Week-ending..

Oh bugger, this morning Sister phoned to suggest coming down this weekend to do a Car Boot Sale - she is having a new kitchen and has loads of old stuff to get rid of - and I had to say no because I'm disappearing off to a BF in Kent. I felt really sorry because I have been looking forward to getting together with Sister and catching up. And we both feel that the days of Car Boot Sales are numbered simply because the weather will go tits up soon. Anyway, we're going to try for next week.

Next Sunday is, in fact, Son's Birthday. He will be 28, and I find that really hard to believe sometimes. He probably won't be coming down here for the day, as he's going out with friends in London on the Saturday evening. I remember his actual Birthday vividly. I was woken at 6am on 16th September, by a rush of warm something. As it was exactly a month before he was due, I panicked, thinking it was blood and heralded disaster. Actually it was breaking waters - quite normal. I was transported to the Avenue Clinic, where we were booked in, and Son made his first appearance at 11.30 am. Elective Caesarean. He was rushed off to a special care baby unit, and I was left to wonder where my baby had gone. He came back 36 hours later, having had mild breathing difficulties, and with jaundice. Again all perfectly normal for a baby who's 4 weeks premature. I never really believed that he was premature, as such, just in a hurry to get on with life. He's been the same ever since. Always the first to do anything, ready to try anything. Wanting to get there first. Dear boy.

Read my favourite two Blogs today, only to be thrust backwards at a million miles an hour to the time when a)my two were starting school,and b) my ex-husband delighted in making my life (and, co-incidentally the childrens' lives) a complete misery. a) I've never forgotten leaving them at school for the first time and sobbing helplessly at the loss. I couldn't go home either, because it was worse there. Too quiet. b) The times I had to literally beg for extra money to buy shoes or a coat. Or justify needing anything extra for school. And the sheer nastiness that came down the phone if I ever needed any help or moral support. And don't mention the time after the brain tumour. He'll go to hell for that!

Thankfully we came through all the difficulties intact. But it still hurts to relive it - and to think that other families are having to go through the same problems.
Anyway, back to the future. Must go, or will hit the rush hour traffic.

Talking Asparagus.

Talking to another Best Friend on the phone this morning, she made me laugh when we were discussing Risotto ingredients. (I'm going to visit her at the weekend, and taking a few tasty items with me.) I suggested asparagus and prawns, and she cast aspersions on the probable quality of the asparagus. As she grows her own, I assume she knows best, but it did make me laugh. I have some very posh friends - but this particular one is truly aristocratic. She is an Honourable, one of four daughters of a Lord (now deceased) and would make a wonderful "Princess and the Pea" person. She could certainly spot a pea at thirty mattresses, and is obviously not impressed with my attempts to feed her inferior asparagus!

I'm also taking some of my homemade preserves: damson jam and some crab apple jelly. And I'll be paying a visit to the Fish Man on the beach in the morning, to see what's fresh and tasty. It sounds as if we are going to spend the whole weekend eating, but that's not true. We will be gardening (I'll be dead-heading and pruning the roses) and talking non-stop. As well as entertaining a few of her friends and relations. (I look forward to getting away. And I've discovered that distance lends a bit of perspective to my everyday anxieties.) This BF lives almost next door to Sissinghurst Castle, so we may even go for a walk in the woods.

Today was gloriously sunny and hot, so Daughter, Grandson and I met at the Paddling Pool. Grandson is really a water baby; he splashes around for hours in complete happiness. And we also played a bit of football and paddled in the sea. Daughter is working at the Beach Cafe tomorrow, so I will be collecting Grandson from Nursery -
or should I say,Pre-School, as he's now "upstairs" with the big children. How time is flying. I watch him racing around and laughing, just enjoying life, and I don't want him to change. I love him just the way he is..

Like Goats to the Slaughter.

I was immensely heartened to hear this morning that two goats had been slaughtered by Nepal Airlines in an effort to appease their Hindu gods. Apparently they were having problems with one of their aircraft, but after the sacrifice took place in front of the aircraft, on the runway, it managed to take off successfully. It's hard to argue that these things don't work when they quite obviously do (at least in this case). If it had been April Fools' day, we could all have laughed it off. As it is..


Today was a day of escaping. I went with one of my Best Friends on an outing to Ikea, which we both love. I started the day with tea and toast, and then had the car washed on my way to pick her up. (She is a very smart BF and I was quite ashamed of the car.) We enjoyed the drive because it was non-stop gossip, news and exchanges of information. First stop at Ikea was the coffee shop - lovely coffee and pastries. And then a slow walk round admiring the furniture, throws, kitchens and stuff.
We always go into fantasy mode, imagining that we are starting from scratch, and furnishing a new, clean and white space. This illusion tends to go hand in hand with what we would do if we won the Lottery - in fact the two are closely intertwined because winning the Lottery means we could have absolutely anything we wanted. After indulging this fantasy for a while, we felt the need of more nourishsment. And lunch in Ikea is great too; smoked salmon, artichoke hearts, prawns and various other Scandinavian delights, with an elderflower presse on the side. Then we bought a few bits and pieces before driving on to look at her sons' new house in Brixton.
The two boys have bought a very nice Victorian 'fixer-upper' which they are going to convert into two self-contained flats. Until they do the work, my Son, plus various other friends, is helping them to fill the space. This is wonderful for Son, because he hasn't (immediately) got to find another grotty flat. We're all hoping that his flat sale will go through in perfect time for him to move on into his own place, before they start to get under each other's feet or on each other's nerves. They're all old friends, so hopefully it won't come to that.. Fingers crossed.

Now.. and Then.

In fact, I was awake at about 5.45am - and not sure how much I slept really. Grandson is so lovely though, that I don't mind, and he did sleep soundly from 6.30 last night. I lay there for as long as I could, making up stories and games which could keep me under my warm duvet for a few minutes longer. We actually got out of bed at about 7am, so that wasn't bad at all.

Daughter turned up at about 10 o'clock, looking lovely and rested! So I was able to scoot off and have a reviving shower. Then we went to feed the donkeys and the goats at a local farm. It's a regular treat, and on the way there we drive past fields full of sheep and cows. Grandson now delights in making the noises we used to make before he could talk. So we drive along making baaing and mooing sounds like mad. I wonder how long it will be before he realizes that his Mumma and Nana are quite bonkers?

As we sat in a Garden Centre having some lunch, I thought that Grandson, at three and a quarter, is not far off the age Son was when I was whisked away with a brain tumour. I had been having scary headaches for quite a while, and knew that there was something wrong. The local doctor, however, told me that I was suffering from hypertension headaches. He added that, as I was a single mother left alone with two small children this was not surprising, and I should more or less get on with it. Luckily, I didn't accept his diagnosis and went up to London to see my lovely London Doctor (he really deserves the capitals), who examined me and promptly sent me off to see a Neurologist friend of his in Harley Street. I suppose I should have known when this specialist gave me exactly the same examination, that something was up. Anyway, I didn't guess and was completely freaked out when I was told that the scan results clearly showed that I had a brain tumour. His exact words were: "There's good news and bad news. The good news is that we know what's causing your headaches. The bad news is that it's a brain tumour."

To cut a very long story short, I had to go back home for a week (because they couldn't wait any longer to operate), make a will and make arrangements for the care of my children in case I didn't come back. It was the worst experience of my life. Looking now at Grandson (who looks exactly like Son did at his age) I can't bear to think that I might never have seen my children grow up. And at the time, Son knew that something was wrong, although he was too young to express it fully. I can't bear to think of the terror he must have felt - after all, I had never spent a day away from my two before that time. Son was three and three quarters, and Daughter was only 18 months old - a little scrap who delighted in carrying her potty around everywhere and opening the front door stark naked. (Two things she grew out of quite quickly.) And I was almost surgically removed from their lives. I was away for three weeks, which must have seemed like an eternity. And as I was driven away to the hospital, I looked back to see them standing on our doorstep, waving goodbye to me, with balloons in their hands...

Thankfully, I survived. I was determined to live. I was not going to leave my precious children to the not-so-tender mercies of my ex-husband and his new partner.

I remember much of what happened during the next couple of weeks, but most vivid is the moment when I woke up in Intensive Care after the operation. At first I thought I was at home in bed. Then I remembered what had happened, and I felt an enormous surge of pure joy. "I'm alive!". I couldn't move, but at that moment I felt as if I could have leapt 12 feet in the air. I could see, I could hear, and I could wriggle my toes. Never mind the pain, in fact I can't remember any pain, just the joy of being alive and kicking.

So my London Doctor saved my life. We still exchange Christmas cards, and have the occasional telephone conversation. I am understandably very fond of him, and I regularly bless his name. Lucky me. So I just gave Grandson another kiss, for luck.

I don't like Mondays..

Last night was great. We won the Pub Quiz handsomely, which pissed off all the regulars in the Pub, but never mind. There were only 4 in our team, but, as I said before, they are all very intelligent. We are called the Spritzer Sisters, so no guesses about what we drink...

This morning, however, woke with a sick feeling. Yet another day with no movement on the flat sale, and I'm not feeling cheerful, to put it mildly. Of course, it has to move soon, no situation lasts forever, and I suppose Mondays are the pits. The sun is coming out though, so perhaps I'll go out for a cup of coffee. Small pleaures!

Well, today certainly lived up to my expectations. Had a chat to our flat buyer, a really lovely lady, who had no positive news to relate and is going on holiday for a week tomorrow. So no luck there. Phoned the estate agents to suggest reducing the price a bit, in the hope of getting more action. And then went to pay my Road Tax (£99 for six months!!) and various other bills. Next met up with Daughter, boyfriend and Grandson for a visit to the local childrens' hospital. As it turned out, we were in a reception area which was crammed with parents and children waiting... After a while I asked what the waiting time might be. This did bring a response, and a very polite one, but the upshot was that the Consultant (I don't know why I gave him a capital letter) was unwell and couldn't take his clinic. I did wonder how long they had had this information, and why we couldn't have been told the news when we arrived (ten minutes early) for our appointment. It was half an hour after the appointed time when we (and all the other very patient patients) were given that information. We left. As Grandson's appointment was not for anything urgent, we felt it was better to give other more urgent cases a fighting chance of actually seeing someone today. Thank god for good health and the ability to walk out. As the saying goes, if you want to stay fit, stay out of hospital..

Tonight I have Grandson staying over and, as the small bedroom is occcupied by one of Son's friends, he is sleeping in my bed. So it will be a cosy and warm end to the day. Snuggling up to a three-year-old sort of gets things into perspective. I'm going to bed early just in case I have to wake up at 5.30am.

Sunday Blues.

Rising with the lark this morning (actually about 7.30, but early for me on a Sunday), I was very pleased to be going to do the Car Boot Sale. Otherwise, it would have been just another Sunday with not much going on. Gay Friend decided to come too, and was ready with two flasks of green tea, at 8am. We met up with my lovely friend Em at the field, and unloaded all our tat onto wobbly tables in the hope that someone would buy it all. By midday, we had to admit that they were probably not going to - but we had sold quite a bit (Em always does well because she is so gorgeous, and everyone wants to talk to her, so they end up buying something just to get one of her smiles!) Anyway, it was good fun. Half way through Daughter and Grandson turned up, with the boyfriend in tow - hugs and kisses all round because I hadn't seen them for a week. (I had lovely presents from the Isle of Wight, including some very naughty fudge and a large rosy apple from Nanny Daisy's garden.) And another of my Best Friends came by with her daughter and grand-daughter, so it was a delightfully social event. Everyone found a bargain or two and we drank tea, ate bacon rolls, gossiped and laughed a lot. What better to do of a Sunday?

I still haven't spoken to Son, and still haven't got my mobile phone back! I'd quite like to do both - but have left messages for Son and can't do much more. I did repeat another Feng Shui ritual for the flat yesterday, and walked to the end of the Pier to throw another set of details into the sea. The tide was definitely going out; there was a strong current and a stiff wind, so the rolled details, tied with their red ribbon, receded quite quickly. I said a solemn goodbye to the flat,wished it well with its new owner, and stepped out afterwards, hoping that I wasn't getting too many strange stares.

I can't get enthusiastic about food today, so probably won't cook, which is unusual for me. I'm off to do a Pub Quiz with some very intelligent friends this evening. We always have a good time, and sometimes we win. This evening will be even more enjoyable because, of course, there's no smoking in pubs any more. For someone like me who is allergic to just about everything, including cigarette smoke, this is marvellous news. I'll be able to breathe. It may be just the boost our team needs to thrash the competition.

A Handful of Memories.

Yesterday I did go to the cinema, but instead of Harry Potter, I saw the Bourne Ultimatum. I did enjoy it, it was very fast and exciting, and I only had to hide my face and peep from behind my fingers a couple of times. After a while such extravagant destruction of both motor cars and people becomes almost acceptable. Almost. I can't say that I followed the high espionage story in every detail, but certainly enough. Harry Potter is now only on at our local cinema at 10.45 in the morning - for the children on holiday I suppose, but somehow I can't imagine going to the movies so early in the day.

Actually, that's reminded me of when Sister and I used to go to Saturday Morning Pictures in Hornchurch. It cost sixpence (old money), or 9d if you wanted to sit up in the balcony (we never did). We used to take our 2 ounces of sweets, or if we were lucky and had saved a bit of pocket money, we bought a penny ginger cake at the baker's next door. There was a full programme, including a cartoon and a proper feature (often a cowboy film, which Sister loved). And we walked there and back on our own, which was at least a half hour each way. Once I swallowed a big blue bead during an exciting part of the film (why I was sucking it I can't recall), and we called at someone's house to ask for help. The woman, with great presence of mind, gave me a tablespoonful of Castor Oil to swallow. Ugh! When we raced home and told my Mum, she thought it was very funny. Needless to say, I never swallowed a foreign object again.

In those days, we walked everywhere. The Library was a favourite place to go in the holidays, and on one occasion we took our dog, Paddy, with us. It was a long walk, and the Library was in the middle of a large park, so Paddy had a good run, and then we tied him up outside while we sat on the cool floor in the children's section and read a few books (it was always tricky to decide which ones to actually borrow). After an hour or so we came out with our books, chattering away, and set off on the long walk home. We were half way before we realized that we had left the dog tied up outside the Library. I remember racing back, heart in mouth, to see him sitting patiently, whimpering a bit and squirming on his little spaniel's tail, so happy to see us running towards him. Poor Paddy. When we arrived home and confessed, Mum didn't think that was quite so funny!