Bit of this

Freeda's wheels (pink bike) are good to go and she gets wheeled out of hibernation. The sun is shinning and we are off. 10 yards from the house the thighs start to moan.

Intending to turn around at the bridge I come across a horse box unloading 2 horses and their riders. Curiosity spurs me on. I stop by the stables to watch a horse charge around his confined space in a temper yelling. Why I wonder doesn't he jump the fence? He surely could. Then I spot 2 specks at the bottom of a drag of a hill and realize the horses have been shipped in to exercise on the gallops.

Acts of kindness have a ripple effect. Because J knocked on my door weeks after Andrews death and offered me the loan of a bike. Freeda entered my life. Cheaper and better than any therapist, she has been used in my darkest hours. Man about the house was encouraged into limited exercise. She is a bonus on our camper-van excursions. And in a round about way whippet would never have become part of the family if I hadn't been bawling my eyes out on her. And all because of a knock at the door. Bless you J.

Bit of this

Birth of the bicycle.

Bit of this

Water seeping through red bricks, forming icicles that hang from the arch of Marston Doles canal bridge. What a lovely name Marston Doles.

He brings me a bowl of christmas pud and the jug of cream, upstairs, to temp me away from trying hard but getting nowhere.

Christmas has been boxed, and put away for now. Within the actions, are shards of memories from past and present.

Flashes of red punched through the blues. Small crimson baubles, given by Y, galvanized me from lethargy, into action on christmas eve. They decorated twigs, adorned with ivy, 3 glowing red glass triangular kings, and fairy lights. As their brilliance of color sparkles, I begin to notice dashes of red every where. On cards, dotting 2 miniature ornaments, inherited from beloved nanny. A bright red vase filled with matching silk flowers, brought long ago on a whim, to celebrate Christmastime. Garish maybe but a jolt of joy when I glimpse them warming their dark corner. A tiny red bow on the boys card. I catch all that redness, and with it I see the merest whispers echoed within the snaps of the children. I receive unexpected surges of happiness here and there. (Ironic considering red was the color that has caused me many a panic attack, with the taking, giving, poisoning a body to get it to behave, and that heart stopping moment before a result. For all his tenaciousness and punching above his weight it wouldn't be tamed). Bit like me really, push this Champaign cork down and eventually I will bounce back up with a fizz.

Bless you Y for the small box that held within more than tiny crimson baubles. I start the new year, actually looking forward.

Bit of that

One of our national treasures.

Chris Watson's water song

Bit of this

Out side whippet and I peer closely at the tin can clanking in the dark. Once the eyes adjust it becomes evident that it's black cat with her head stuck fast in a whiskas tin.

Man about the house rushes to the rescue, the tin is yanked off and wild eyes glare, followed by her belting up the garden in what I take for a temper. Much latter I catch up with the hero of the hour and he reveals that he had found black cat curled up in doors. The unfortunate look alike we conclude was one of farmer Rex's hungry souls, whom possibly is related to black cat somewhere along the line.

Those biscuits had an interesting taste and texture she comments. Well what do you expect from 3 year olds. Possibly if she had witnessed the process she would have refused one. I am sure cooking with 3 year olds contravenes health and safety. Even when vigilant children sneeze, cough and stick fingers in to taste. To say nothing of the ones with runny noses.

Bit of that

Thought I would get into the christmas spirit.

(in memory of black cat's sister bubbles)

Bubbles also suffered from mistaken identity, and got solemnly taken to the vet for burial and cried over by another family after they had scooped her up from the road. It wasn't until latter that night when their cat strolled in, that they realized the mistake. The son of the house who was 4 at the time whooped with joy believing that it was possible to come back from the dead. (As I had only just lost Andrew, I replied with a heart felt "I wish", but you had the see the funny side). Days latter we found out what had happened to her, but by then another of Rex's waifs was nicely ensconced after being carried home from the farm in a carrier bag, blind with cat flue, and to my declaration that she would return to the farm after a visit to the vet. She never did of course and lived a very happy life with us, until the lady next door reversed over her. She never could meow I reckon she had used all her voice calling for help from the middle of the yard. Luckily man about the house was near at hand donning yet another superman suit.

Action taken unpredictable results

Bit of this

I am early so I trace the footsteps of my teenage self. My walk takes me through the park. Where a toddler in a red T-shirt is exploring, holding on to his mother fingers, slaps me in the face with a memory of Andrew walking around the living room, agitated and high stepping with uncoordinated and unfocussed movements. Gripping on to my fingers just before he crashed for the last time. His words from a few weeks before echo over and over "It's not fun any more mum". This memory had been polished to a smooth dark brightness that shines out at unexpected moments.

He pulls and pushes my body into more shapes and worries that his son hasn't phoned with his exam results. An A in maths is a must for dad. I say if he has failed he will be in shock. "Not as much shock as I will be in" he replies. His antics part me from my cash but not the pain. He has my knees bent and chin brought up to nearly touch them. I get an attack of giggles as for a minute I think he is going to pick up like a child.

I take cheer me up action. Calling in with a hug of thanks. Her advice has had a liberating effect. Then it is off for lunch. Slurping my frothy cappuccino and reading provides me with a surreal experience as one eye absorbs the words the other registers colorful movement as people below drift past.

I am right opposite the museum so in I go and come out energized with an idea for a scrap book.

Mr Tesco arrives at the house shortly after me clutching a bonnio for a woofing whippet which he hesitantly drops on the mat, whippet only barks louder the bugger. I am grateful for his kindness even if whippet isn't.

Bit of that

Who let the dogs out. Well it makes me smile anyway.

Sharing air and the bed

Bit of this

Black cat has her jaw laid against my collar bone and is puffing purry breaths in my ear, whippet gasps searching for air under the duvet in his rightful place between me and man about the house who is gently snoring, my effort in the symphony of airy sound sometimes syncs with black cat and sometimes with man about the house. What a wonderful way to start the day.

All that breathing reminded me of Andrew who shared our bed until he died, I used to listen for hours to his breath. It often was the first indicator of an imminent crisis. Funny really it wasn't his breath I swore I heard in the months that followed but his foot steps. That and his voice.

His voice is a soft mutter these days usually telling me to pull my finger out. Sometimes I listen sometimes I don't. Today I listened and did loads of house work and feel very virtuous.

Bit of that

gobbledegook

tokens of love

Bit of this

She shows me 3 poppies and 3 crimson cherries and then spends all morning perfecting her labour of love. Adding a pot on a beautifully decorated lid. Next she makes and alter affair with leaves and stones around it outside and arranges a long line of milk crates leading up to it. The creation morphs several times as the wind plays havoc and she takes evasive action. Eventually ending back indoors.

It is a true thing of beauty and as luck would have it I spot the dinner lady that inspired it and tip her the wink. She says "I'll stick my head around the door before I go home".

If he takes those under pants and them jammies to live with her he will back within the week.

It seems important he leaves the way he arrived though the front door. I sit fleetingly beside him conjuring the boy that was, I manage and it knocks me off my feet. He takes his anger and reality with him not even looking back.

And no I am not having me mother to stay with me for more than a week at a time. Her television viewing habits are worse than his.

Bit of that

May the road rise to meet you,

May the wind be always at your back,

May the sun shine warm on your face,

May your God hold you in the hollow of his hand.

Child of our flesh

Bone of our bone

Remember the love that travels with you from our home.

(pick and mix, celtic prayer, sands, me)

Extra hours, flowers and tribute

Bit of this

I have been too knackered lately to keep up with the insomnia. But oh joy I was slurping tea and eating cornflakes in the wee hours. I read 2 chapters of the book and caught 2 slugs who were hunting for crumbs. How they get in I don't know and more to the point where do they hide. Even if I follow their silver trails I fail to find them. 

Wow there is a bunch of flowers on the kitchen table. The cynical part of me wonders what man about the house brought at the sale of rusty metal this morning. However I am delighted, I never get flowers even on my birthday. Refraining from enquiring about the days trawl. I give him a big kiss instead.

A lorry is engraved on a small black stone

followed by 

"Keep on truckin'  

Ben    10 4" 

I only stumble across this in my attempt to find the shadiest rout back to the car. What a lovely tribute.

Bit of that

Years ago I decided should anyone dare to go against my wishes of no grave marker I want

"Here lies a tidy pile" 

The boy is going to get

"Here lies not a lot"

due to his ever ready answer to absolutely everything

And man about the house is getting

"Here lies?

I have no idea"

a perfect get out clause for nearly absolutely everything.

Of course when push come to sodding shove we often wrack our brains for the deep and meaningful, as I with Andrew. A friend sent me this. It was on his grave for ages littering up the graveyard along with the wild flowers and wooden cross man about the house made. And I keep retyping it and putting it back still.

We will harbor your memory 

We will bind our loss in the warm currents of your laughter

We will search the dark sky

For your wild blazing star

And your voice will endure

Singing out to us between the spaces in the wind

Always free 

Always free

Andrew

I would be interested to know how you would mark you and yours.

signing off with

A nod to the unknown 

Displacement,and a beautiful place

Bit of this

I am up and at 'em by 6.15am. For once man about the house is not stresses out by my laid back approach. As we are already rolling.

I realize about midday, that against my instincts this mega jaunt was just the thing to keep me looking forward and not dipping into memories, that today would  probably have been more poignant than tomorrow will be. 

The pit-stop appeared as I was about to drop. Sharing the driving makes it easer and the story tape eats up the hours. When we enter the valley I am transfixed. Neither of us speak as we drink in the beauty. It is so peaceful. Just the odd bit of traffic and no airplane noise. The sun shines and I watch cloud shadows move over hills. Warm smooth slate, disused mine buildings to explore, sitting by the river that feeds the reservoirs eating lunch, watching the red kites look for theirs. Then the unexpected discovery of Shelley's statue. Topped off with lemon meringue pie. (Memories of you alive today curl around the day, clinging on until you had been to the school fete, tomorrow all that's left are the fragments that your unconscious body surrenders).

Bit of that

Shelley

Black birds and a black tea shirted boy

Bit of this

He has a chops full of squirming worms, I move patches to give him freshly turned earth to scratch about in at leisure. Turning around I find he has followed me still bent on cramming more into his orange beak.

He gets greedy and invites himself into my leanto to help himself to bird mix from the large bowl. I close my eyes and hold my breath while he frantically bangs against the window, managing to flick it open provides an escape route.

He gets out of the car and waits for me. Tight jeans black tea-shirt and gelled hair. We walk down the road and he veers into the pub. All Andrews friends make time to chat to me and I silently bless them.

Bit of that

Spin or just more ways to waste time!

Emotions swirl around

Bit of this

I get out of the wrong side of the bed. (a rare occurrence). It has an amazing effect on them indoors, rightly assuming I will become volcanic at the slightest.

Cooker gets cleaned, dinner cooked, and the boy while not friendly isn't too vile.

We have failed in many ways. But he is ringing the groom to ask if he knows how to tie a tie! I force man about the house to intervene. Hardly recognizing him without his hoodie on, a tear slips out. The blond has the skimpiest bit of purple cloth accentuating curves and hiding knickers, just. Confessing to sending an s.o.s home, she has accidently put on 2 right shoes. (please don't!). This is an education I assumed only celebrities brought shoes in matching set's.

The village bells ring out, winds blows everyone to church and tries to wreck the photo's, hat's it seems are out of fashion. Shame I like a good hat. Andrews memorial bench gets used as a prop, and I lurk behind grave stones, looking like a member of the paparazzi, but more a case of all the gear no idea, having tremendous fun. Memories blow by of, the grooms father appearing over the garden wall to play with my dollies when we were 5. Dad in training, he played with them more than I ever did. And has reaped the benefit. There is a moral there I fear. Hey Ho life is easy with what we now know.

Bit of that

Wedding customs

They are back, and a step here a step there

Bit of this

I am daydreaming looking out of the window, when my heart leaps . They are back. I have been on the look out for days. They have arrived to take up their summer residence outside Andrew's bedroom window. They had disappeared last year due to black cat.

How absolutely wonderful too, because today would have been his 18th birthday.

I have an old birthday card that unfolds into a line of Dalmatian puppies wearing sun glasses. It is in his bedroom which has become my portal though which I step into another world. 

A lad is about to step into the church yard, but thinks better of it and finishes his fag on the pavement. 

Bit of that

The birthday cake

Just when you think you have cracked it another challenge appears.

Things falling into place

Bit of this

It is a day to go to the park. So we muster as many mummies as we can and go. 

Out of a bag of hand me downs fall a pile of bra's. And they fit. M&S's best was run ragged last on my last foray into an underwear department. What are the chances of 32e falling out. WOW.

I know him although he does not recognize me. I was in the right place at the right time. It became important to me.  He was stood scratching his head about to start. "Not here, over there" I said. Now he is shoulder high in another. "I reckon to do one in 4 hours". He is carrying on a family tradition and does all the villages around here. 

Bit of that

Somethings never change.

round,red and white, chocolate chops

Bit of this

Next-door flies the flag for St George.

Small hands cupped over mouth. Eyes dancing, shoulders hunched. Our eyes meet. The hands are lowered, but not the steady gaze, to reveal a chocolate covered chops. He has stumbled upon a stash of chocolate.

A small porthole surrounded by gold, frames a  grey cats face, peering out. 

Bit of that

Clicked on unexpected bit of symbolism

My dance goes on! I love this book.

Relief and kindness

Bit of this

I hear traffic in the distance and involuntarily sigh, feeling light headed not to be part of the rush hour this morning.

I catch the post lady who is checking in on Mrs T, and ask if my chunky letter will be penalized for it's bulk. No bother she say's I will just wack another stamp on and take it for you.

I am by the brook and suddenly have a yen to watch Wind In The Willows. It's the month, the light, the smells, that have struck a chord. Good friend V had hot footed round to greet Andrew and I on our return from our first hospital stay bringing it with her. We watched it over and over. It was April and the sun was streaming through the window creating light and dark pools on the floor. Feeling relief at being home after the shock of the diagnosis. I don't feel a bit guilty about this bit of day time telly indulgence. I sit with my memories and my knitting. 

Bit of that

Home Sweet Home

Shattered and humor sticks things

Bit of this

A loud clatter makes me jump. The mirror was shattered into large fragments. Some would say 7 years bad luck. I think the cat has used another of her 9 lives, had I fed her when she was pestering she would have been flat cat. 

They had chosen April fools day. Life is one huge joke. With the first sentence spoken, he was to be our undoing. He got under the British stiff upper lip. Told it how it was. Acknowledged the tragedy. And I am glad it was not a churchy glossing over of a life ended, because he never ever stood a chance. Bare facts for the 3 surviving siblings to hear. I don't think in all the years in the system anyone had told their story. "We all do the best we can at the time" he says.  We look at one another and wonder. And then Gary Nuwman blasts forth and encapsulates it all. 

I get lost in the world of a totally wacky play on R4. Involving buglers who steal the queens marriage certificate. It was just what I needed. A real tonic.

Bit of that

This bridge will only take you halfway there

To those mysterious lands you long to see:

Through gypsy camps and swirling Arab fairs

And moonlit woods where unicorns run free.

So come and walk awhile with me and share

The twisting trails and wondrous worlds I've known.

But this bridge will only take you half way there 

The last few steps you'll have to take alone.

Shel Silverstein

All grown up, blossom, lovely language

Bit of this

There she goes in her funky car. I am blessed to have been part of her growing up. Andrews best friend. Seeing her throws loss into focus, past and present clash together. Grief for the "might have been" sadness for a life not being lived by another.  

There are clouds of blossom brightening the verge.

Discussing mothers day card. "I will put her in my head, then in my card" he says.

Bit of this

Procrastinate now don't put it off. 

Carrying on

Bit of this

A man in a blue bobble hat, stood at the bus stop, has a shaggy small dog asleep in a pink push-chair.

Whippet has his 1st of lead walk for weeks. His whole body exudes cheerfulness. Ears back, big grin, wiggling from nose to tail.  We meet others on our round. On the way home we call to see Andrew. Whippet knows the way by now. Someone has put flowers on his grave. Gone but not forgotten. He has been dead now longer than he lived, I am greatly cheered. To be forgotten would be as if you had never been. 

Kneading soft yeasty dough. It is always a magical childlike moment to peek in the bowl and find is has risen.

Bit if this

Looking up at me from his bath

"how long have I been alive mum"

four years I say

He thinks for a minute and smiles

"thats not long is it mum, I haven't used up  much yet then"

(exactly half, and most of that was fighting a loosing battle)

He couldn't wait to grow up, then he would be well, after all in his experience only children have cancer

Music and postman pat

Bit of this

I get up with the first chattering of the jackdaws. It's seven o'clock exactly. 

I dance my heart out in pools of afternoon light to tracks from River Dance. The music blasts into my soul, dissolving my rigidity, compelling me to find expression in movement. I lay exhausted on the floor. Mission accomplished. I am numb. Sticking plaster re-stuck. 

The post lady calls on Mrs T to see if she has letters, and is o k. A social worker in a red van.

Bit of that

Faith can move mountains. She's a bright girl. 

('nother bit of graffiti)

Joy and grief

A bit of this

MY eyes are dazzled and I have a WOW moment as I open the curtains. Bright sunshine, seaside blue sky and thin delicate icicles drip from the low roof. Convinced, I want to rush out and play them, they will surely magic a pure sound.

Black Lab bouncing against bright snow. Joy personified.

The receptionist at the Vets has her grief counseling hat on. Providing a steadying hand and a kind word at a difficult time. Nothing is too much for her. They even have a book of remembrance I discover, where picture and poems can be placed. Whippet sensing others trauma heads smartly for the door, practically skipping to the car.

Bit of that

Make magic not tea.

Strood  (Graffiti file) 

Why is it in moments of stress we always put kettle on? 

marking a life

Bit of this

Man dressed in blue plus bobble hat, gamely peddles up and down long winding farm road to a breathtakingly beautiful church in a place time has forgotten, he beats me by a mile.

Shinny undertakers shoes smart black coats, lovely man directing us toward the door. I linger we chat, A colorful encounter in an unexpected place.

Words float, like seeds from a dandelion clock at sunset, giving light and translucent form to a life lived with a smile.

Bit if that

I am standing upon the foreshore. A ship at my side spreads her white sails to the morning breeze and starts for the blue ocean. She is an object of beauty and strength and I stand and watch her until she hangs like a speck of white cloud just where the sea and sky come down to minge with each other. Then someone at my side says "There She's gone!, "Gone where?" "Gone from my sight, that is all." She is just as large of mast and spa and hull as ever she was when she left my side, just as able to bear her load of living freight to the place of her destination. Her diminished size is in me, not her. And just at that moment when someone at my side says "There! she's gone!" there are other eyes watching her comming and other voices ready to take up the glad shout, "here she comes!" And that is dying..

Victor Hugo (a passage often attributed to Bishop Brent)