Spring, perhaps

I have thought about this blog a lot over the past two months. Easter has come and gone and we have spent two weeks in Vence. There has been snow and rain and last Saturday morning Judith's husband finally died at home. He had spent a week or two in a hospice but wanted to come home for the end of his life. I am working extra shifts, as are some of the other staff members. 

We left for France on April 6th, two years to the day after our daughter's funeral.  I took the little picture of her as a new-born, an original picture in a little frame. In the cold weather I kept this under my pillow, remembering how she hated to be cold. I have continued to do this. the weather was disappointing; it rained for four days in a row. We went to Antibes on Friday instead of Thursday and sat inside the restaurant. The journeys there and back were trouble-free. The weekend of April 27th to 29th we spent in Winchester. After our Friday morning walk we returned home, finished our packing and went to the Royal Hotel. This is in the centre of Winchester and was originally the bishop's house. Dan played bridge and on Saturday morning I went to see the Gerald Scarfe exhibition in The Gallery, which is in the public library in Jewry Street. I enjoyed it. He is undoubtedly very gifted, although I know nothing about art. I met Dan for lunch and then he want back for more bridge. I went to our room and read; I started using the e-reader again when we were in Vence. Dan is going to buy me a Kindle Paperwhite for my birthday. I have already got his birthday present. He found a new Stetson cap in the Chapellerie in Antibes. This replaces the one that he left on the train when we last went to the Albert Hall. 

We have bought our tickets for the events we want to see at the Hay festival. The How The Light Gets In festival will be back at Hay but we were disappointed last time and do not want any tickets this year. Afterwards we shall spend two nights at Pound Farm and meet the new canine additions to the family. I shall, of course, be glad to get home. Dan has booked our bed and breakfast accommodation. Our friends have bought a caravan which they will use. 

My poor, sick old uncle lives on, although one could hardly call it living. I have a bottle of wine for Sandra but forgot to take it when she was actually working a shift. This week or perhaps next week we shall see her. Yesterday, when I was working in the charity shop, a woman came in who used to work at Steep House. She was surprised that he is still alive. He does not answer when we speak to him. He is like a little husk.  

There is no news of our son. I doubt that we shall ever see or hear from him again. A man at the Probus Club, who is Dan's vice-chairman, is estranged from his daughter. He thinks that in four or five years Neil will return and want to be our son again. I do not agree. He is gone for ever. Dan will not have him back. 

I have been in a lot of pain recently. I am trying not to take Co-codamol. I have run out of the Voltarol patches that we buy in France. My neck is sore and I have been taking Ibuprofen; that is really cheap. My doctor prescribes strong Co-codamol but I do not like to ask for too much. There is a little arthritis in my left ankle and foot and that is the side where the sciatica strikes. Old age ain't no place for sissies. 

Tired and stressed

I have been doing extra shifts at the charity shop and I find that I cannot do this the way I used to. I am working on my own behind the till most of the time and the deputy manager, who is in charge while the manager takes time off because of her husband's illness, is not good at dealing with people. She is constantly criticising and complaining. At the end of the shift there will be fulsome thanks, which in no way reduces the irritation of the obstacle course which she sets for the volunteers. I have been thinking quite seriously of giving up volunteering, but until the manager's situation is clearer I do not feel I can do this. It is only a few weeks to Christmas, when we are going away, so I shall grin and bear it. 

We had friends to dinner last Saturday. It was the second time we had entertained in our new dining room. It was a pleasant occasion. We drank the last bottle of my birthday champagne and ate fish, chicken, lemon posset with fruit and cheese. The others drank other wine with the meal, but I did not risk it. Only fizzy wine seems to agree with me nowadays. I gave the couple some little gloves for their grandchildren. 

We are hoping to go to Shanklin before Christmas. I have the same little gloves for two of my friend's grandchildren and would like to have them by Christmas. I shall never, ever have grandchildren of my own and so I like to give to Anne's. She has five children and eight grandchildren. Often really good toys and clothes come into the charity shop and I buy these; I get a good discount.  If my son ever settles down and has children I know that he will never let us see them. My heart aches for him. He must be so lonely and unhappy. I have unblocked him on Facebook again, but there is no activity. I suspect that he calls my mobile phone from time to time; there are anonymous calls that are in the block log. Next January it will be six years since he chose to fall out with me. I never, ever thought that it was a serious rift. Now I know different.

We are going out on Saturday night. I do not like going out at nights nowadays. It is not far; just to Lavant Street. The friends who came to us last week will be there and the husband of the other couple we socialise with. His wife has gone with a friend on a bridge weekend. The numbers will be made up to six by their next-door neighbour, the widow of a man who worked at IBM at the same time as Dan. She is pleasant and good company.  I shall not drink much alcohol. 

We are walking tomorrow. The next two Fridays we shall not; Dan has a hospital appointment on December 1st and is meeting and lunching with the personnel of the local Citizens' Advice Bureau on the 8th. He has been project managing the move from a building near the Festival Hall to the library. On Tuesday it is the monthly Probus meeting. Four weeks from today we leave for Vence. I am worrying, of course. The M25 may be closed or choked with traffic. It may snow and the airport may be closed. We may have an accident; the flight may be late or cancelled. I hope not. I enjoyed our Christmas last year. I would like it to be as pleasant again. 

 

Acceptance

I am wearing my new glasses and trying to get used to them. If I cannot manage them by the time we come back from Vence I shall contact my optometrist again and see what else can be done. We shall see.

I quite enjoyed the birthday dinner on Saturday night, although I could not eat some of the food.  It was all very nice but my appetite is shrinking.  My presents are bottles of champagne and Prosecco; I do not know when I shall drink them but I may take the bottle of Taittinger to Shanklin at Christmas if we spend the time with our friends. It is kind of them; Dan always reminds me that it is the thought that counts.

This afternoon I received another cruel and spiteful message from my son. He has finally seen the messages I sent him some months ago, not long after his sister died. I shall not let him know that his grandfather is dead. I have blocked him on Facebook and shall never unblock him. When we were at the Old Radnor Barn I told the proprietress that we had no children; our daughter had died last year. This is what I shall tell strangers in future. I desperately hoped that one day we would be reconciled but must now accept that this will never happen. He is gone. I miss Katy desperately still.

I worked at the charity shop this morning and shall do so again on Wednesday. I am having my hair cut tomorrow and shall go to the nursing home. I shall take a bottle of the Waitrose Prosecco, of which we have several bottles, to give to Sandra as a raffle prize for the summer fete. We shall be back in time for that. We used to take Katy to the fete when Bill was still fit enough to sit outside and have cups of tea and cake. Before she was ill in 2014 she used to visit the old man once a month. She would come up from Havant by train, have lunch at an eatery in the town and then walk up to the nursing home. She really was a truly good person.

Dan is playing bridge tonight and has to be up early tomorrow to take our friends to the airport. I wonder if he will be back in time to play petanque. I shall go to bed early. I am trying to take fewer strong painkillers. I have needed them recently because the eyestrain has affected my neck muscles and this has aggravated the spondylosis in the cervical vertebrae. I am taking paracetamol and ibuprofen. I don't think that the latter is agreeing with me too well.

The Laying Away of the Dead

We have just visited my aged uncle in the nursing home. At first he was completely unresponsive but did finally say that he would like chocolate and a cup of tea. He ate a very little chocolate. We stayed a little longer than usual in the hope that he would wake up and drink some tea and eat more chocolate.  I wonder if he will ever do that again; it seems so sad that he just lives on and has so little pleasure in life. I did not manage a word with Sandra but when I do I shall ask if she can still talk to him.

On Thursday it was my father-in-law's funeral. Although he was Irish and a cradle Catholic, the service was held in the Anglican church where he worshipped with his second wife. We collected my old aunt, who knew Elizabeth and her first husband. She came to Elizabeth's church service. She used to talk to Paddy and Elizabeth in church most Sundays. Aunt Ruby is ninety-one and getting frail after a fall when a bus started jerkily and sent her sprawling. We took her back to her home after the service. Anne, Dan's cousin Philip's wife came for Oxford for the church service and the committal at the crematorium.

It was a good service; the vicar delivered a touching eulogy. One of Paddy's granddaughters who is a musician played You'll Never Walk Alone and the Londonderry Air on the piano. Her mother, who was married to the second eldest son, read a poem by Robert Service. Her second husband was not there; perhaps he did not think it appropriate.  I wonder if the hymn Hail, Glorious Saint Patrick was ever sung in an Anglican church before. The wake was pleasant, although we did not stay long.  Some of the family spoke to me, some did not. I shall never have to see them again; the family entity is broken now that both parents are dead; we were never included in family occasions because of the petty, spiteful grudges borne by my late mother-in-law, her favourite son and his wife.

I am so, so glad that my Aunt Marjorie persuaded Paddy to join the over-sixties club. He met Elizabeth there and that was a wonderful thing. I have happy memories of Christmases at our house in Clanfield and here in Petersfield. They would go to the morning service at the local church and after our Christmas dinner I would light the fire in the living room and we would watch television and snooze. Katy loved having her grandparents to stay at Christmas. She used to tell darling Elizabeth that she loved her like a real grandma. Neil was fond of her too. He does not yet know that his grandfather is dead.

I must shower and put on fresh clothes soon. I wonder when the phone will ring and it will be someone at Steep House to tell me that old Bill is dead.

I saw the optometrist today and took a pair of old glasses with me; at least, I have had them for a few years but have never been able to wear them. He gave me a very low prescription which I hope will help my poor  brain cope with the new clarity of vision; Andrew M told me that I now have a perfect camera. He has not yet heard from Optegra about the second vitrectomy because the surgeon's secretaries have been ill and on holiday. We shall see.

Tonight we are going out with our friends to a local restaurant to celebrate our birthdays. Dan will be seventy tomorrow and I shall attain that age the following Sunday. I bought Dan three polo shirts in Crew Clothing for his present; I am having extra audible.co.uk credits. Next Saturday Dan and I will have been together for fifty years. He came to my twentieth birthday party, walking back into my life with a bus ticket in his mouth and a crate of brown ale in his hands. We have been together ever since and will have been married forty-nine years in October.

A brief taste of spring weather.

It is a beautiful Spring day. Later we are going to friends for a drink and I shall take a cardigan for the walk home. Our friends have a very "indoors is outdoors" garden and they have been cleaning it today and will have put the cushions out on the sofas and chairs.  We have happy memories of our daughter in this garden. Jeff and Sabine liked Katy and were very kind to her. When she came out of hospital in 2014 and her lymphoma tests came back negative, they gave a barbecue in her honour. She was fond of them, too. The picture is of a winter evening in their house when we sat in front of their wood-burning stove and put our feet up. They are very much outdoor people. I enjoy being outdoors but like just as much to be inside; I love my iPod the way I loved reading books when I was able to do so. I am not a very sociable person.

Tomorrow I must bite the proverbial bullet and find a hairdresser and make an appointment for a cut and blow-dry. I have not had my hair done since January; I cancelled my last appointment because it was so soon after the vitrectomy. I wasn't pleased with the last two cuts with the stylist I've had for a few years so I am going to have a change. I have difficult hair; thick, double crown and cow-licks and a strong natural wave. I am beginning to look like Medusa. The hairdresser on the ground floor of this building has changed hands and I have noticed a very pleasant-looking stylist doing the hair of a woman older than myself. I shall give her a try, or at least show her the pictures of my hair how I want it and see if she will take me on.

I have the charity shop tomorrow and hope that Ethel will be there. We get on well and enjoy working together. I have not seen the authoritarian Gordon for some weeks. First thing Tuesday I am going to phone the dentist. A back molar has been twinging for some time and feels worse now. I am off to France soon and when I come back I cannot have a dental abscess because the eye surgeon will not operate if I do. Dan can drop me at the dentist and I shall get the bus back; I quite enjoy the bus ride. I don't make enough use of my free national bus pass and it is a wonderful thing to have.  I may drive again after the second vitrectomy but it is not a thing I enjoy doing. I learned to drive because I was going back to live in the USA and had to think of my daughter's needs. It's hard to be a non-driver there.

Yesterday I had to look out my old diaries so that I could find some Internet information in one of them. I looked at the diary for 2012 and found that it was on January 29 that the falling out with my son happened. It was such a trivial thing; something I wanted to buy for him to which he took exception. I have tried to apologise but he refuses to believe that I am sincere. It cannot be helped. I shall always miss him. In the last message that I sent him I wished him well but I suppose that he will choose to disbelieve that as well.

Rehabilitation

I am tired and planning an early night. It was a busy morning at the charity shop and once again I was on my own behind the counter. I have not seen the man called Gordon for some weeks and I understood from the manager that he would be working with me on Wednesday mornings. There was Judith, the manager, present and a young black man called Jamie. A volunteer called Ryan also came in. There was a spate of donations, some of them very interesting, and we sold a lot of goods too.

A few week or so after Jamie started I heard Judith talking to Jamie about having his licence extended. I wondered if he has recently been convicted of something. Today I answered the phone and it was a man from Ford Prison, asking how Jamie was doing. The call was not very clear and I repeated the name of the prison. I regret that; fortunately the young man was not nearby. Judith took the phone and I could hear her telling the caller how well Jamie is doing with us.  I handed the phone over and went on working.

Last  year we had a talk at the Probus Club from a woman who used to volunteer at Parkhurst Prison in the days of Reggie Kray and Fred Sewell. It was the most interesting, amusing and moving talk I have ever heard. I am a great John Mortimer fan and know his views on the Victorian monstrosities in which prisoners are incarcerated. Margaret Thatcher cut down on education in prisons and there is far too much illiteracy. Jane, for that is her name, did her best to interest prisoners in education and learning a trade. Life is hard for anyone with a criminal record.  My son has one; he was convicted of wounding without intent and carrying an offensive weapon in July 2013. This was what led to our estrangement, although I never upbraided him.

One night a young woman friend of Neil's was having trouble with her violent ex-boyfriend, who was already known to the police. Neil offered to walk her home and when they were accosted by Ryan Gibbs, he flagged down a police car. Thereafter Gibbs assaulted Neil every time he saw him. In July 2011 Neil was walking back to his flat from the station and Gibbs assaulted him outside Marks and Spencer. Neil went home, took a knife to defend himself with and went out again to buy himself food for his evening meal. He encountered Gibbs and told him to leave him alone; if not, he would stab him. Gibbs nutted Neil and was stabbed. Dan and I were planning to go out that night and I looked out and saw a police car blocking one side of the street. Dan came in and said there was police tape around The Square. We went out and had a meal in a restaurant opposite Neil's flat. This was a Wednesday night. On Saturday one or our neighbours asked after Neil; she had seen the report on the Internet. He had been charged with wounding with intent and carrying an offensive weapon. As a result he was suspended from his job. I gave him a key to our flat and fed him and did his laundry. In January 2012 he quarrelled with me; why, I never knew. We argued at Winchester Crown Court in April and he sent me nasty emails. Gibbs never came to the trial. The day we walked with friends up Snowdon, May 28th 2013,   Neil was at Portsmouth Crown Court and Gibbs had not shown up yet again. Neil's barrister asked the Recorder who was presiding to issue a witness summons. This was done but the police found that Gibbs had disappeared. Neil changed his plea to wounding without intent and carrying an offensive weapon. I found this out by Googling my son; I had seen him in the town that day and decided to do that. His barrister phoned me and told me that, although a custodial sentence was on the cards, it was not inevitable. In July he emailed to tell me that Neil had received a suspended sentence of eighteen months and had been ordered to do unpaid work. This he did in the Cancer Research shop in the town. He had to leave his flat because of non-payment of rent; he came to our flat asking for money  but his father refused. He wrote me a cruel, hurtful letter. When his sister died he did not come to her funeral. I think that then I gave up hope of any reconciliation.

I hope that Jamie gets a permanent job, puts his past behind him and does as well as possible in life. One should not pay for mistakes for ever.

Chrysanthemums and chocolate éclairs.

Today we had a visitor. My Auntie Ruby came to lunch. Father-in-law was going to come too, but is unwell. Ruby is an honorary aunt really; she was married to my father's brother and he died in 1954. Ruby remarried and her husband was absorbed into our family. I still look upon her as an aunt and she has been there all of my life. She is ninety-one now and getting frail.  She is a very gregarious person and has always been busy and active. Her husband died three years ago and I suppose that this death came into the "merciful release" category. He was suffering from vascular dementia and she was struggling to cope. Ruby attends the church where Dan's stepmother was parish clerk and she knew her and also got to know my father-in-law when he started attending St Mark's with Elizabeth.

I showed Ruby pictures on my computer of various family members. It was then that I noticed that she is somewhat deaf and also a little confused. Several times I had to explain who the people in the pictures are; some of them she has not seen for decades and they are dead now. However, she saw my niece and her husband at Katy's funeral, just a year ago. She was interested in the children and the house. Ruby has always been an animal lover; I remember two cats she had when I was very young. They were tabbies and their names were Chinky and Tiger.

We had a roast today, as we always do for father-in-law. It was lamb; when we saw him on his birthday he was going out for a meal with Dan's sister Teresa and her husband. He wanted lamb and said that he always arrives too late for it. It was a very good joint that we had today. Ruby and I had a chocolate éclair each for pudding. I did not drink wine; I have to go to the charity shop tomorrow and I can never tell how I shall react to alcohol nowadays.

Ruby brought my brother's new address. He moved house last year but did not send a Christmas card to us with this information. He is living in the village where Dan and I started our married life. We lived there until 1975.  When my ancient uncle finally dies I must give him the two Sydney Vale FRSA paintings that are in old Bill's room at Steep House. My aunt promised him all the paintings by this artist. I do not care for them.  I am executor of my uncle's will; I have a feeling that this may be a thankless task. I wonder how many of Bill's own relatives will come to his funeral. I shall go with cards of the partner who will be seeing his will through probate. If any of the Ratcliffe and other families ask about the will I shall tell them the truth; it all goes to charity. The first beneficiary is dead so the Hospital for Sick Children will get anything that is left. If this raises a protest I shall give the protester a card and tell him or her to consult a solicitor and Jarndyce v Jarndyce it out.

Next Sunday the forecast is for sunny spells and temperatures up to 14° Celsius. We may walk with our friends and have lunch at a pub. I would like to take one of my iPods and listen to a good book on the way but Dan thinks this is anti-social. I am becoming more and more withdrawn. The heartache is always there; I have "moved on" as the cliché has it, but the sadness and regret have come with me. I want my daughter back and no one can give her to me. I shall always miss her. I enjoy the walks, although very steep hills are too much for me now. When I give up volunteering we shall go on longer walks with the Walk For Health group. We belong to the Sheet group and meet up on Friday mornings.  After the walk, which lasts for about an hour, we have coffee and biscuits at the pub, the Half Moon. That is where the Probus club meetings are held.

I must now finish tidying up and get my clothes ready for the morning. I hate getting out of bed; I could just stay there, hiding from the world and listening to audio books. In three weeks; time, if all goes according to plan, we shall be in Vence. There is Easter to be got through meanwhile. It would mean so much if my son would get in touch but reason and experience tell me that this will not happen. Perhaps one day I shall feel as if I never had a son.

I have to cut the stems of the chrysanthemums that Ruby brought for me, rearrange the daffodils that I always have in spring and then arrange the new flowers in vases.

More surgery to come but much in between

I went to the Optegra Hospital again today. The purpose was to check the right eye, upon which I had vitrectomy surgery three weeks ago. They eye is fine and the second operation is scheduled for May 8th, unless I change my mind. I do not think I shall. Perhaps I shall start driving again after my eye is healed.

The weather is cold and windy again. It seems that there is, or was, a storm called Stella across the Atlantic and this is the very tail end of it. I must wrap up in warmer clothes when I visit the nursing home tomorrow. The old man was fairly receptive yesterday. He ate most of a sugary ring doughnut. At one time he would eat a lot of cake or chocolate, but now his appetite has declined. I shall take custard tarts and chocolate tomorrow. I have been responsible for this sick old man for eight years now. His name is William and he likes to be called Bill. He was married to my mother's youngest sister. When I agreed to have his powers of attorney I had not seen him for forty years. It was always understood that when my aunt or uncle died, my youngest brother would deal with everything that arises when someone dies. He was my aunt's favourite. My aunt was very close to this brother's third wife at one time, until Sharon (for such was her name) became an alcoholic and suffered a complete change of personality. I did not know until my aunt died that wills had been changed and I had been appointed executor. I have wondered since if my aunt knew that I would look after her widower when she was gone, although my brother probably would not. It is a complicated story.

I have been thinking of my son in these past few days. The anniversary of his sister's death was last Friday and when she died I hoped for a reconciliation. I still worry about him and wonder if he is lonely, if he has a job and enough to eat. I wonder if he bothers to wash and launder his clothes. I know that he gets very depressed. It will be his birthday just before Easter. I cannot send him birthday wishes because, apart from sending him a message on Facebook which he probably would not see, I have no way of communicating with him. I know that he would reject my good wishes anyway, so it is best not to bother.

A very dear friend, who was once a relative, has recommended that I read a book called The Shack. It is about why bad things happen to good people and she has received comfort from it. She has been through a lot in her life and experienced much pain. She is now full of anxiety over her mother, who has had heart surgery and is not doing well. She lives in the mid-west and is a Baptist. I have no religious faith but sometimes envy those who have. There is a audio version of the book. Perhaps I shall buy it and listen. I think that perhaps religion is like a virus; some people succumb, others are immune. I was not brought up to be religious and life has taught me that some of the people who profess to have great religious faith have little concept of kindness or humanity.  I do not know if I am a good person. I suppose I try to be.