Sequel to My Mother’s 100th Birthday
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Addendum To My Last Post
Life has changed so much for me in the past decade, and expecting the unexpected has become the norm! But if you read my reblogged post from May 2016, please also click on the pingback at the bottom that will take you to my daughter’s blog, The Little Washhouse, which is well worth a read.
Sadly, WordPress locked her out a few years ago and she hasn’t been able to continue with this blog. If anyone knows how she can. get back into it, we’d be grateful for your tips.
It’s always interesting to look back – memory is so selective! Like the sundial, I tend to record only the sunny hours, but the dark ones are still there nevertheless. I hope you enjoy my nostalgic trip back to 2016.
Ten Years Ago In England: And It Didn’t Go As Expected Afterwards Either!
Preparing for spring and summer – and the blessing of a bath!
Watching my nine- and eleven-year-old great grandchildren running skipping and jumping around today, I felt a pang of nostalgia that I can no longer turn cartwheels or do a somersault. At my age, it would be a miracle if I could, but as my body stiffens and joints no longer allow me to bend as much as I used to, I long for one thing that I know many elderly people miss: a bath. In my bathroom I have a shower over the bath tub, and have no problems so far in climbing in and out. But the luxury of a soak, lying stretched out in that tub – well, for a long time that seemed like a totally different prospect. No, I wasn’t even going to imagine how that might feel.
And then, last December, my grandson-in-law brought me a present back from his trip to Japan: lovely discs smelling of oranges and lemons to dissolve in the bathwater and leave the skin lightly citrus-scented. That was the impetus I needed. I filled the tub and added a disc. Then very cautiously I stepped into the hot water. I lowered myself to my knees . With a great effort, I managed to manoeuvre myself into a sitting position and from there – joy of joys! – I was able to lie down full length. To feel the warm water lapping around me, to enjoy it caressing my body in a totally different way from the energising slap of the shower, was heaven. I could do it!
Could I get out again? That was another challenge, but I found that by turning over and getting into a kneeling position, yes – I could climb out unaided.
Since then, I’ve indulged in a few baths before bedtime and thoroughly enjoyed the experience as well as the triumphant feeling each time I manage to get in and out again.
Today, my eldest granddaughter came to assist me in getting rid of all my bags of recycling and to buy soil and flowering plants for my balcony. The fact that I need to ask for someone to drive me about and help carry heavy things is another frustration that age has brought with it, but she offered and brought along her two youngest kids, eleven-year-old Mael and nine-year-old Joline, as extra hands.
My planned colour scheme surprised them a bit, but it’s based on a couple of lap shawls I’ve crocheted that are diagonally striped in red, white and blue.
My balcony is small, so I decided to stay with this patriotic vibe and we went off to the plant nursery to select appropriate sun-loving petunias and one or two other plants that hopefully will thrive in my south-facing flowerbed. This day marks the beginning of a minor heatwave, so unsurprisingly a lot of other people were out buying plants and things for their gardens and balconies.
The nursery is part of a DIY store, so we also wandered the aisles looking for various other necessities. I find DIY stores fascinating, although I don’t do any DIY myself, but I do enjoy looking and there seems to be an inherited gene for this, as nobody got bored during this phase of our outing. Swiss tummies register 12 o’clock with no prompting, and as a treat we went to Subway for a sandwich lunch.
Back home, it turned out I had bought far more soil than I needed, but that isn’t a problem, I just have to find a solution to hide the extra bags that will eventually get used. We sorted out and planted the flowers, cleaned up, re-arranged the balcony furniture, and I gave it all my seal of approval. Big hugs all round and bye-bye till next time. Many, many thanks!
I lay down on my new sunbed and fell fast asleep for an hour. I had arranged to leave in the evening to visit my best friend over Whitsun/Pentecost, but when I awoke I found that time, the enemy, had won this battle and I had missed the bus. I still felt hot, sticky and stiff – and grumpy. Then the bath tub smiled seductively at me and I couldn’t resist. Refreshed and relaxed afterwards, I lay down on my massage chair and felt as if I was at the spa. Sitting with a gin and tonic on my pretty balcony in the evening sun, I felt life couldn’t be better. Tomorrow morning, I won’t miss the bus!
Honour Your Mother
Today would have been my mother’s 110th birthday. And tomorrow is Mother’s Day here in Switzerland, as in many other countries. Those who have been following this blog for a few years will know how important my mother was to me, as she figured in many of my posts between 2011 and 2017, the period I spent looking after her at the end of her long life. So it’s no surprise that she’s very much in my thoughts right now.
As I get older, I am gaining in understanding of my mother in her final years. I was sometimes impatient with her when she would allow 15 minutes for something I knew I could do in five, but as I become slower and stiffer I realise that I, too, now take longer over tasks and I admire and appreciate the patience my daughter and grandchildren show me in these instances. She was a wise woman, and I find myself quoting her regularly. I miss her.
My mother died in February 2017, nine years ago already, yet I still feel her beloved presence with me every day. This weekend, she is even more present than usual.
Happy Birthday, Mom, and Happy Mother’s Day. God bless you.
A Time To Give And A Time To Receive
A sudden shaft of gratitude struck me like an arrow the other day as I listened to a lovely, lively group of 50 to 60-something ladies discussing their strategies for coping with the stress of their everyday lives, playing so many diverse roles.
All of them wives, most of them mothers and grandmothers, some still needed by their own mothers, fathers, parents-in-law and siblings, some of them still employed – so many demands on them, all willingly met, but so little time left for themselves. That “certain age” is certainly a tough period, and where it coincides with the menopause it’s very tough indeed. Was it very selfish of me to rejoice that all of that is now behind me?
My own fifties, sixties and seventies weren’t always easy and I genuinely sympathise with these ladies. I know where they are coming from. I hope it helped them to share their challenges and solutions with one another, to know that they are not alone and there are ways of juggling all those different pressures and claims on their time and emotions. I also hope it helped them to hear about my perspective: This too will pass!
“An attitude of gratitude” – yes, it’s a cliché but I think on the whole I have achieved that: my glass is definitely at least half full, and often even overflows. Still, it was a very strong shaft that pierced my consciousness as I realised just how grateful I am that I’m no longer responsible for the happiness and well-being of all my friends and members of my family, nor do I bear a great load of work with impossible deadlines to meet and awkward people to deal with and keep sweet.
As we age and become aware that we are no longer essential to those around us (even though they may love us and be sad when we go) it’s easy to feel lost and lonely. Nobody needs us anymore, we are a burden on society and unable to contribute to the common good, our lives may seem devoid of purpose. Why go on living, with no raison d’être? Especially as our physical and mental health weakens, our bodies subject to aches and pains in places we didn’t know existed, and we watch the sands running out. Old friends decline into dementia, contract terminal illnesses, and die. We know we’re next. We can’t keep up with modern technology and feel stupid as well as isolated when we can’t communicate on our devices. Oh yes, it’s very tempting to sink into depression.
“Nobody loves me, everybody hates me,
I’m going in the garden to eat worms.”
Well, you little demon on my left shoulder, just you shut up! I think that’s where the arrow hit, actually, and knocked him/her off their perch (do demons have pronouns?)
I’m saying a very big THANK YOU for all those past experiences, both positive and negative, that have shaped me, and another big THANK YOU for the absence of all those claims and demands that only I could fulfil. THANK YOU for letting me live on my own in an apartment that meets all my requirements, that I am responsible for no-one but myself. I can do most of my own house cleaning and go shopping alone. Yet another THANK YOU that if I need assistance, it’s there. And not to be taken for granted.
If I choose, I can find ways of being useful and of service to those in need, but that is my choice, not an obligation. I can be sociable or unsociable. If I want company, I can find it. If I want to be alone, stay in bed all day, eat sweets or drink a G&T now and then, spend my time reading, watching podcasts or crocheting, or simply sit on my balcony watching the world go by – I can.
In my apartment, I have a living/dining room, a bedroom, and a playroom. This also doubles as an occasional guestroom, but its chief function is to house my hobbies and allow me a place to make a mess whenever I like (unless there’s a guest using it). As a child, I was famous for my messes. I could explode all over our living room in seconds. This wasn’t something my mother appreciated, and I had to learn to limit my explosions – but now I have a whole room at my disposal. Bomb disposal room? Surprisingly, most of the time it’s clean and tidy. My mother would be proud of me!
Ecclesiastes said it a few thousand years ago and (as he also remarked) there’s nothing new under the sun. I might add to his list that there’s also a time to give and a time to receive. I have given – and now I graciously receive.
And those of you who belong to my generation might even sing along to this:
There is a time for everything,
and a season for every activity under the heavens:
a time to be born and a time to die,
a time to plant and a time to uproot,
a time to kill and a time to heal,
a time to tear down and a time to build,
a time to weep and a time to laugh,
a time to mourn and a time to dance,
a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,
a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing,
a time to search and a time to give up,
a time to keep and a time to throw away,
a time to tear and a time to mend,
a time to be silent and a time to speak,
a time to love and a time to hate,
a time for war and a time for peace.
Is This The French Hogwarts?
I – and my family – must have driven past this hundreds of times in the past 35 years, but I have visited only once and that was 30 years ago. My family have never stopped here. It’s a landmark we look out for and comment on every time.
“Must go and see what it’s like,” we say, but don’t. Well, this time we did.
The children identified it many years ago as Beauxbâtons, the French counterpart to Hogwarts, which gave it a special mystery, since officially that Academy of Magic is located far away in the Pyrenees – but a magical school in a castle, surely, can change its location from time to time, so why be surprised to find it dominating a hill in Burgundy?
Châteauneuf-en-Auxois – to give it its Muggle name – is situated roughly halfway between our regular home in Switzerland and our holiday home in Brittany, so ideally placed for a stopover. In the past, usually with two drivers to share the task, there was no need to break the journey. Although we have all managed to do the 1200 km trip in one go with only one driver and arrived none the worse for it, nowadays our drivers do appreciate a rest midway.
And so last weekend my daughter and I were finally able to turn off from the autoroute A6, spend a pleasant evening in Pouilly, a typical small town nearby (where we had a delicious 4-course gourmet meal at a very reasonable price) and spend Sunday morning exploring the village of Châteauneuf before embarking on the second half of our journey home.
Sadly, we weren’t able to join the guided tour of the castle. I don’t think I would enjoy negotiating the spiral staircases in the towers anyway, but it was interesting to see (from the outside) how beautifully this imposing and impressive edifice has been (and is still being) restored and it would have been even more interesting to experience it. Building began in the twelfth century and continued over a few centuries, but it has been in ruins for a very long time, and when I was here in the mid-1990’s it looked more like a setting for a Dracula or Frankenstein film than a Harry Potter location. On that particular occasion, from our bedroom window in the Hostellerie directly beside the castle, we watched a truly spectacular thunderstorm with wild flashes of lightning playing around the dark ruins in the middle of the night: it couldn’t have been a more dramatic mise en scène.
This time, all was calm, sunny and full of the joys of spring. Not only the château but also the village has been restored, and charmingly so. Such a place obviously attracts artists and craftspeople, so the quality of any souvenirs bought here is high. Alas, so were the prices – so my only souvenirs are photos.
April Fool?
I have found out why some of the clothes I accidentally sent to the charity shop weren’t there when we went looking to buy them back. It’s generally acknowledged that important discoveries frequently happen by accident, and this is no exception.
I’m off on holiday to my beloved Brittany today, so of course yesterday saw me preparing to pack. My small suitcase that I keep in my apartment for the odd weekend jaunt was too small for the pile of stuff that accumulated on my bed, so down I went to the basement to find my larger case. Since my basement is now so neat and tidy, I could put my hand on it immediately and began to wheel it towards the lift. But it somehow felt heavy. What could be inside?
Well, you may have guessed: imagine my joy at finding five lightweight jackets, two of them bought last year and hardly worn! Yes, the dresses and tops I had put away in a cardboard box have gone for good, but the jackets are what I was chiefly grieving over, and here they, restored to me most unexpectedly – on the First of April!
Is this some kind of divine April Fool’s jape? I burst out laughing, and my neighbour who happened to be sorting through his wine collection in his basement compartment across from mine looked up curiously but – being a good Swiss – didn’t ask. I gave him a brief explanation all the same, as he was obviously bursting with curiosity and we both chuckled at the doings of the weird hand of Fate.
Thanks to all of you who have sympathised with my “loss” – you can now rejoice with me that at least one important section of my wardrobe has returned. And I can’t help wondering if the date is significant!
Decluttering – With A Twist!
WordPress tells me that this is my 800th post and that I have 293 subscribers (where are you all? It’s always the same faithful few who comment!). My reaction? Surprise on realising that I’m now halfway through my fifteenth year of blogging, and haven’t yet run out of subject matter! Also, that blogging is still “a thing” (should I start a vlog instead?) and that a few followers remain.
Looking back on my blogging beginnings, I’m struck by the timing: unbeknownst to me, my life path was about to take one of those abrupt turns, after which nothing is the same. So that tiny band of regular readers that have been trudging along with me since September 2011 has been witness to my meanderings.
In the golden glow of hindsight, I realise that I was happy, healthy and living life very much on my own terms back then. I had, very begrudgingly, just turned seventy and certainly didn’t feel more than middle-aged. I was totally unaware that I was about to return to my childhood home for the last years of my mother’s life, and that some serious milestones lay ahead. My life now is very different to what it was. Well, I have no complaints. It’s been an interesting season of my life, autumn into winter, metaphorically speaking.
And talking of seasons, in preparation for the actual upcoming spring and summer I decided to declutter and tidy up my basement. My Dear Daughter came over to help me (she lives just across the road) and to take away anything surplus to my needs. It all looks very neat and tidy, and I can find things again, so I’m most grateful to her for that.
“What’s in this box? And in this bag?”
I glanced briefly inside each, and replied, “Those are my spring and summer clothes and that’s stuff for the charity shop.”
She duly placed the box for the thrift shop alongside another big box of unwanted books, and when we had finished our decluttering she loaded them both into her car. Then she carried the travelling bag with my summer wardrobe up to my apartment, as it was rather heavy for me.
A few days later, the sun was shining and everything in the garden was blooming, so I decided to put away my winter wardrobe and unpack my spring and summer clothes. But what’s this? The clothes in the travelling bag were the ones I had sorted out six months earlier and put aside to donate. So where were the clothes I wanted to keep? With a sinking heart, I understood that I had given my daughter the wrong box! I went across the road to her house, and asked if she still had the things I had given her.
“Oh no, we took everything to the thrift shop on Saturday.”
Oops!! It was too late to do anything about it that evening, but the following day we went off to see if we could retrieve any of the “lost treasures”. We also took the bag of clothes originally intended for the charity, as I really don’t want them anymore. But hard luck, none of my things were on display. All gone. However, I did get some replacements: a linen top and shirt, a light jacket and a blazer, so I will have something to wear when the weather turns really warm. And – well, don’t I have a really genuine excuse to go shopping now? Provided I can wear the current fashions …
Spring is (almost) sprung …
I always look forward to the vernal equinox, that magical moment of balance between day and night, celebrating – for those of us in the northern hemisphere – the official arrival of spring. Violets, crocuses, primroses, daisies, celandine, forsythia, catkins – all those humble harbingers of spring have been unobtrusively pushing their little faces out of the dirt lately, and once February’s nonstop rains gave way to March’s windy leonine roar, the sun has been making ever stronger attempts to impose its reign. Today has been a battleground between the sun on one side and a cold windy cloud covering. The cloud and wind have temporarily conquered, but the sun is forecast to dominate for the rest of the week, and I’m keeping my fingers crossed for Friday.
I’m also exchanging some of the contents of my wardrobe in an optimistic effort to be ready for warmer weather when it arrives, although I do still usually follow my mother’s old adage of “Cast ne’er a clout till May be out!” And I confess that she had to explain to me that a clout was an old word for a cloth or piece of clothing, and not only a slap delivered to a naughty child. So if I misbehaved before the first of June, I still got my bottom smacked (not a crime in those days, and I well deserved it!). Anyway, it cheers me up to open my wardrobe doors and see lighter weight clothes even if it isn’t quite time to wear them yet.
My Apple online dictionary defines the equinoctial point as “either of two points at which the ecliptic cuts the celestial equator.”
Roll that around your tongue: “the ecliptic cuts the celestial equator”
Doesn’t it sound like a lovely line of verse? My fantasy is farfetched but somehow, it evokes for me an image of the sun slashing a tight ribbon around the Earth to release an abundance of wonders and delights from a beautiful blue sky, and joyfully unleashing the new season.
March 20 also marks the birthday of my eldest granddaughter, also very significant not only for her but also for me personally, as her arrival elevated me to the status of grandmother. Quite a promotion! And her birthday this year is exceptional because she will be exactly half as old as I am: 42 to my 84. I am so happy and grateful to be here to experience that! And in good health, too, I’m even more grateful to say.
Well, 42 is a special number anyway – the answer to everything, if you believe Douglas Adams. So there’s another reason (or excuse!) for a celebration this weekend. As the ecliptic cuts the celestial equator at 15.46 (3.46 pm), will it bring instant enlightenment to this birthday girl? Now that would be a wonder!
I wrote this poem for her back in 1984:
Now is the best time of year to be born –
Now, when the daffodil and forsythia flame,
And blossom covers the cherry-trees like candy-floss;
When the fresh green fingers of the chestnut leaves
Start to uncurl, like new-butterfly-wings,
From their sticky brown mitten-buds.
Now is the right time to open your eyes
And see the blurred world all new;
Now, for the first time;
Now, when the world has washed its face
In the melting snows
And brushed the winter out of its hair
With the wild March wind.
Now is the time,
Now, for the first time, now you are alive,
Now you are born,
With the lambs, with the calves,
With the spring-hatched sun-patched nestlings.
Now is the beautiful time
Of your birth.
catterel 