You’ll have seen the link on the main page to recording your blog (UK only) on the Day in History site. You haven’t? Well, go and read it at once. Shame on you.
I thought I’d cop out of doing the same thing twice and simply post the blog here too, though I might make a change or two to it….
“A day steeped in history today. Quite apt, really. Though the dream that woke me in the middle of the night was a bit of a nuisance – starting my day with babysitting my toddler Goddaughter, who is in fact now eleven and probably wouldn’t appreciate my mentioning her at all! I woke just as I was “putting her to bed” and spent the next hour desperately trying to reenter my dream so I could finish the job properly!
The usual rumpus started the day as I bustled my children into school uniforms and out of the door in time to catch the bus to their respective schools before I was able to sit down and relax over a more leisurely breakfast and shower, interspersed with some internet time and one or two household jobs.
Then came a major event – taking my father to visit a day centre with a view to him going there one day a week. It was hard – knowing that he would be reluctant to go, even though he’d enjoy it once he was there – and knowing that it would be like another nail in the coffin reminding him that his remaining time on earth is becoming limited both in length and quality. It was a beautiful place and very welcoming, though as is the nature of these things, full of elderly people. We talked with the lady doing his assessment about some of the ways in which Dad had cared for us as children and that our care for him is only a fragment of that love… but it still felt almost as though we were putting him in a home. One notice board grabbed our attention, though, and I wished my two children were with us to talk with their Grandad about it – a display of ration books, identity cards and posters from the Second World War which brought Dad’s wartime memories flooding back. Even my sister recognised some of the items there from her early childhood, though I of course knew of them only through the history books and through talking to my family.
A pleasant dinner preceded a sad event – a funeral at the local crematorium. My late mother and her best friend from school had remained friends throughout their lives and purely by coincidence had both moved to the Island at the same time too. My mother died about nine years ago… last week her friend’s husband passed away. Today I took my father to the funeral to say goodbye. Fortunately it was a small affair with a very Christian message and so the packet of tissues was less needed than I’d feared. I was able to feel he had come to a fitting end.
The past continued to come back to haunt me as my eldest son brought his new friend from his new school round to meet me. Rather a shock to the system to see a boy I used to teach. I will leave unsaid whether or not it is a companion I would willingly have chosen for my son! Suffice to say they’ll probably get on really well together!
I nipped out to retrieve my youngest son from his pottery class. He had created something most interesting… a piece of “well, you could call it abstract art, mummy”! Indeed I could. I could call it a few other things as well. He was laden down with PE kit, trumpet and school bag and was rather indignant when I said he was not to ask his older brother to come and carry them from the car for him. He’s doing really well with the trumpet. Maybe I’ll follow Shifty Gnome’s example with the voice blogs and get him to play “jingle bells” into the microphone, just so you can share the joy.
And now here I sit in front of the computer… jacket potato eaten, dishwasher loaded, coffee drunk, and the delights of a banana loaf (baked for me by a friend) and a chocolate shoe (don’t ask!) awaiting me before I snuggle down on the sofa and watch Supernanny while rejoicing that my children are not QUITE that bad.