And too much time on my hands?
I just couldn’t resist sharing this with you, my little woodland corner.
Sadly it doesn’t include the old oak tree just out of shot, but I am proud to declare that this year we have blackthorn blossom, primroses, celandines, bluebells, harebells, daisies, white campion…. and I am valiently resisting the temptation to filch some wood anemones from the forest!
… oh, and dandelions!
I must remember that some people don’t have the same rather odd sense of humour as I.
In particular, I must remember that the counsellor at the hospice, lovely though she is, does not share the same black humour. Must remember not to comment to her in future that it was downright typical of my dad to start his miracle recovery the minute I’d finished phoning round to warn people of how seriously ill he was.
I was just about to make an “adoption” joke which, to many, would probably have sounded rather off.. to whit, that it is sometimes quite reassuring to remind myself that my children and I don’t share a gene pool. We had been experiencing a rather unpleasant whiff emanating from our veranda just recently and I was sure it was either a decaying rat or something else equally unsalubrious. The presence of rather a large number of rather large flies added to this impression, so I challenged the Smudgelets to local the source of the aroma.
Eventually Tiddles triumphantly declared he’d done it. His job is to put out the rubbish bags on a Friday and one bag had been somewhat overlooked, had tipped a smaller carrier bag full of unpleasantnesses out onto the floor and this latter bag had disappeared into the clutter that seems to be a permanent fixture in this, our only real storage space. It had clearly been there some time. I decided not to remonstrate at the fact it was there, but to congratulate my hero son for having located it.
However, the smell persisted. I came to the conclusion that there must still be something unpleasant harboured in the depths of our veranda so I decided to investigate for myself today, four days later. It took some searching but eventually I tracked it down. It was the very same bag of now even less pleasant unpleasantnesses…. he’d put it straight back where he’d found it!
He insisted. After all, he’s the most handsome of the lot!
The intrepid explorers
The even more intrepid auntie
What makes you think mum’s going to regret this?
Now isn’t that lovely?
We had forgotten about a measuring stick to check the depth of the water, so we counted how many paces it took for the water to run into his wellies. We’re real rough scientists, we are.
We’d never been in this part of the creek before
Has the water eroded the wall? Is one of our favourite pubs going to be washed away?
Yesterday afternoon was divine. Yet again we were doing Tiddles’ homework, this time setting out on a family walk to see how far towards the source of the creek we could go. The boys donned wellies and waterproof trousers and were given permission to engage in some thoroughly hands-on learning….. right up to their armpits! They were not impressed that they weren’t allowed to get in the car to come home until they’d stripped right down to their underpants, though!!!
Most interesting discovery was how amazingly far the tidal effect is evident in the creek. We came to the point where two tributaries joined to form the brook leading to the creek and I was trying to get Tiddles to realise what was happening as he kept saying the river was splitting into two rather than that two small rivers were joining into one. Using my “patient teacher” voice, I suggested he look at the way the current was flowing. Hmmm… only one problem… it was quite definitely flowing THE WRONG WAY!
It was odd tonight. I spotted, in the pocket of my dressing gown, the keyring which holds the key to Dad’s back door – the one I use first thing in the morning when I go to wake him and then last thing at night when I’ve tucked him into bed. I saw it the other day too, when I was pottering around at 6am wondering how I usually fill the time in the morning before school and felt suddenly tearful at the thought that I probably would not have to be up so early in future. Tonight the same lump in the throat, this time because I think I am going to be needing it more.
Dad’s doing remarkably well. Remarkably well. I can’t see him staying in much beyond the weekend, to be honest. Trouble is, he’s still one stage weaker than he was and, more to the point, his mind is not reliable and so we don’t feel that he really should be left alone in the bungalow. There is to be a family support meeting at the hospice this week to see how they can help us manage Dad’s illness at home during the next stage.
It was lovely just to sit with him for an hour or so this afternoon and have him more lucid. We chatted as I showed him some photographs, but the best moment,…. and the hardest… was when he went sleepy and I mentioned I felt tired too after my day at work. He lifted his arm and, just as I used to, I snuck in underneath and rested my head on his chest as he put his arm round me. We stayed like that for ages, a gentle father-daughter embrace (though with me frantically fighting the tears, of course) and rested together, only occasionally interspersing it with a quiet exchange like when his tummy rumbled.
They’ve taken the syringe driver out. We were rather amused as he’s having word-finding difficulties and we were quite concerned for a moment when he said “I’ve lost my spirit guide”. Of course, he was thinking of spirit level.. which still wasn’t quite the right word but you can see the resemblance.