Rain.

Rain.

And more rain.

Not a problem for me. I'm resting with Mark. Resting? Hardly. But I must try. Doctor Kelly's advice.

He was charming. Very chummy but very businesslike too. And so as I sat boiling with the heat, he said "you will be having a heart scan".

This on account of what the phsyiologist found two weeks ago when I went for a Pacemaker check up.

Apparently I'd had an event, an occurence in the lower chambers of my heart. Which, the doc said, was serious.

Bugger.

But he was so nice about it, about everything in fact, so reassuring. But his soothing friendly tone of voice didn't quite mask the seriousness of my situation.

After smiling broadly we said our cheerios, he went back to his large desk and I left the  hospital walking briskly to the bus stop.

I shopped till I nearly dropped, getting bits and bobs for Father's Day. Bought a gift on behalf of Mark for his dad, and a box of chocolate brazils for Mark's grandad. Don't know if any of that makes sense. Mark, bless him, can't shop, he hasn't a clue about money. We, his family, do the shopping for him, paying for it happily. Mark just does the "what have you bought? thing.

 He really is a wonderful young man. Full of joy. 

And by jolly jingo do we need that right now.

 

The hanging basket filled with apricot coloured begonias looks delightful.

Been very busy getting the gardens in to shape ready for summer . We were planning a party for Mark's 21st birthday, complete with bundles of his chums, a couple of family members and one or two of our mates from the car club. But we've decided to chop away at the guest list on account of covid not going away...

So the garden ensemble will consist of... Mark, dad, me, mum and grandad and granma. 

And, with the outstanding help from the charity Willow, a special appearance by Britain's Got Talent winner magician Richard Jones. 

Willow has been amazing, they help people who have had cancer, by offering holidays and gifts. They will also be supplying a birthday cake. We can't thank them enough. So a huge hug from us to Josie....Hug coming sometime later this year!

We, that's Rob and me, have, with lots of sweaty work and cash, transformed the back garden from a dullish workaday place to a picturesque slap happy lots of nooks and crannies space with fabulous herb garden, fruit and veg plots and a resident resin Buddha who shares a space with a swinging from a branch monkey.

The garden centre which has supplied flowers, ornaments, swing seats and bird feeders is the Potash Garden centre. 

I can't say life has been easy or even bearable during lockdown, it hasn't but, in the words of Marks's gran, "we're getting there".

Talking of Mark's gran, her lot hasn't been a bundle of fun either. Her beloved husband of over 60 years has dementia and what a heap of stress that has brought.

Rob's been getting 5a.m phone calls saying grandad has gone awol. Again. And can we go find him. So being the dutiful son he staggers out of bed and we cruise the quiet streets looking for the 87year old. Last time he went out for an early stroll we found him talking to a cabbie. On talking to the cabbie we discovered grandad wanted to go to Rayleigh. He was in Rayleigh only he thought he was in Stratford. And so it goes on. And so his wife, who is sometimes NOT his wife but an impersonator, struggles tearfully to hold onto the man she loves.

What makes this so painful to watch, to participate in, to feel is the fact that granma refuses to admit he has dementia. According to her he gets 'confused'...

He was in hospital for a week with a UTI, it was successfully treated and he was sent packing, he nows wanders his home in a daze thinking I'm a nurse. 

The hospital showed very little interest in the dementia or how his wife was going to cope, it was simply a case of 'he has family'...

So here we are...

Rob is working from home. Trying to concentrate being his biggest problem

Jeannie works occasionally. Trying to get her to do anything is ours.

Granma is in denial. Those pansies WILL get planted. My husband is back to his old self.

Grandad is the sole inhabitant on his planet.

Mark is blind.

I have a heart problem

I am watching Euro 2020...

Then Wimbledon.

 

 Another early start.

Crept into the back room just after five, and so not wishing to awake the sleeping beasts upstairs I boiled a little water in small pan over a low heat to make a cup of tea. 

And as I drank the tea I listened to the bird song. A perfect start to anyone's day. Yesterday I saw a Blackbird standing on our model railway track, its beak holding tight a bundle of broken branch bits and dried grasses. It saw me yet didn't move, not even a brief flutter of wings. Then it flew.

There's a cool breeze dancing its way into the little back room, the window being slightly ajar.  And as I look out onto the back garden thoughts of weed killing spring to mind. A job for this morning. I only hope I can get on with the task without interruption.

 

 

 Had a lovely surprise last night.

England v Wales.

Can't remember the last footie match I saw. Sometime last year methinks.

I've made two cakes today. Not spectacular but pretty good and tasty. One for Vi and Trev, the other for us.

Rob, Mark and I are waiting patiently for a nurse to arrive she'll do two Covid tests. One for Mark, one for me.

We need to do this because of Mark's impending hosptal visit on Monday.

Hospital hospital...not relishing the prospect of seeing that place again after the stress of last year...But Mark needs to have an MRI to see whats what. We are all crossing our fingers...Hoping the scan comes up with an all clear.

Travelling up to London Monday afternoon. MRI scan on Tuesday. Then home asap.

 

 Am I trespassing?

Should I tell the new residents of the bungalow that I'm creeping around in their garden?

All I know is that they've modernised the front garden and got shot of my beautiful wood door, replacing it with a red one.

But that's not my business. My days at the bungalow are long gone. I'm a ghost.

 

My step-son Mark will be going to UCLH next Monday for an MRI scan. We are tense of course, hoping and praying that the scan yields nothing grim. 

So Monday...up early, drive to London, Rob and I being allowed to stay overnight with Mark. Rob in the 'relatives' room and me in Mark's room. The doctor remembering how well Mark behaves when he's with me. His mum delivers verbal cannonballs even when saying hello/goodnight.

 So for peace I sit with the young man. And all goes well.

He is a jigsaw of a man. 20 years old, going on 10. Sometimes volatile, always locquacious a dizzy mix of youthful exuberance and old world charm. Mark is Down's Syndrome. 

His cocktail of meds includes steroids which have increased his weight. So we try and try to keep an eye on his food, his food being his friend and comfort.. Only tonight did we have a class 1 spectacular meltdown over his bedtime snack. But we carry on and keep calm. What else do we do.

Me?

 Long silver hair, a creaking left knee, still wrinkle free. Scarred emotionally by whats happened over the past four years  yet still remarkably upbeat. I still cook every day, not shopping so much due to Covid restrictions but I've found inner happiness by shopping online. Mostly handbags.

ETSY UK has given me an outlet for getting rid of my money . I love seeing John the postman staggering up me drive loaded with parcels. He wears a forage cap and drinks at Costas. We have got to know him intimately on account of the aforementioned deliveries. I did toy with the idea of totting up how much I spent during Lockdown, but I chickened out knowing it'd upset me. But upset or not I'm still doing the online thing but not as much....In the past week I've bought a few Corgi cars for Rob from Rummage for Retro, three pairs of earrings from Berty and Gerty and a brown 1970's shopping bag from Revival For Vintage.

Gloria Is Alive And Well Kicking And Screaming Into Her New Life!

I watched a programme on Sky Arts about the poet Carol Ann Duffy, I love her work especially 'Prayer'.

One should never neglect a hobby. But I have. And I've missed my writing.

 

 

 

Bounce Back Boris

When I heard Boris had been taken to hospital I was shocked. When he was admitted to intensive care I sat dumb struck. Stuck to my chair in disbelief. And so bloody angry. 
If ever we needed Boris Johnson's drive, guts and resilience it's now.
C'mon BOJO disentangle yourself from your drip and get back to your desk. Your country needs you.
 
 

 

I've been away.
But now I'm back.
Living not in the bungalow but in a chalet type house.
Last post was four years ago. And what a four years I've had. Endured. Enjoyed.
Days and nights filled with fear, apprehension, excitement, little girl joy.

Today I danced with my 19 year old step-son Mark. He wrecked me with his energy, his lust for living and his non stop I'm alive attitude.
And so he should. He's survived cancer.
But that story is for another day.

I'm still creative.
Making greeting cards. Sewing. Baking beautiful cakes and breads. Arranging my hair in curious fashions. Very long now you know. And silver too. Not grey. Silver. As silver and shiny as the moon. Still reading too. Sometimes I even finish the book....

I very much doubt we'll go to many Classic Car shows this year due to the Coronavirus problem. I'm going to miss them so much.
The whole vintage vehicle world has won me over. I've made chums (mostly old people) but still nice. And ticking off the shows one by one through the summer has been one of the highlights in recent years.
We're lucky to have a choice...it's either the 1961 Rover P4 100 2.7 litre straight six or our 1972 Bedford CF Freeway campervan (my fav) and in the workshop a firebrand red 1972 Hillman Imp super which is nearing the end of a very long restoration. And queued up behind that our 1969 Morris 1000 tradeback pick up which is due for another full restoration after twelve years since the last one.
That's enough about old things.

And that's enough for one post.
I'm feeling funny after four years away.
But you can't keep an old girl down.