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!
Thursday, April 19, 2018
Thursday, April 12, 2018
Oh Dear...
I'm adrift, in the doldrums, not knowing which way to turn, in other words, up a gum tree! It may be Spring, but I don't feel like springing anywhere. Sad, because I came back from Barcelona full of life and plans for the future - only to be met with many reasons why I can't just take off; the main one being my big Grandson, who would be pretty devastated if I suddenly wasn't here to be backstop when he needs a safe, secure place to stay. I, it seems, am it! This is not really such a surprise to me, simply a reminder that family ties are the strongest and can't just be abandoned. Neither should they. What would we be without them - I can't imagine how I would feel now if I had no-one as family - that must be a very lonely place, so if I have to hold back on escape plans for now, it's not the end of the world. I can move house, just not too far!
The other day I was talking with my BBF (Brighton Best Friend) about sleep and dreams. She now sleeps very well, having had a long time when she didn't. It was a surprise to her when I said just how important dreams are to our overall health. I only know this because I have read quite a lot about the research that has gone into the subject. She was convinced that she doesn't dream, but I told her that if she didn't dream she would probably be pretty ill. Apparently our dreams are actually the essential part of sleep - we can survive being deprived of ordinary sleep, but if we are deprived of our dreaming time, we quickly become very ill indeed. Some of the sleep trials I read about had to be stopped for this very reason. Ironical then that I had one of the most vivid and horrible dreams the very next night. I woke myself up at about 3.30am; I was shouting "GET out, Get OUT" and thrashing about so violently that I knocked over my bedside table with its load of books, reading lamp, radio etc. All of which is very heavy. It scared me a bit, as I was shaking and had completely lost my voice! I don't know exactly what it meant because I couldn't recall the whole dream, but I have no doubt that was me somehow trying to put all the latest trials and tribulations in order. My voice is still shaky two days later, and I'm taking it easy....
Yesterday I made the mistake of keeping a date I had for lunch with two of the ladies who live practically next door. As I had volunteered to chauffeur us to the lunch, I didn't feel that I could cry off at the last minute, and thankfully my dodgy voice meant I couldn't talk much. But oh! I won't
be doing it again. The 'Carvery' we drove to in the country, was enormous and packed with people of a certain age, all stuffing their faces. The phrase 'pigs at the trough' came to mind, and I could hardly bear to look at the mountains of food they had on their plates. If we are all 'digging our graves with our knives and forks' this was the perfect example. I ate very little and came back feeling rather sick.
And on that joyful note, I'm off. I hope I haven't depressed you too much....
The other day I was talking with my BBF (Brighton Best Friend) about sleep and dreams. She now sleeps very well, having had a long time when she didn't. It was a surprise to her when I said just how important dreams are to our overall health. I only know this because I have read quite a lot about the research that has gone into the subject. She was convinced that she doesn't dream, but I told her that if she didn't dream she would probably be pretty ill. Apparently our dreams are actually the essential part of sleep - we can survive being deprived of ordinary sleep, but if we are deprived of our dreaming time, we quickly become very ill indeed. Some of the sleep trials I read about had to be stopped for this very reason. Ironical then that I had one of the most vivid and horrible dreams the very next night. I woke myself up at about 3.30am; I was shouting "GET out, Get OUT" and thrashing about so violently that I knocked over my bedside table with its load of books, reading lamp, radio etc. All of which is very heavy. It scared me a bit, as I was shaking and had completely lost my voice! I don't know exactly what it meant because I couldn't recall the whole dream, but I have no doubt that was me somehow trying to put all the latest trials and tribulations in order. My voice is still shaky two days later, and I'm taking it easy....
Yesterday I made the mistake of keeping a date I had for lunch with two of the ladies who live practically next door. As I had volunteered to chauffeur us to the lunch, I didn't feel that I could cry off at the last minute, and thankfully my dodgy voice meant I couldn't talk much. But oh! I won't
be doing it again. The 'Carvery' we drove to in the country, was enormous and packed with people of a certain age, all stuffing their faces. The phrase 'pigs at the trough' came to mind, and I could hardly bear to look at the mountains of food they had on their plates. If we are all 'digging our graves with our knives and forks' this was the perfect example. I ate very little and came back feeling rather sick.
And on that joyful note, I'm off. I hope I haven't depressed you too much....
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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