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. 

Post-Christmas Gloom

How long it is since I posted in this blog. I have been busy; since Robin Nettle was diagnosed with stage 4 cancer, I have done some extra shifts in the charity shop. It has not been easy. Donna is not coping well and constantly nit-picks. She takes every opportunity to wrong-foot me and Ethel is finding the same. However, just before Christmas she did apologise and told Ethel just how difficult she is finding it all. 

We had an enjoyable weekend in Shanklin from December 1st to 3rd. My friend gave me a navy blue Laura Ashley overcoat, which I have had dry-cleaned and also had a small repair made. I wore it when we went to France for Christmas. We went out on Saturday and Sunday and saw Yarmouth and one or two other places. The Isle of Wight is a pleasant place. 

We went to the Probus Christmas lunch; very nice food, most of the company was good but we were seated on the same table as a very opinionated woman. Dan is going to be elected chairman at the end of this month and so we shall be on Table 1 for the next two years. I hope we can choose whom we sit with. We also had the Walking for Health lunch at the same pub; better company and the same meal. The following day we took off from Gatwick for our holiday. 

We spent Christmas at the flat in Vence. It was very pleasant and we were lucky with the weather again. It rained on Wednesday and Thursday after Christmas but was pleasant enough when we walked up to lunch at La Farigoule on Thursday December 28th. We only had one other meal out. We had come back from Vallauris, where we were chasing up some parts for our kitchen, and we parked at the Leclerc supermarket. We had quite a shopping list. Dan suggested that we have lunch out and I suggested the Restaurant les Baous, very nearby. We went and had a most enjoyable lunch. I could not finish  my pizza so asked for and was given a box to take it home in. 

The picture is of my father's youngest brother. There were four brothers, of which my father was the eldest. All three of his brothers predeceased him. One died in infancy. The youngest died in 1954 at the age of 36. The other died in Melbourne, Victoria, at the age of 65. It is the youngest whose picture heads this post. He had no children but was married to a very sweet woman who stayed part of our family after he died.  She married again and had three children, two sons (one of whom was stillborn) and a daughter. Her second husband was absorbed into our family and made a speech at our wedding. Since my mother died Ruby has continued as my friend and confidante. Lately I have noticed that she is getting deaf. Today we took her out to lunch. On our way to collect her we stopped at my youngest brother's house to drop off some watercolours that my late aunt wanted him to have. He said that he had spoken to her on the phone and she was "hard work". Yes; it is true that there is a degree of confusion. I think that he is exaggerating but the problem is there. I was planning to get in touch with my eldest brother's first wife with a view of taking Ruby to see her. Ruby is only four years older than Gaye and they used to be good friends. When I mentioned this and Ruby said "Which one is that?" I realised that I must abandon that idea. Gaye has multiple sclerosis and is very frail. Perhaps she, too, is slipping into dementia. What a cruel condition that is. 

Tomorrow is the first day back in the charity shop for me. I am not looking forward to it but needs must. I do not feel that I can leave while Judith is struggling with her husband's ill health. She was very kind to me when Katy died.  In the evening we are going to see some friends as it is the husband's birthday. Despite my resolution about presents Dan has bought him a bottle of Armagnac for his birthday. His wife's birthday is next month. It still rankles that I am not worth a present; a share in someone else's second-hand kitsch or nothing at all is good enough for me. I shall rise above it. 

My old uncle lives on, although one can hardly call it living. I have asked the manager of the home to let me know at any hour of the day or night if he dies. The next hurdle will be his funeral; I have planned a cremation (his wish) and a simple service in the chapel where my daughter's service was held. We shall see. 

A Precious Picture Rediscovered

When our beloved daughter died it was comforting to have pictures of her on display.  The saddest thing was that I could not find her baby book, with her new-born picture in. I asked my husband's sisters to search the house where their father lived but nothing could be found. Today my husband was sorting out some old pictures that were in a box that used to be under a chair in our bedroom. Some of these came from my late aunt's house (the wife of the man for whom I took responsibility). She had kept the copy I sent her when our baby was born. It has been scanned and is now on the little marble table with the other pictures. 

It is some time since I have updated this blog. We have been to France, where we had our kitchen renovated, returned from there and taken up our usual life. Dan has been playing petanque and bridge and I have been doing extra hours at the charity shop. Last Thursday we celebrated our 49th wedding anniversary. We decided to go out for lunch rather than dinner as Dan had the AGM of the bridge club in the evening. We lunched at the Turkish restaurant in Bakery Lane. We enjoyed our meal; the food and service were excellent. We forgot that we had theatre tickets for the week before last and have decided to put all our appointments in our Outlook calendars. 

I enjoyed the last Probus meeting. The speaker was our chair person's boss at one time. He is a very important government archivist and he was very interesting. At the end we were each given a handout, photocopies of prints of Domesday book pages and a few other things, including the table of heights and weights to calculate the drop for judicial hanging. The next meeting is not until the very end of the month. One more meeting and then it will be the Christmas lunch. 

We have visited the old man twice since our return from Vence. The first time he managed a little chocolate. On Saturday he did not seem to be responding at all. Yet still he lives on. I wonder how many people will come to his funeral when he finally dies. I have planned the funeral, although I do not think that his family will like what I have planned. I think that his niece wants hymns and prayers. There is no point in doing this; he had no religious faith when he was cogent. I want my aunt to be remembered as her funeral was such a depressing affair. My youngest brother's wife has been very ill with kidney problems, supposedly caused by medical negligence in diagnosing a skin rash. I doubt that he will attend. Perhaps my niece will come, as she was not able to get to her great-aunt's funeral because of the weather.

We walked on both Fridays and are glad to be back in the routine. We are considering joining a Tuesday morning walk at the Alice Holt Forest. Dan will still be able to play petanque in the afternoon and I shall be able to visit the nursing home. 

I shall write about our kitchen renovation in my next post. 

Old age and false alarums

I have just had the medical check-up that seventy year-olds get under the much-maligned National Health Service. My blood sugar level was a little up, my body mass index is good and my blood pressure is fine. My husband came for his check-up at the same time. His BMI is a little more than it should be, but this whole concept is probably going to be reviewed. Muscle weighs more than fat. 

Last weekend Dan went to the Adventure Film Festival from Friday morning to early Sunday evening. I went out on Saturday. I seldom go out on my own but that day I caught the bus from Petersfield Square to Waterlooville precinct and met up with a friend. We lunched and then went to look round the charity shops. I got a very nice Ikea vase for £1. Waterlooville looks very sad nowadays. So many of the shops in the town centre are empty. We reminisced about how it was when we first knew each other, forty-three years ago. We first met in Kingston, New York, where our husbands had been sent on assignment by IBM. I think that we would have become friends no matter how we met. A little more than a year after she and her husband returned to the UK they separated. She nearly remarried twice but is still single and I think wants to remain that way. I went on to have another child and eventually to lose both of my children in different ways. 

On Sunday I should have visited my uncle but did not. I simply could not face it. On Monday evening I had a phone call from Lijo, the manager of the nursing home where he lives. She told me that he was ill and that the doctor had been sent for. There was talk about the old man being taken to hospital. Later the doctor phoned me and confirmed that I had signed a Do Not Resuscitate form. He said that old Bill has pneumonia and there was nothing to be gained by removing him to hospital or administering antibiotics. The nurses had diamorphine to give him if he was in any pain or distress. I telephoned Patricia, Bill's niece and next-of-kin in Swansea. She asked me to let her know as soon as Bill's death happened. Yesterday we visited him and he was awake but not lucid. Today I did my shift in the charity shop and Alex, one of the carers, came in with his wife. They do a lot of shopping in Sue Ryder. He told me that Bill had eaten a good lunch and was getting better. I do not know what to do; should I phone Patricia and let her know this, or just leave things. 

On Friday September 8th we are leaving for Vence. The installation of our kitchen begins the following Monday. I was worrying about how Bill's funeral could be fitted in before we leave; now it seems there will be no funeral. He is not going to die after all. It has been a constant source of anxiety, that he would die while we are abroad. I have planned the music for his funeral but would need Patricia's help for the tribute, which I would get the minister (or celebrant, as they call such non-denominational people nowadays). I have nominated a funeral director; the firm that conducted our daughter's funeral. I have let my youngest brother know about the old man's illness. He is my back up attorney and would manage Bill's affairs in the event of my death or incapacity. He has never visited our uncle-in-law. I resent this as Bill enjoyed masculine company when he was cogent. My aunt was very good to him and it was always understood that he would be her executor.  Why she changed her will is another story. 

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.

Saying "Good-bye" again.

I am tired and have had no lunch, just a cup of coffee at the Southampton General Hospital. We intended to visit my father-in-law after the follow-up visit to the eye surgeon. Dan let his sister know and she told us that he had been moved to another ward. While on the M27 a call came in from her; his condition had deteriorated and he had been moved to a side ward. It was just a matter of time. Two of Dan's sisters, Jacqui who is the eldest and Teresa who is the second, were already there. He died about an hour after we got there, slipping peacefully away.   I think that this is the most merciful way; he might have hated a residential home.  I am glad, so glad that Dan had a good relationship with him since 1991, when his mother died. The wonderful Elizabeth contributed greatly to that, of course. She was a wonderful woman.

Dan has let some of his father's relatives know. Veronica, a niece whom I particularly dislike, may be too infirm to come to the funeral. Her brother Joe, a man I like and who has a particularly nice wife, is also in a rather frail state. We shall see. Their sister Maureen and brother Gerard might come, I suppose, although I doubt it in Maureen's case. She distanced herself from her family long ago. Pauline, the other sister, died of cancer many years ago. I never met her and have never met Maureen.

My son said that he had "messaged" his father's family when he learned of Elizabeth's death and his grandfather's illness. The two sisters were phoning their two other siblings and their children whilst at the hospital. Perhaps they will let Neil know. I could send a message on Facebook but he would probably not see it. I have sent a message to Dan's brother Sean's ex-wife; I sent emails but they bounced back. I did not know that she had changed her email address. Perhaps her server is down.  She spends a lot of time on Facebook so I hope she will soon see my message. There have been many kind messages from my Facebook friends; people laugh at such things but these same people were very supportive and generous when my darling Katy died.

I do not know whether to visit my aged uncle-in-law tomorrow or Wednesday. I must go before we leave for Hay-on-Wye on Friday. One of the two sisters will collect the death certificate and arrange all with the funeral director. Paddy paid in advance for his funeral; all is arranged, even the wake. I have suggested that his death is announced in the local paper. There are still people about who would like to attend the funeral as he was a popular man. Although he was a cradle Catholic, his funeral service will be at St Marks, the Anglican church he attended for so many years with Elizabeth.

Looking forward to Hay-on-Wye and Pound Farm

Last night I drank a half-bottle of rather nasty Prosecco from Morrison's supermarket. I think that I am better off without alcohol. I felt very headachy this morning but it isn't too bad now. I must try to do without Co-codamol as it is addictive. I alternate prescriptions from the doctor with over-the-counter tablets. I have been  busy today with a few chores. Dan has the gun club tomorrow and I shall do the ironing. We visited the nursing home today and I shall go again on Tuesday or Wednesday afternoon. On Monday we shall go to Whiteley for my follow-up appointment with the eye surgeon and thence to Southampton General to visit Dan's father. I shall buy him some orange chocolate. It will put a little flesh on his bones I hope.

We walked yesterday and it was very pleasant to be with the other members. Several people were not there because they had gone to see the rhododendrons at Exbury Gardens. We had coffee and biscuits as usual and then set off home. I collected my Austin Reed trousers from the dry cleaner and bought some low-calorie soup from Waitrose. We are very well-supplied with shops in this little town. There is Tesco, Marks and Spencer and Waitrose. I am a great yellow-sticker fan; I always eat ready meals on the nights when Dan goes out to bridge.

On Thursday we shall be packing to go to the literary festival at Hay-on-Wye. This will be the fourth time we have gone. We have bed and breakfast this time. Last year we had a tent and I was cold and miserable. I could not face such a thing again and it is very difficult to get bed and breakfast accommodation in Hay when the festival is on. We shall arrive on Friday afternoon and leave at lunchtime on Bank Holiday Monday. Then we shall drive to my niece's home to stay two nights. We shall meet Rose, the one-eyed Romanian rescue dog that has been adopted from the animal shelter where my great-niece volunteers. There are also six guinea pigs. Things have changed since the above photograph was taken. The dogs are Gizi,  the Hungarian Vizsla, Maddie, the boxer and Dolly, the Cavalier spaniel. Gizi and Maddie are both dead, Gizi from a heart attack at seven or eight years old, Maddie from cancer. There has been another Vizsla, a savage-tempered bitch called Hebe. She attacked Dolly once with the intention of killing her and was then segregated from the little spaniel. She was shaping up well as a gun dog but after an encounter on the Malvern hills with a boisterous Ridgeback, she became vicious and unpredictable again and it was decided that euthanasia was the only solution. I think that Angela is searching for another Vizsla; she likes to do her research. The weather forecast is good for  both Hay and Dymock but we shall take our Wellington boots all the same. We enjoy walking the dogs.

Gerontius and Theia

I am cutting down my time on the computer; just an hour or so a day now because my brain seems to have difficulty with the crystal-clear vision in my left eye that is the result of the last vitrectomy.

On Monday afternoon we went to Southampton General to visit my father-in-law. He is on the coronary care ward. He is skeletally thin and very confused. We got him to drink a mocha-flavoured Fortisips drink and some sweet tea. The staff nurse talked to us, asking about his state of mind. I asked her if, should he be placed in permanent residential care, would there be a choice or would he just be placed where there is a vacancy. She did not know. This is the province of social services. Dan's sister and her husband came and they spoke to me; sometimes the husband does not. I think that Teresa wants her father to stay at home but I do not think that such a think is possible. He is ninety-six and very frail, physically and mentally. We shall visit next Monday. The eldest of the three sisters visited earlier in the day. The youngest sister is a nurse and I am think probably that the hospital staff would be more forthcoming with her.  Teresa told us that David, their stepbrother, has lung cancer. This is so sad; I think he is younger than Dan and me. Margaret, his sister was our age. She died some years ago of liver cancer. She had lupus and suffered greatly with rheumatoid arthritis. I last saw David and his wife at Elizabeth's funeral. She was a wonderful person and gave Paddy, my father-in-law, twenty years of happiness and companionship. He met her through me, in an indirect way. My Aunt Marjorie liked Paddy and persuaded him to join the Over-Sixties club. That is how he met Elizabeth and they married a little over a year later.  I am glad that I helped bring happiness into his life.

I have to visit the nursing home; I did not feel well yesterday. I hope that my vision; well, not that exactly because my vision is fine; eye muscles adjust and the stiff neck and shoulder and headache leave me. It may be a virus. Both my friend Adele and my co-worker in the charity shop, Ethel, have had a virus that seems to cause fainting. I do get bad headaches. I am also seeing the doctor tomorrow about my ears. The eczema in the left one is making itself felt and there has been a little pain in the right one. We shall see. I hope that I have not let my husband pay thousands of pounds to exchange one problem for another. We shall see.

I have to go to buy a cake for the old man. I must not resent him. None of what has happened is his fault. I had to forgive him for the way he treated me after the egregious, God-bothering Estalls visited him at Steep House told him that I had sold his house behind his back.  They had been very kind to my aunt and uncle and done a lot for them. I suppose that it was obvious that he would believe them. I managed to keep my temper when Geoff Estall phoned me to tell me what he had done. That was a good thing because he died of a stroke about a week later. I told Bill about this and bought and wrote a card to Greta, the widow. I did not take any more phone calls from her. When she phoned on the landline or on my cell phone I refused the call.  When he finally dies I shall put a death announcement in the Southend Echo but shall not include funeral details. I doubt that she could get there or would even want to, but I would not risk it. I do not really owe her anything; I expressed my gratitude many times, gave her a bowl of bulbs and a china ornament as a memento of my aunt. Geoff Estall also kept on about a large key safe; we did not know how expensive these things were and gave it to him for his daughter, supposedly a nurse. I ascertained a while later that this woman had been killed in a motorcycle accident. So, Greta had lost two members of her family in a short time.

I am tired; the shop was not busy but the headache does not help. Time to go.

Sick father-in-law and dilemma

My father-in-law is in hospital. Dan contacted his middle sister to ask if the old man is fit enough to travel tomorrow and she told him that he has been admitted to Southampton General with breathing problems. The hospital will run many tests; it seems his chest is "crackling". That sounds like pneumonia to me.  I shall suggest that we visit him on Monday afternoon.

I know how desperately he misses Elizabeth, his second wife and my daughter's much-loved step-grandma. They were married for twenty years and together for twenty-one. She gave him happiness and companionship and those things are so important. It was because of that marriage that Dan developed a good relationship with his father.

I have chosen the above picture because my father-in-law's name is Patrick, he is Irish and a cradle Catholic. Elizabeth was a pillar of the Church of England. I think that at one time she considered converting to Catholicism but that did not happen. My late mother-in-law was a convert. Elizabeth was one of the best people I have ever known and a sincere Christian. My mother-in-law was punctilious in the observance of her religion but made me think of Martin Luther attaining heaven by sheer monkery. By the end of her life I had given up on that relationship.

My dilemma is that I do not know what to do about my son. He railed at me in a vicious, spiteful letter that I could have let him know that Elizabeth had died and that his grandfather was ill. My last communication (and I told him it would be the last ever) pointed out that he had not let us know his new email address and had told me to stay out of his life. He had sent nasty messages on Facebook about his sister's death and funeral. I had let him know about her death in a roundabout way. He had never bothered with her; he has never bothered with his grandfather, although I asked him several times to come to Sunday lunch and see his grandfather and Elizabeth. Has he the right to know if his grandfather dies? Would he want to come to his funeral? If he did come, would he make an unpleasant scene? I simply do not know what to do. I suppose that if Paddy asks for Neil, we must contact him somehow and arrange to take him to the hospital. I wonder if his father will agree to this.

We visited the nursing home this afternoon and I gave Sandra, the head of activities, a bottle of wine that we had brought back from France. She is so good and takes pains with the old man. He ate a lot of chocolate buttons, white and milk. He has decided that he does not like doughnuts and refused the chocolate-iced one that I had got for him. He had had a cup of tea and cake before we arrived. Neil used to visit him, sometimes with me and sometimes alone. What became of my good, gentle sensitive son?

Two weeks to homeward journey preparations

I have just had a lunch of low-calorie vegetable soup, a brown finger roll and a bar of chocolate marzipan. I must start ironing and continue cleaning. Most of the packing is done. We leave circa 5 am tomorrow. I  have just read on Facebook that the snow fell low on the Alpes-Maritimes last night. I am wondering how our journey on the Route Napoleon will be on Saturday. We must shop when we arrive in Vence. We are taking a few groceries but most shops close on Sundays in France.

I like the apartment we have in France but I am happiest of all here in this little market town. We have a very pleasant, roomy flat in a central location with easy access to everything we need. We have got to know a lot of people. We were overwhelmed by the number of people who came to our daughter's funeral last year. Dan is vice-chairman of the Probus club and chairman of the bridge club. He plays petanque and shoots clay pigeons. We are happy here and I am always glad to return. On Thursday May 4 I shall wake up, shower and have breakfast and then put the suitcase on our bed. I shall start packing, just as I do here for the outward journey. Around midday we shall walk into the town and have lunch at La Regence. It will be another early night. This is the day I shall  be looking forward to; I shall  be fretting to come home, albeit silently, from Monday of that week.

The journey is a long one. When I have had my second vitrectomy I shall offer to do some of the driving to and from Dover. I drive so seldom now. I have renewed my driving licence and I think that my vision is good enough apart from the floaters. Dan is not a patient passenger so I like to leave the job to him. I do not drive fast enough to please him and I am nervous about overtaking. I think that perhaps we shall go out into the country together and I shall practise a little while before I start driving on town roads and motorways.  

Tomorrow night we shall stay at the Ibis Hotel in Besançon, the town where Victor Hugo was born. It is a fortified city and has a lot of history. I would like one day to stay a few days and look around. We have tried a lot of different towns and hotels for our stay-over, but this hotel and this town are what we like best. The restaurant is very good. The only problem we ever encounter is sometimes at breakfast time. There are coachloads of oriental people. They are not Japanese; those people are very polite and besides. one cannot mistake a Japanese face. If we do not go down to breakfast very early these travellers appropriate all the food. They take petits pains and croissants, yogurts and fruit and put them in their travelling bags. The restaurant and kitchen staff are very kind to us and bring us food. It does not always happen. The latest in the year we have stayed at Besançon was in  2015. We had delayed our trip because Katy had an oophorectomy on September 26. She stayed with us for two weeks after the operation. We came home in early November. The day we left Vence we drove up into the mountains and parked in the square in Castellane as usual. Everything was closed and shuttered; it was cold and misty. We travelled on and had lunch at the Courtepaille near Voiron. I doubt that we shall drive down that late in the year again.

Yesterday we visited Dan's father. He is very confused; dementia is gaining a hold on his mind. He is incontinent now. Dan found him some snooker to watch on the television and we had a cup of tea because there was fresh milk. The house is dirty. We still feel Elizabeth's absence greatly. I tried to make him understand what caused Katy's death but he is very deaf and will not use a hearing aid. He will not long remember what I said anyway.

I must email the manager of Steep House to let her know that we shall be away. I have reminded her of our cell phone numbers. I am still smarting from the television business. I know that is petty and foolish but I would have expected the woman to familiarise herself with my uncle's state of health before suggesting that I bring in a television for him. I shall bring the carers the usual large box of biscuits. I know they like their sweet things to eat in their tea breaks. In the last few years I have provided a lot of those.

Impatience and Guilt

Today I finally had my hair cut and styled. The blonde, agreeable-looking woman is called Kate and she charges less than my last stylist. There are no tip boxes so that saved another five pounds. I am also very pleased with the cut she gave me. Before going out I changed the bed linen and did three lots of washing. I have started to pack the suitcase and my overnight bag. I shall have to charge both of my mobile phones before I leave. Tomorrow I have the charity shop in the morning and we must visit Dan's aged father-in-law in the afternoon.  The only appointment on Thursday is to have my eyebrows waxed. The rest of the day will be spent ironing, packing and cleaning. We shall go to Wetherspoon's for supper. The Red Lion is a pleasant old coaching inn and is the last place I had a meal with my daughter.

I visited the nursing home today. There was a staff meeting in progress. I had to go to the desk of the sour-faced receptionist to find a pen in order to sign myself in. I took jam doughnuts and chocolate and made tea as usual. The old man was awake; I sat for a while outside because his door was closed and I thought the staff were changing him. Then I knocked and went in. He ate a little jam doughnut and complained that his tea had no sugar. I had put a little sugar in but went to get more. He drank a little tea but kept asking me to take the cup away; I finally did and put it on the tray. He would not stop asking me to remove the cup that was leaking into his  bed. I am usually patient but today I could not cope with it. I shouted at him. This was a shameful thing to do and I knew it, but it was more than I could bear. I am tired of this; I am tired of visiting him. I am tired of doing battle with the nursing home management about the shoddy workmanship of the lazy handyman. I am tired of senile dementia and incontinence. My son is lucky that he has abandoned his parents. He will not have to look after us when we are old and demented. He will get nothing when we die unless we both die while we own the French flat.

When we turn seventy in June holiday insurance will become substantially more expensive. I suppose that this is understandable. We shall also be leaving the European Union. Our Denplan membership covers our teeth.  I know that such insurance is vital. We are both fit and healthy but old age is encroaching. Next year we shall have our last expensive holiday when we celebrate our golden wedding anniversary. These holidays have been every five years since 1993, when we went on the Orient Express for our silver wedding. I wonder if we shall see our diamond anniversary; we shall be eighty-one if so. I have been married longer than any of my three older brothers. The middle one has been married forty years to his second wife. The eldest one had a silver wedding anniversary with his first wife; the next year they were divorced and he finally married the woman with whom he had been living part of the time since 1972. The youngest one's longest marriage was from 1989 until 2006, although it was an on-and-off marriage the last three years. Two of husband's siblings, despite being brought up as Roman Catholics, have also been divorced. The eldest of the three sisters separated from her husband after twenty years. The youngest of the three boys has been divorced twice. I wonder what my pious, narrow-minded mother-in-law would have had to say about that. The second of the girls has been married nearly twenty-eight years. She could not be married in church because the man she married had been divorced twice. However, her husband was welcomed because she was a single mother. The second boy, Kevin, died just before his seventeenth wedding anniversary.  He drank a solvent containing cyanide. He had a degree in biochemistry, although it took him six years to get it.

I am tired; time for bed.

Memories and preparations

It is a week since I made an entry in this blog. It has been a fairly busy time. Both mornings in the charity shop there were few staff members. I have not phoned the dentist but I did make a hair appointment with the agreeable looking blonde woman in the downstairs hair salon. We shopped in Havant again and on Good Friday morning we walked with our WFH group. It was good to see the bluebells and wild garlic on the other side of the A272. The weather was pleasant although there was a cold edge to the wind.

I miss my daughter so much at Easter. Three years ago she stayed with us for the Easter weekend because she was so ill. We went to her flat on Maundy Thursday and called the paramedics; Katy was in bed and could not eat or easily walk. On the following Tuesday we took her to her doctor who telephoned the Queen Alexandra hospital and arranged for her to be admitted. She did not want to go; she burst into tears and cried that she hated going to hospital. We took her to medical assessment and they put her on oxygen straight away. The following day she was transferred to the respiratory ward where she stayed for three weeks. At one point it was feared that she had lymphoma. She came to stay with us for the weekend after she was discharged from hospital. Fortunately the lymphoma tests came back negative; it was just a particularly severe infection that sent her lymph system into overdrive.

Tomorrow I shall start getting things ready for our holiday. I want to change the bed linen before we leave and have as much done as possible. I shall not feel like housework for a day or two after my eye operation and shall not visit my aged uncle on the Tuesday afternoon.  We saw him yesterday and he ate a cream slice and some chocolate buttons. I have got over the resentment I felt over his niece telephoning the manager of the home about a television set that would be no use to him. I am sure that she and her daughter meant well and were just thoughtless. She would not remember the article from the Daily Mail that she sent me. It was about surgery for age-related macular degeneration. Mr McLean, consultant ophthalmologist, opined that it would not be suitable for him, partly because of his age and because it would probably not be successful anyway. The manager of the home wants me to see her about a "care plan". I am mystified about this; the residents' needs are obvious and the fees are steep. Surely no planning should be necessary over and above the routine organisation of such an establishment. The present manager is not too bad. The excellent Marion Flett left a few years ago. Her successor, one Tracy Katterns, was not up to the job and I made many complaints to the head office because of problems. It is so tiring, forever complaining. The present receptionist is sour-faced and unhelpful, although not as obnoxious as the person who worked for the dreadful Katterns.

I am still taking Co-codamol to help me sleep. I still do not want to get up in the mornings but I always do. I keep going. I have been alone behind the till at the charity shop the last two mornings I was there; Ethel was not well again. On Wednesday there were few members of staff there again. I coped; I enjoy the work. I suppose that it is necessary for me to do this or I shall become a complete recluse. I am rather relieved that my intolerance of spectacle correction does not allow me to play bridge now; I doubt that I could put up with the politics of the bridge club and I could not  meet the exacting standards of some of the people we know. It was my idea to learn and the benefits for Dan have been immense. He has made many friends and has new activities. It was because of the people we met playing bridge that he joined the Probus Club. His chairmanship of the residents' association her in our block of flats led to his playing petanque twice a week. I am glad for him; I am not much company some times. I enjoy the walks but I am being excluded now from the tougher ones with our friends. I cannot  manage the hills so easily.  I spend those Sundays alone unless someone is free to collect me and take me to lunch at whatever pub they have decided to visit for lunch. I do not mind this. I can catch up on domestic chores and listen to my IPod or watch an old film on television. The Sunday walks will begin again in June.

Old men forget and all shall be forgot

The weather  has been beautiful. Yesterday we went on a walk with our Walk for Health group and it was warm and sunny. There are wood anemones, bluebells and still some daffodils, although these are now looking a little tired. We saw an egret with a fish on he millstream. It flew away from the lily pads and up into a tree when we drew near. I agreed with the leader of the walk that we are all so lucky to live where we do. I am glad that we joined this group and not the Wednesday one that meets in the centre of the town. The walks are prettier and the group is growing. There were thirty-two walkers yesterday.

Today is my son's birthday; he is forty-one. I cannot send him a card or a present because I do not know where he is and in any case, it would be futile. He would take the money and not send a message of thanks. I miss him. On Thursday it was a year since Katy's funeral. I still miss her just as much. The picture is my favourite one of my children. We still have Dobbin, the rocking horse. He is made of New Hampshire white pine and we bought him at the Dutchess County Fair in 1978. One day I shall give Dobbin to a new baby, the son or daughter of one of my great-nieces or nephews. When we moved from our house to this flat I sent a text to Neil, who was living in the midlands,

I have a new laptop and my husband is just transferring all the necessary data to it.  I spend far too much time on the computer and often make a resolution not to do that. We shall be in France soon where we have no broadband. Using Facebook on a mobile phone is too stressful to my eyes so I have to go without. I keep busy cleaning and doing laundry so I don't miss it too much. I shall have my two iPods, one for fiction books and one for non-fiction for entertainment. We also have films on DVD and download to watch in the evenings.

It is nearly time for the nursing home. I have obtained the necessary cakes and put the chocolate I keep for the old man into the bag. We have to buy eggs before we go there; we still go back to the village where we used to live for free-range eggs from a local farm. Tomorrow we shall go to the house of friends for drinks.

We have just returned from our excursion. The old man remembered us today and ate about half of the jam doughnut I acquired from Waitrose. He wanted chocolate mostly and tucked into brown and white chocolate buttons.  His room has been painted and the two pictures I brought from his house were put back in the wrong place. When I went to change them I found that the picture hooks had not been taken from the wall and replaced when the paint was dry. They had been painted over and the pictures replaced while the paint was still wet. The electrical sockets were not removed while the painting was done. This is slipshod work; next time I am sent a questionnaire about the home I shall comment upon all of this. I must let the manager of the home know that we shall be away soon. If all goes according to plan we shall be in France in two weeks' time.

I wonder if my son is celebrating his birthday.  I do not know if he is working, if he is lonely or has everything that he needs. He is not a materialistic person.  He loves his record collection and little else. I shall always love him; at least, I suppose I shall while I am cogent. When I am old and senile (if I live that long) I shall no longer remember my two children. When my executor or other person clears out the flat will they throw all the old photos away? Will there be nothing left of my family?

I have my new laptop computer but Outlook will not work on it. I have checked on my favourites, made sure of the passwords and installed the buttons for my most-used sites. Dan will contact BT and sort out the email. It is the warmest day tomorrow but then it will be colder again.

Almost April

Dan has gone to the Heath to play petanque. I am listening to an audio book from the Hampshire digital library. I have not visited the nursing home this week. Last night my uncle's niece, who is also his next of kin, telephoned from Swansea. She visited him on Sunday and subsequently telephoned the manager. It was suggested that Bill should be given a television. I know that the current manager has not been there long. I know she is busy and has not got the easiest job. However, she should have looked at my uncle's record before making that suggestion. He is registered blind/ severely sight impaired. When he first lived at Steep House he used to monopolise the television in the top lounge; he watched Sky News all the time. I would intervene if I was there and put another channel on. He would sometimes watch the TV in his room but in the end he could no longer follow the programmes. Before it got too difficult for me, I used to read the paper to him and  now Sandra, the head of activities, does that. Some days he is receptive and some days he is not. He did remember who Patricia is; he said she was his brother's daughter, which is true. Her father was killed in the war and she was brought up by Bill's parents. She is more like a younger sister than a niece.  When I was finally able to get in touch with her I wondered if she would resent me, but that has not happened. She lost her husband in 2009 and a few years ago her son died suddenly; I know how that feels. Bill was still cogent when Bryan died but could not take in the death of his great-nephew.

It is two weeks to Good Friday. I shall not have to work in the charity shop on Easter Monday, which will be a pleasant break. The following Friday we shall be leaving for Vence and I shall not be in the shop again until  Wednesday May 10th. I shall enjoy the break. There is much work to do in the apartment; I must get the big curtain down from the patio door to the terrace and wash it. There will be bedlinen to launder. Dan will rake up pine needles and olive leaves and we must entertain whichever English neighbours are there. I love that part of France. We shall go to Antibes for lunch and leave our car in the park and ride carpark. The shuttle (navette) used to be free but now costs a euro. We always walk back through the Vieux Port and look at the yachts. I used to buy presents for my two children at one time. Then Neil went to the Midlands and we seldom heard from him. When he came south again I used to  bring him gifts from holidays again; at the end of 2013 I stopped giving him presents at all. He never thanked me and Dan resented it. Neil had his 40th birthday two days after his sister's funeral, which he did not attend. I sent him a text message. It hurt me that I could not celebrate this birthday with him. I think that he is a deeply unhappy and troubled man, but he does not want my love or help.

I must compile a shopping list as we are going to Tesco. I also need to buy breakfast cereals from the shop in Lavant Street. We shall walk tomorrow and there are things that need doing here; I must sort out the linen chest and take the bedlinen that we no longer use to the charity shop. Our friend Sabine, whose opinion Dan values, agrees with me that the room where a new oak floor has just been laid should be a dining room and not a bedroom. I have always wanted that; when we bought this flat my father-in-law was eighty-two and his wife was eighty-one. His health was not of the best and we did not expect him to live as long as he has. They used to stay with us at Christmas and other times, when we took them to the theatre. Elizabeth was a good, sweet person and I think a true Christian. Katy loved her so much and Elizabeth returned her love. I miss them both.

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.