular route for relationships.  FFS get on with it...)

Yeah, so, I have a cute photo and I'm sure current Andrex hopeful lying snoozing on the rug at the moment is jealous.  I was hugging youngest Hobbit earlier after an incident where I accidentally bashed him on the head with the corner of a book (he moved forward, I was reaching toward the bookcase with said very-heavy book in hand - bang.)  Anywhatthehellissheontonight, much tears ensued and as I gave comfort to him I was getting big sad, look-at-me-mummy eyes from pooch.  He then dunks his head on my lap next to sniffling Hobbit, like I needed another hint.  Honestly.  But at the same point I couldn't do without.

I really need a decent night sleep, I think *that* is evident.  Especially from this rambling nonsense.  But then sometimes I like to think that as I send this out to the ether then someone might raise a smile from it.  Or call the men in white coats.  Whatever comes first.

Interestingly I have noticed that I no longer swear as much as I used to.  Except when I'm driving then I'm a right Gordon Ramsey.  But being a singleton without the stress of a dead weight marriage strangling you will do that I suppose.  Ah.

Once again this time with feeling...

I'm keen on the concept of recycling so won't be ashamed of using a photo that is a couple of years old.  Particularly when that photo has Paris giving the evil side-eye from underneath the tree.  The decorations haven't changed much anyway.  Is this all sounding a bit ho-hum?

I don't mean to be, occasionally I will admit to having the same thoughts that were running through Paris's mind at time of capture here.  On the most though things are going fine at the moment and I won't say more than that as I wouldn't like to curse it all.

The presents are bought and hidden, the plans are being made and it will be a relief to stay at home all Christmas Day - I won't even pretend that it will be relaxing in any shape or form.  Oh hell where am I going with this.  I don't believe in New Years Resolutions but I do wish to nurture this little blog of mine a little more if only to write this tosh and not have it messing up around my weary head.

Where does all the time go?

It runs past so quickly I really want to trip it up and slow things down for a while but that isn't going to happen anytime soon.

So much is happening I can barely catch my breath and to be honest I am still being relied upon for everything by everybody which isn't always the ideal situation.  Correction, it isn't the ideal situation at all at all or I wouldn't be online at this time trying to catch up with everything that is falling by the wayside.

There will come a time where I can get back to the old organised me and I look forward to that.  It doesn't matter much in the grand scheme of things but it matters to me.

When I turn my face to the cold winter sun and close my eyes I can remember Portugal.

(Yes the simple little package holiday really did mean that much to old stressy head here.)

Can you tell me how to get...

...if you are about to add "how to get to Sesame Street" then pull up a chair and grab a slice of birthday cake.

I don't know if it makes me feel very old or not so bad that Sesame Street is 40 years old.  Very old in that I loved watching it when I was little; from the slightly trippy and Monty Pythonesque counting pinball (my personal favourite even though it left me feeling a little spaced out) to the annoyingly nasal Big Bird.  Not so bad in that I didn't realise it was older than me - yay me!

I saw places I'd never been when they went out and about in New York, learned sign language with Linda - it fairly widened the horizons of a little girl living in a Scottish village.  Oh and that is Mr. Snuffleupagus in the photo, like you had to ask.

Oh yeah, almost forgot...

Happy Samhain or dia de los muertos or Hallowe'en, whatever spooks you.

Congratulations I am only a couple of days late.

*sigh*

Warm Memories Of Warm Days