Christmas passed . . .

 

Christmas passed . . .

 . . . quite quickly! We had a very quiet day on 25^th, just the two of us and the animals, though a couple of the daughters ‘phoned, which was really nice. They’re all so busy on Christmas Day, and we never expect, or demand, that they call. We know how they feel.

We had been invited to our children’s homes, but cannot leave home for more than four hours at a time, because of having to feed Jellicoe regularly, and they all live at least an hour away. He cannot control his diabetes all by himself!

We had roast duck, which was a mistake – I never realised that duck could repeat quite so much! ‘Quack, quack,’ it went all evening.

Our eldest great-grandson, aged ten, spent Christmas Eve in A & E, with testicular torsion. If all the men are wincing, you’re welcome. After an emergency operation, he was discharged in time to go home and wait for Father Christmas’s visit, though I think his attention was on things other than the potential fillings in his stocking. He’s still in a lot of pain, poor child.

His grandfather, our son-in-law, also had a hospital appointment on Christmas Eve, to assess the progress of his repaired Achilles’ tendon. His leg is constantly swelling, which is a concern. It will be several more months before he can return to work, no thanks to the misdiagnosis when the accident first occurred. Sometimes it’s true that the further away from London you live, the more uncertain is the medical treatment. Perhaps that’s true of any community far away from up-to-date city facilities.

His wife, our eldest daughter, was busy feeding the five thousand - three adult offspring, in-laws, in-laws’ in-laws, grandchildren, friends, and anyone else looking for a place to lay their head.

Our youngest daughter was unwell with cough, cold, aches and pains and two lively boys. She is recovering now, just in time for her birthday today, on 29^th December. Why can’t parents be more responsible and give birth to their children at a sensible, less busy time of year? Her ankle is much improved.

Our middle daughter had a strange day. Her oven stopped working and so did her washing machine - somehow the two seemed to be connected in some way - so she had to improvise a Christmas meal for her twelve-year-old son, which worked well enough. At least she was able to spend the day with him, which had been in some doubt until almost the day itself. Long, sad, unfair story. She came home for the day on Saturday, and we had a Christmas meal together, which we all enjoyed much more than the ‘Festive Fare’ on Christmas Day. She and her little dog have gone home to her cats now, and it’s just the two/six of us again.

Our son prepared a feast on Christmas Eve for his three adult children and their partners and friends, which they all enjoyed, and then he created another banquet on Christmas Day. He is an excellent cook, and a genial host.

Barry went to lose some more blood to the NHS on Christmas Eve, too. He’ll have none left at this rate.

So, we limp towards New Year’s Eve, never my favourite night of the year, so we shall stay in, maybe watch the fireworks from around the world, but probably have an early night. I miss the New Years’ Eves of my youth in Kent, when all the ships marked the passing of the old year and the welcome to the new with a ‘Whoop whoop.’ Heart-stirring stuff!

The young of the community will return to their homes in varying degrees of intoxication, singing or shouting, full of bonhomie and beer. The foxes will announce their presence and call for mates, as they have been doing for several nights, now, and 2025 will dawn, grey and still, and life will continue.

Happy New Year to one and all! 

Post-Christmas

Post-Christmas

It’s a beautiful cold clear day. The sky is blue, the sun is shining, there’s no wind and the dogs have enjoyed a walk and a swim in Crowthorne Forest. Roxy has just finished a small snack of coal – that makes a change from one of Frankie’s toy cars or a piece of Lego.  Now she, like her friends and relations, is damply snoozing.

It is unnaturally quiet here, after a very busy and enjoyable Christmas Day with Bethan and Robert in London. 

Bethan's family and Robert’s family enjoyed the day together.

Some of the sixteen . . .

 Sadly the Dorset contingent of our family was missing. Having had a very difficult twelve months they did not want to be far from home. Hopefully 2017 will be a much happier time for them.

Susannah in pensive mood

Now, though, Barry and I are sitting in splendid isolation, if it is possible to be isolated with so many faithful furry companions. On Boxing Day Susannah travelled to Antigua where she will be distracted from missing and worrying about Frankie, who is in Cornwall, visiting his paternal grandparents.  

Tomorrow we shall pack the dogs into the car and visit Gillian and her family in Dorset. Bertie will enjoy seeing his brother, Buster, and Roxy will be highly delighted to romp with her siblings again.

New Year’s Eve, or Old Year’s Night as my Norfolk brother-in-law calls it, beckons but we shall ignore its lure and remain by our own warm fireside. We shall probably watch the fireworks televised from London – they are usually spectacular. Doubtless there will be many local fireworks, which are a trial for poor Gus.

Frankie will be home again in the afternoon. Then, on New Year’s Day, he and I are driving to Heathrow to meet Susannah. (Barry will be dog-sitting.) I suspect she will spend much of the following day pushing out the zeds.

 . . . and then it will be back to business as usual . . . (sigh)

Happy New Year, one and all, and may 2017 be Healthy, Happy and Prosperous.

Poetry Jam Sixty-seven

Poetry Jam invites consideration of the age of 67. (I think consideration AT the age of 67 would be better.)

A further challenge is to write in an unfamiliar form. 'If you're a rhymer, don't rhyme. If you're not a rhymer, rhyme.' 

H'mm! The trouble is that I'm a wordy soul(that's WORDY not WORTHY) and never know when to stop. Maybe it's just my age;-)

I’m sixty-seven now, have been for months -

It’s just another number 

Or so I tell myself and believe it

Until I pass a mirror!

Though I swim and garden and walk the dogs,

Getting up from a chair is tough -

It’s nothing to do with the passing years,

I was fine till New Year’s Eve.

Then I danced and jived in my high-heeled shoes

Until the midnight hour.

Long journeys to take the dogs to Dorset

Who spent the night with daughter

And then home again the very next day

Caused sacroiliac pain

So that I lurched like a drunken sailor -

You’d think one leg was shorter.

It’s much better now, though I use a pole

When I’m walking in the woods;

It’s just for confidence, you understand -

Tripping on tree roots is jarring

And a folding stick accompanies me

If I have to walk elsewhere.

My daughters and son worry about this –

It’s an unusual sight for them.

They see beyond the casual excuse,

Believing that I’m ageing.

I shall not dance again next New Year’s Eve,

Or at least not in high heels.

When I’m sixty-eight I’ll be walking straight

And rising with ease from seats.

Don’t they say that great wisdom comes with age?

How much older must I be?

Barry and I both use Pacerpoles. He uses two because he's sensible. I use one, because I'm not and also I need one hand for the AquaKong - or to grab Frodo, the over-protective Velcro dog.

A dancing woodpigeon?

I’ve just spotted the lame woodpigeon on the bridge over the pond. I first saw her (I don’t know the gender, obviously, since males and females dress alike, but to me this bird is a female) a couple of days ago, hobbling across the gymnasium roof. She can fly perfectly well and she’s not limping heavily. She’s eating and drinking, preening and courting, so I think she will survive.

I know how she hurt her foot – or is it her leg? I know, because I did the same thing so next New Year’s Eve she and I will resist the urge to dance in high heels – well, all right, I’ll resist the high heels! I mean, a woodpigeon in high heels – whatever next? 

Dancing the night away is wonderful, being transported in the moment, not thinking of the morrow – we’re too old  wise for all that, Mrs Woodpigeon and me.

New Year's Eve 2010 and all that . . .

A week ago we were preparing for New Year’s Eve. Normally we go to bed early with a good book but this year we were invited to join some friends at a country house hotel. We liked the idea but there was a problem – well, three, really, and all of them canine!

We don’t go out very often and never overnight, unless the dogs come with us or one of our children can come to dog-sit, but New Year’s Eve (or Old Year’s Night as my Norfolk brother-in-law calls it) is perhaps the worst time of the year to find sitters of any sort – baby, house, or pet. Nevertheless, I enquired, expecting that we would have to decline.

Gillian provided the solution. Why didn’t we take the dogs to stay with her? Her dogs spend a lot of time with us and all the dogs get on well together at our house. We decided we could try it. We were slightly concerned about Frodo the Faller, the Velcro dog, who is my guardian, my shadow, my knight in shining (well, spotted) armour. He had been to Gillian and Paul’s house before but we had never left him there. On balance, we considered that he would feel comfortable because his housemates would be with him and he knows Tia and Foxy very well, too, as well, of course, as the humans! The children were very excited and had already allotted dogs to beds – theirs, of course.

We agreed that it would be sensible to have a trial run and take the dogs there for a day and go out, leaving them in the house. That was a good idea, but bad weather and the return with a vengeance of my ‘giddy bug’ meant that it didn’t happen. Christmas came and overwhelmed us with family, which was thoroughly enjoyable and suddenly, or so it seemed, New Year’s Eve was upon us.

On December 30^th we packed the dogs and their bedding and food and Frodo’s medication into the car and set off to Dorset. Despite having had a long walk beforehand, Frodo and Gus whinged for much of the journey and were very happy to bounce out at the other end and play with their friends. Once they had settled (and Frodo was soundly asleep) we left. Arriving home we were greeted by Winston protesting that he had been alone all day.

Tylney Hall

On Friday we fed Winston, made sure there was plenty of food for him and that the house was warm and secure and repaired to the hotel, a mansion house in wonderful grounds. The evening began with champagne and canapés and progressed very pleasantly to a splendid supper followed by music and dancing. We even danced, which I came to regret!

Just before midnight the piper appeared, ready to play in the New Year and, true to form, Barry was nowhere to be seen. He came back in time to join in Auld Lang Syne which we sang with a young couple and their two small sons. It was strange to sing about ‘auld acquaintance’ never being ‘forgot’ with people we‘d only just met!

On New Year’s Day we drove to Dorset again. We called in to see Barry’s mother and then visited his brother and sister-in-law. Finally, we reached Gillian and Paul and the dogs clambered all over us in their joy. Frodo had been very good – most of the time - but had woken everyone by howling at 2:30 on Friday morning. I suppose he woke in unfamiliar surroundings and wanted some reassurance.

The photographer photographed. My camera battery expired just after this!

We eventually arrived home in the late evening after an extremely peaceful journey. The dogs slept all the way and passed the night in an exhausted slumber. The following day was quiet and relaxed and then a niggling ache began in my back and proceeded to worsen. Dancing in high heels – when I normally wear trainers every day – and two longish car journeys had made an impact. Consequently, I have been hobbling round like the Hunchback of Notre Dame for the past few days. Anyone watching would think I have one leg three inches shorter than the other! It’s not a pretty sight but it is improving.

It was a pleasant weekend, all told, and rounded off a busy festive season in style.