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. 

Two years on

So long since I last posted. A lot has happened. I am still working at the charity shop and Judith's husband is still alive. It is not easy for her. He is refusing to have carers because of his privacy and dignity. She is going to explore the possibility of engaging a Rosemary Foundation nurse or a bed in The Rowans Hospice. He is increasingly disabled and is at times not altogether compos mentis. So hard; they do not deserve this. 

Last weekend we went to the Isle of Wight to stay with our daughter's godmother and her husband. It was Mothering Sunday on our last day there. I had forgotten this. Of course, there was no card from my son. Anne did not get any cards either, but two of her daughters and her elder son phoned her and her younger son sent a text message. The night before we went to the theatre in Shanklin to see Russell Watson. It was enjoyable but there was too much amplification for a relatively small theatre. We lunched out on Saturday at a pleasant pub in Brading. We walked on Sunday morning to Sandown Bay and got the bus back. It was a very pleasant break. 

It has been milder after what was called The Beast from the East. It was not as beastly as forecast but was pretty bad. There was snow and sub-zero temperatures. We are fortunate that we live so centrally. We stocked up with food and stayed in, not walking on Friday morning as usual. We managed our Sunday visit to the nursing home. He has shrunk; he seldom acknowledges us. We sit and drink tea and eat the chocolate éclairs that I like so much.  How much longer can this go on? I have paid for his funeral and decided on the music. When we go into the chapel it will be the Morriston Orpheus Choir singing Swansea Town. During the slideshow we shall have Cleo Laine singing Bill. As we leave the chapel at the end of the service it will be Glenn Miller playing Moonlight Serenade. 

In an hour or so it will be two years since I last spoke to my daughter. I wish, I so wish, that we had gone to her that night. I wish I had phoned her first thing in the morning. I miss her every day. I have her baby picture in a little frame; during the intensely cold spell and more recent cold nights I have taken this into bed with me, tucking it under the pillow. She hated being cold. 

Tomorrow we are going to London. We shall take the train there and back (and pray that the snow that is forecast will not be sufficiently heavy to cause delays) and visit Churchill's wartime cabinet rooms. Then we shall go to a concert at the Albert Hall with our friend Jim and his sister and brother-in-law. If there is time we shall go to the V&A before the concert. We have a box with some women from Dan's bridge club.  Afterwards we shall dine at the Union Jack Club, which is conveniently near Waterloo station. I think it will be a good idea to check that trains are running before we dine. 

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.