It's sunny and warm today, and we are another week into lockdown and one week into April. So far all my family are well and coping with the situation. I cannot stress how lucky I feel just to be able to say that. All over the world families are losing fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers, children: all relations of every kind and all ages it seems, are at risk from this ghastly virus. My Daughter, who is a hero to me, is juggling her job (working from home), the family of six (and the dog), doing the shopping for them and for me, and remaining both cheerful and positive while keeping all the balls in the air! Of course I know that so many people are far worse off than we are, and I'm eternally grateful that we are keeping healthy. Wherever you are, I wish the same for you.
In the meantime, I'm doing a bit of work in my garden, which is a small blessing in itself. I may not much like living in Shoreham, but I must say it has come into its own now because my house is tucked away in a quiet spot with just a few neighbours and we have a lovely area of grass and trees where we can sit out and the children can play while still keeping a safe distance from other people.
And I have been regularly Skyping with my Son's family in Spain. They are in even more lockdown than we are, and only one person can go out at a time to do essential shopping. My little Grandson hasn't been out for 4 weeks now, and we have been doing drawing and colouring on Skype just to keep everyone going reasonably. Luckily they have the most wonderful terrace/balcony with amazing views over Sitges from the sea to the mountains. So they have fresh air, and can sit and eat outside in the sun. I think they are managing brilliantly and keeping pretty cheerful.
Strange isn't it that suddenly there is only one subject we are all concerned with: the daily news and the latest from around the world, numbers of new cases, people in hospitals and deaths. And because we all want to survive, this is all that really interests us.
And in case you wonder why I'm not including news of our Prime Minister in my blog, it's because I don't have a great deal to say on the subject. He may, in due course, regret the fact that he and his despicable bunch of Tories cheered as they voted down long-overdue increases in salaries for Doctors and Nurses not so long ago. I wish him well to have the good luck to survive the virus and show his long-overdue appreciation for our NHS. Nuff said!
Showing posts with label Son and Daughter. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Son and Daughter. Show all posts
Wednesday, April 8, 2020
Thursday, April 19, 2018
Memories on a Sunny Day..
At last the sun is really shining and it's actually warm. My little garden has a show of spring flowers and if my mobile phone hadn't died on me, I would try to put on a couple of photos for you.
The little darling blooms really cheered me up yesterday, and I sent some photos of tiny bouquets to friends and family. Alas, soon after that I dropped the poor phone again (the screen was already badly cracked) and it turned out to be terminal. Annoyingly, the phone still rings but the screen remains resolutely blank and I can't answer it. Daughter and Son both came to the rescue and I will have a new mobile later today - a replacement was long overdue.
I am also about to sort out my computer so that I can back up the writing I am doing now. Having started this 'Memoir' in Barcelona, I am determined to carry on with it. I stayed four weeks in Barcelona, and have now been back four weeks - and in that time I have written (and edited) just over fifteen thousand words. I make that seven thousand five hundred words a month, which is not bad. But I do need to keep motivated: it has taken me seventy-odd years to get on with it so I reckon there's not a lot of time left to finish it. I guess there is more to write about the older you get, but my question is, how interesting will it be? And of course there's the stuff you forget, and the unreliability of our memories. I have compared notes with my Sister, and it's amazing how differently we recall events - there we were growing up in the same family, in the same place and at the same time, and yet our experiences and perceptions are often completely different. There is only eighteen months between us, so you would think that our memories would be similar - no such luck!
Anyway, the main purpose of getting the stuff on paper is to give my children and grandchildren a sense of their own personal histories. We have only the smallest scraps of information about our family, and the memories I have mostly come from repeated stories and a few old photographs - surprisingly there are no letters or written notes, and considering that my Grandparents all wrote letters and there were two or even three postal deliveries every day too it's odd that none of them survive. So in putting this together, my hope is that my family will read it and know where they have come from, even if they don't know where they are going!
The little darling blooms really cheered me up yesterday, and I sent some photos of tiny bouquets to friends and family. Alas, soon after that I dropped the poor phone again (the screen was already badly cracked) and it turned out to be terminal. Annoyingly, the phone still rings but the screen remains resolutely blank and I can't answer it. Daughter and Son both came to the rescue and I will have a new mobile later today - a replacement was long overdue.
I am also about to sort out my computer so that I can back up the writing I am doing now. Having started this 'Memoir' in Barcelona, I am determined to carry on with it. I stayed four weeks in Barcelona, and have now been back four weeks - and in that time I have written (and edited) just over fifteen thousand words. I make that seven thousand five hundred words a month, which is not bad. But I do need to keep motivated: it has taken me seventy-odd years to get on with it so I reckon there's not a lot of time left to finish it. I guess there is more to write about the older you get, but my question is, how interesting will it be? And of course there's the stuff you forget, and the unreliability of our memories. I have compared notes with my Sister, and it's amazing how differently we recall events - there we were growing up in the same family, in the same place and at the same time, and yet our experiences and perceptions are often completely different. There is only eighteen months between us, so you would think that our memories would be similar - no such luck!
Anyway, the main purpose of getting the stuff on paper is to give my children and grandchildren a sense of their own personal histories. We have only the smallest scraps of information about our family, and the memories I have mostly come from repeated stories and a few old photographs - surprisingly there are no letters or written notes, and considering that my Grandparents all wrote letters and there were two or even three postal deliveries every day too it's odd that none of them survive. So in putting this together, my hope is that my family will read it and know where they have come from, even if they don't know where they are going!
Sunday, April 1, 2018
..Happy Easter Bunnies
Oh dear, Easter is upon us and it's still cold and dreary here. I'm sitting at my table on this grey day and wishing myself back in the sunshine of Spain. My Barcelona family have gone on an Easter trip away from the city and are in Calella de Palafrugell for a few days. They have sent me some divine photos, plus Easter wishes, and I must say that I would much rather be there enjoying the warm sun.
The rest of my family, the Hove branch, have gone off to an Easter event which is in a park somewhere and involves clues and hunting for all sorts of things, probably Easter eggs included. I opted out of this as there are I think at least a dozen of them going - including new Man and his children, sisters, cousins, nephews and nieces, the dog and Uncle Tom Cobbley and all! My Daughter, big Grandson and little Granddaughter will be there of course, but I felt I would be decidedly out of my comfort zone, so here I am talking to you instead.
I may take a trip to the Garden Centre, though I don't feel inclined to buy any plants at the mo.
It's just too cold and wintry to expose anything tender to the elements. And I don't feel inclined to add anything to my garden just now - at least I have the Spurs match to watch later: it's the Chelsea vs Spurs game at 4pm, so I'll be glued to the Live Streaming!
I have decided in my head that I won't be living here in the future - I need to move to somewhere I can feel at home. This feeling has come upon me gradually, but is now a certainty. I have realised that I am living in a place that doesn't feel like home, and we all know how important that feeling is. It may take a while for me to find the right place, but as I have always managed to do so in the past, I'm sure it will come to me. You may think I'm crazy to be even considering all this moving stuff again after only three short years, but it's no good! Lovely as this house is, it's in the wrong place and has the wrong feeling. I've tried to feel at home here, but it doesn't work. For a start I'm surrounded by old ladies and though I'm probably considered to be just that, I don't feel like it, and probably never will. You won't catch me staggering around on a stick or going into a Care Home: over my dead body is all I can say! And, as I'm sure you know, it's hard living somewhere you don't feel a part of. Looking back, I have lived the longest in places I have loved: after my childhood home in Hornchurch (which was an Essex village then) 20 years, there was Randolph Crescent in Little Venice (12 years), Bateman Mews in Cambridge (15 years) and then New Church Road in Hove (13 years). All the other places were stop-gaps, and when they weren't right I stayed for a maximum of 4 years in each! That says it all to me. So look out, here I come, looking for yet another place to call Home.
The rest of my family, the Hove branch, have gone off to an Easter event which is in a park somewhere and involves clues and hunting for all sorts of things, probably Easter eggs included. I opted out of this as there are I think at least a dozen of them going - including new Man and his children, sisters, cousins, nephews and nieces, the dog and Uncle Tom Cobbley and all! My Daughter, big Grandson and little Granddaughter will be there of course, but I felt I would be decidedly out of my comfort zone, so here I am talking to you instead.
I may take a trip to the Garden Centre, though I don't feel inclined to buy any plants at the mo.
It's just too cold and wintry to expose anything tender to the elements. And I don't feel inclined to add anything to my garden just now - at least I have the Spurs match to watch later: it's the Chelsea vs Spurs game at 4pm, so I'll be glued to the Live Streaming!
I have decided in my head that I won't be living here in the future - I need to move to somewhere I can feel at home. This feeling has come upon me gradually, but is now a certainty. I have realised that I am living in a place that doesn't feel like home, and we all know how important that feeling is. It may take a while for me to find the right place, but as I have always managed to do so in the past, I'm sure it will come to me. You may think I'm crazy to be even considering all this moving stuff again after only three short years, but it's no good! Lovely as this house is, it's in the wrong place and has the wrong feeling. I've tried to feel at home here, but it doesn't work. For a start I'm surrounded by old ladies and though I'm probably considered to be just that, I don't feel like it, and probably never will. You won't catch me staggering around on a stick or going into a Care Home: over my dead body is all I can say! And, as I'm sure you know, it's hard living somewhere you don't feel a part of. Looking back, I have lived the longest in places I have loved: after my childhood home in Hornchurch (which was an Essex village then) 20 years, there was Randolph Crescent in Little Venice (12 years), Bateman Mews in Cambridge (15 years) and then New Church Road in Hove (13 years). All the other places were stop-gaps, and when they weren't right I stayed for a maximum of 4 years in each! That says it all to me. So look out, here I come, looking for yet another place to call Home.
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