'Lost'

From Spring 2009 onwards, I used to put the radio on for background noise during the day, rather than have a silent house. I never really took any notice as to what was being played - my concentration skills were poor to say the least and I had the attention span of a gnat.

But gradually I became aware of a song that was being played a lot. When I began to pay proper attention to the lyrics, I really cried. It then got to a point where I couldn’t listen to it - it was too painful. I avoided it for quite a while, because I wasn’t in the right frame of mind to be able to accept the meaning of the lyrics – all I heard was negative, when it's actually a beautiful, positive song.

Now I can hear it without wanting to turn it off, although it can still occasionally catch me unawares and I find tears rolling down my face.

I know Michael Bublé isn’t to everyone’s musical taste, but I hope you listen to it because in many ways the lyrics are so apt.

Why am I posting this today? Because today is the second anniversary of Significant Other’s death.

I find the lead up to certain dates and the anticipation of how I think I’m going to feel is far worse than the actual day itself. The last few days have not been great, certainly not helped by yesterday’s fiasco (although I was so naffed off I took it out on the grass, a task I’d been putting off for a while), but today I feel chilled. It’s a lovely sunny day; a day for taking a walk by the river.

Here in the UK it is also Mother’s Day; my children know me so well…

My special occasion will take place later this evening, when I’ll raise my glass in loving memory.

First and Last

Two years ago, Significant Other was in hospital for more radiotherapy to his spine in an attempt to ease some of his pain. Although I spent the majority of my days and evenings at his bedside, we agreed between us that this time I wouldn’t spend my nights there. Although I wanted and he wanted for us to be together as much as possible, we both knew I needed some sort of brief respite.

Two years ago today, I received a phone call from my brother-in-law first thing in the morning, telling me to look in the shed. Puzzled, I did so and on opening the door burst into tears. Sitting inside I found roses and a card. Significant Other, amidst all his pain, both physical and psychological, had remembered Valentine’s Day and with the help of his brother had organised the gifts for me.

I still have one of the roses and, of course, the card.

See the smaller flower? That’s the very first rose he gave me many, many years ago for Valentine’s Day.

Both roses lie safely in the box, but only occasionally do I lift the lid to look at them. I don’t need to – I know they’re there and that’s enough. I have a fleeting moment of sadness when I see them, but it passes very quickly because what I overwhelmingly remember is the love with which they were given.

Two roses.

First and last.

Viewed with a smile.

And love.

Love Is A Many Splendored Thing

In response to this post about Eldest Daughter getting engaged, Melissa left this comment:

“ahhh..love. it's so beautiful. really.
How's that feel? To have your kids go through that? urgh! Don't answer. Not even ready to imagine.”

Well, sorry Melissa, I am going to answer it, but you have to keep in mind I have daughters and not sons.

How does it feel? It’s bloody scary in a well-it-had-to-happen-someday kind of way.

When they start dating and announce they have a boyfriend for the first time (that you know of…), your initial response is outwardly something along the lines of, “That’s nice. What’s he like? When do I get to meet him?” yada, yada. Inwardly, while gritting your teeth, you’re thinking, “If he does anything, anything to hurt my daughter, I’ll chop his dangly bits off and get someone else to feed them to our next-door-but-one-neighbour’s pet snake.”

(I’m sure I’ve mentioned it elsewhere in this blog (but what the hell, I can’t be arsed to go and check), our next-door-but-one-neighbour where I used to live had a sodding 14 foot snake as a bloody pet. I was told it was yellow. *major, big time shudder* However, I always bore it in mind when it came to boyfriends of my daughters…*evil laugh*)

I still feel like that now, except I’d have to find something else to feed the dangly bits to. Would foxes eat dangly bits? Probably.

As they get older, the subject of contraception has to be tackled. I always tried to be approachable and took the view that I’d rather they got proper information from me, than be misinformed by their friends. Even though all I wanted to do was yell, “SEX? WTF?? YOU’RE A BABY! MY BABY!!”

The other thing, is getting used to, and becoming friends with, their boyfriends. You get used to seeing them at your house on a regular basis; they have opinions and you can hold a sensible conversation with (some of) them. You like them. You have a laugh with them.

And then your daughter dumps them. You never see them again. You wonder what you did wrong. You come to the realisation that a) it wasn’t you, and b) there’s going to be more of this; there are going to be more boyfriends that you have to say goodbye to and you try to brace yourself for the future, yet it still happens.

When Eldest Daughter split up with her first long-term boyfriend, Significant Other and I were more upset than she was. She was all, “Oh, get over it.” We were gutted.

On the flip side of the coin, if there’s something about a boyfriend that you don’t like, you can never, ever tell your daughter while she’s still seeing him. Even if she’s having doubts herself, the minute you voice your opinion, he immediately becomes the best thing since sliced bread and can do no wrong. The only time you can say anything is after they’ve ended their relationship. Even then, you have to wait a while, just in case they get back together.

I tell you, it’s a bloody minefield.

However, at the end of the day, all you want is for them to be happy. If they’re happy, you’re happy.

Eldest Daughter and Captain Oz have found each other and I couldn’t ask for more. After the birth of Baby Wotsit (we do know what sex the baby is, but I’m not saying – you’re going to have to wait), they will be a family. As a parent, it’s an odd feeling, knowing that although you are and always will be, extremely important in your child’s life, you’re no longer their entire world, as you were when they were younger.

I’ve felt Baby Wotsit kicking and although it’s truly wonderful, in a way that’s weird too. Because it’s my daughter who’s going to give birth. My daughter who will, over the years to come, experience all sorts of joys and worries as a parent herself. My daughter who will, at times, ask, tell and exclaim to me about what her child has done or got up to. And it makes you wonder about how your parents felt when it was you (some of which I know).

I can then pass on to Eldest Daughter something my mum said to me, when I offloaded onto her about my children.

“Payback.”

A Much Missed Pleasure

Everyone has things they can't envision doing without; things that are, or seem to be, important. Yet, for some things, after an extended absence, the memory dulls and although thoughts may sporadically cross the mind, in the grand scheme of things, it's not of great importance.

There has been something missing from my life - for almost a couple of years actually.

It's something I hadn't realised I'd missed so much, yet when I did it the other evening - well - what can I say apart from...

Ohhh!

After my rediscovery, I could get very enthusiastic about it again. I'm sure Significant Other would be pleased I've found a measure of happiness again; he was just as keen as I was about it.

The majority of the time, it didn't really matter where we were, we'd do it almost wherever the urge took us, whether it be in the house, the car or when we were out somewhere.

There were occasions though when I had a headache, and although Significant Other sometimes tried to persuade me to try it, I just didn't fancy it because for me, I knew it wouldn't help. For some it does, for some it doesn't.

It wasn't always a pleasure that was shared though - sometimes, I did it when on my own, as did he. Quite often in fact.

It's something I could never have imagined not doing, and before Significant Other was diagnosed, I loved it. Adored it. But then the stresses and strains of his illness took their toll one way and another, and this was something that fell by the wayside.

I have tried it once or twice over the last few weeks, each time with the same result - meh - I could take it or leave it. So I resigned myself to the fact it was something I'd go without for the rest of my life.

Hey ho.

Very recently, after a bit of gentle persuasion from a friend, and a little deliberation on my part, I tried it again and I've since been trying to think of ways to describe the experience.

It was intense.

Heavenly.

Total and utter pleasure.

The you-never-really-forget-it's-like-riding-a-bike analogy also comes to mind.

Sort of.

I'd never tried it this way before, but I'm open to new experiences; however, I will be honest and tell you I'm wary of getting too caught up in it - the pleasure could be taken away from me again.

I've made a promise to myself.

I will be careful.

I will exercise self-control and try to limit it to once a week - where's the harm in that? Otherwise, I could quite easily find myself absolutely gagging for it - and that just wouldn't do.

Oh.

Silly me.

I got so caught up reliving the experience in my mind, I haven't told you what I'm talking about.

Wait.

I could do it right now.

In fact, y'know what?

Sod it.

I'm going to.

But before I do, I have a photo to show you.

I'd like you to meet the recipient of my affections...

Right, gotta go.

There's a tub in the fridge with my name all over it.

Tough Love

Youngest Daughter has been reacquainting herself with the clothes and shoes she didn’t take with her to Majorca.

A few nights ago, pleased to see her enjoying the delights of her TIDY bedroom, I lovingly hovered around and gently said, “Put them back when you’re done, I didn’t spend feckin’ hours on this room for you to trash it again”.

She mostly ignored me.

After a short while, alarming piles of shoes and clothes began to get heaped on the bedroom floor. Concerned they’d stay there I said, “Why don’t you put that lot away before you get anything else out”.

It was a did-I-say-that-out-loud?-I-do-believe-I-did-but-I’m-still-being-ignored moment.

Right.

Time for a spot of tough love.

Me: I’ve got something to show you. Follow me.

During one of our phone conversations while she was away, I’d told her I’d started a blog, but hadn’t really gone into much detail about it. She told me she was looking forward to reading it when she got home.

Heh.

I logged on to Blogger, she settled herself in the chair in front of the computer and began to read.

I started her off on a couple from a while back, which she enjoyed, then I got her to read this. She read it and laughed. Then I got her to read this.

YD: *laughing* I’m sorry, I forgot about some of the stuff in there. *more laughter* Did you really pick all those up and throw them away? *still laughing*

Me: Who else do you think it was? The fairies? Of course it was me.

YD: *more laughter* I’m sorry. *lightbulb moment* Wait a minute. Who reads this blog?

Me: *looking thoughtful* Ohhh, a few people.

YD: ???

Me: Oh, y’know, Eldest Daughter, Nana, your aunt, various friends and some people I’ve never met from around the world. *pause* Do you think you’ll be keeping it tidy now?

YD: *giggling* Yes mum.

Parental blackmail.

Love it.

I just hope it works.

It's All Crap To Me - Or Is It?

It is official, I am pissed off.

The reason for my pissed offness is because during the night, some tosser has smashed a window in one of the vans I own by default, parked next to my garage. Not because they wanted to break in and nick stuff, but just because they felt like it, it would seem. Not only that, because of the position of where I live and where the van is parked, the asshole had to come down here specifically to do it.

The van was bought before we moved here to act as extra storage space for a load of Significant Other’s workshop contents, as there was no shed/workshop here. Extra storage was needed because the garage here was (and still is) full to bursting with more of his workshop and our house stuff.

Unfortunately Significant Other was too ill to make any use of the shed we had built, so it’s since been down to me to sort through all the items in the van and move them into the shed, which luckily, I did some weeks ago, in another moment of being naffed off.

Since emptying the van (which has to be scrapped), I’ve been using it to store scrap metal I’ve come across in the course of sorting through Significant Other’s shite useful stuff, which is how I know the lowlife who broke the window, didn’t do it with the aim of stealing anything.

Let me make something clear here, Significant Other was the love of my life. But man did he collect some crap during his lifetime. Crap that would ‘come in useful one day’. Crap that I now have to wade through and decide that no, actually, I’m not going to find seemingly endless amounts of spark plugs useful one day, nor what seems like hundreds of screwdrivers or even more than several socket sets. And that’s just a drop in the ocean. For the most part, I’m going through it all in fits and starts, as and when I feel up to it.

I am at my most productive when in a stinking mood and it’s better than taking it out on my nearest and dearest. That’s a little difficult to do these days at Empty Nest Towers, what with Significant Other no doubt applying liberal amounts of WD40 to anything that moves on the Other Side, Eldest Daughter unwittingly decimating the kangaroo population Down Under, and Youngest Daughter doing her level best to drink Majorca dry. That just leaves Grumpy and Dopey, but I can’t get a decent argument out of them, they just bugger off, curl up and go to sleep. Oh to be a cat. On second thought, maybe not, cats lick their arses.

I can ruthlessly clean a house from top to bottom in less time than it takes to cook a roast dinner when in the depths of a foul state of mind, but I much prefer being constructively destructive. Today it was the grass, front and back, that took the brunt of my ire. It was a daisy massacre - shame, as I like daisies. Oh well, they’ll be back.

With a very large dose of help from my parents today (who were in a good mood), part of the garden at the side of the house is also now beginning to reappear; amongst other things, ripping up a load of ivy that has been allowed to spread unchecked. Actually, calling it garden at the moment is stretching the imagination a tad too far - shit heap would be much more fitting. Steptoe’s Yard would appear immaculate in comparison.

However, as well as feeling mightily pissed off, I’m also feeling, for the first time really since Significant Other died, quite vulnerable. I find it extremely unnerving that someone has walked into my front garden and committed an act of vandalism yards from my house. This evening I keep leaving my computer to check all the doors and windows are secure.

Rightly or wrongly, to try and give myself a certain amount of peace of mind, I’ve found a Crocodile Dundee type knife that Significant Other owned and have placed it on the floor under my bed.

Perhaps not everything is crap after all.

A Sideways Look At Life With My Cats

I enjoy sharing my house with my two female cats, Grumpy and Dopey. While writing the previous post, I realised they could quite easily take over, so here they get an entire post dedicated to them.

When changing a duvet cover, make sure at least one cat jumps inside it to help you. Then spend quality time inside the duvet cover with your cat, trying to get it out without your feline friend putting a full set of claws through the cover or yourself.

When eating your dinner while watching TV, leave the tray on the sofa and go into the kitchen to get yourself a drink. On your return, you'll find at least one of your cats enjoying the extra meal you've carefully prepared for them.

Encourage your cats to bring frogs/mice/birds into the house. The whole family finds this an exhilarating and bonding experience.

Sometimes you should allow your cat to creep onto your pillow while you're asleep at night. When you wake up, you can look lovingly at the view of your cat's arse an inch from your face.

Let your cat curl up and sleep on the black skirt you've laid on the bed ready to wear later. White cat fur on a black skirt will start a new fashion trend. To cover all bases, let your black cat leave her fur on your cream blouse. This is a good look too.

Your cat is a frustrated interior designer. Congratulate her for redesigning your net curtains after chasing a fly.

Keep your cat entertained by letting her watch you peel yourself off the ceiling, after she's lovingly wound her way around your legs and managed to trip you up. The best time for her to do this is after you've had an operation and have stitches. In return, you can watch your cat covering her ears with her paws when you decide, there and then, to rename her Multiplying Little Cat Without A Named Father (work it out).

Your daughter's boyfriend picks up a stray malteser from the floor. Watch how much pleasure he displays when he quickly realises it's not a malteser...

Your cat wants you to have a cat's eye view of places. Helping you get up close and personal with the floor is one of the ways she achieves this objective.

Descending the stairs with an armful of items is made more interesting when, unseen by you, your cat places herself on the last but one tread. She wants to aid you and your items get down quicker.

If you want to test your hearing and see how strong your stomach is, try to distract your cat to save the mouse she's playing with in the garden. Watch her quickly kill the mouse and then listen with relish to the crunchy noises.

You don't need to set an alarm to wake you in the morning. You'll be just as happy to be roused by your cat putting her cold, wet nose in your armpit. As a snooze alarm, let your cat walk across your face.

In the course of packing your suitcase for your holiday, your cat will decide she wants to go with you. She demonstrates this by jumping in and going to sleep in there.

Do not expect your cats to show any pleasure on seeing you when you return from your holiday, until they're hungry. Then, and only then, will you feel and hear the full force of their love for you.

During the middle of the night, while you have no carpet on your stairs, you can listen with amusement to your cats running up and down them, making sure they sound like a herd of elephants.

Watch one of your cats sniggering at the other one when it's time to go to the v.e.t.'s. You'll think you're being very inventive as you try to entice her into the cat carrier, but you'll be surprised at how much more inventive your cat can be while dodging the cat carrier. You can also marvel at just how many claws your cat has and what she can dig them into.

Get yourself a tropical fish tank. Your cats will think you've bought them an interactive television.

When walking to the bathroom in the middle of the night, don't wear slippers. This allows you wake up properly after you get cat sick between your toes, which has been delicately left just outside your bedroom door.

Let your cat show you how intelligent she is when she hisses at a cat door stop.*

Get two cats as pets who really don't like each other. Your legs will be useful as somewhere to hide behind, ensuring they get swiped first.

On a sunny day, leave your back door open. Later, walk into your kitchen to unexpectedly find a dog in there. Observe your cats suddenly becoming temporary best friends, united in a common cause, although trying to outbest each other in the bogbrush tail display.

Let your cat welcome a visitor to your house. One of the ways she can do this is by suddenly jumping onto their shoulder. This will really endear your cat to your visitor, and will make sure future visits are always accompanied by the nervous question, "where's the cat?"

When you're laying on the sofa watching a film, your cat will help you realise how full your bladder is by kneading her paws on you. Then you can spend precious moments with her trying to unhook her claws from your clothes. She'll aid you in your desperate quest to get to the bathroom by letting you do this one claw at a time.


*To be fair, I didn't witness this; the cat concerned was being looked after by friends at the time, who found it amusing. As do I, although when thinking about it, I'm not totally surprised she did it, because to paraphrase AA Milne, she is a cat with very little brain.


Life here would certainly be very different without the cats, but I have to say it would definitely be duller. Quieter, but duller.

Mind Your Own Damn Business!

Or should it be 'Abandon All Hope Ye Who Enter Here'? Ah well, whatever.

I've found that since acquiring widow status, aspects of my life now seem to be up for discussion, with me, by people who I would class as acquaintances. People who are on the edges of my social circle and with whom I do not, and don't want to have deep and meaningful, personal conversations. I have family and close friends to do that with.

The main culprit is a retired widower, who feels particularly qualified to talk to me (or rather, at me) about 'moving on', because he knows exactly how I feel (er, no you don't, see 15 Things Not To Say point number 2) as he's been there, done it. 

I also get the impression that being female (i.e. weak and feeble), Widower thinks I have shut myself away and sit here weeping and wailing all day - well pal, I haven't and I don't and trust me, I use the term 'pal' very loosely. Also, just to clarify, there is no sign above my door that says 'Abandon Hope All Ye Who Enter Here'. I am however, considering a sign saying 'Sod Off!' for the door, to be used as and when necessary.

I've been given unwanted and unasked for advice on when and how I should sort through Significant Other's clothes, because "the best way is to sort through things like that is as soon as possible".  

Other topics recently have included sorting and clearing the contents of my garage and shed (which are mammoth tasks - another day, another post perhaps) and Significant Other's ashes. They should all have been dealt with by now, after all, it's been over a year since Significant Other died. Oh, how stupid of me, I hadn't realised there was a time limit.

Then it moves onto the biggie. As a weak and feeble female I shouldn't be on my own, I should now start a search for a new man.

As an aside, I firmly believe friendship and love are to be found when they're least expected and can be found in the most unexpected of places. I have a friend who was desperate, with a capital D, to find a life partner. He tried bars, clubs, online dating - you name it, he tried it with no success. What happened? He went shopping in a supermarket and met a lady with whom he is now very loved up. Not unusual enough? Try this. I know of a couple who met while they were both patients staying in hospital. They've been together for years now. So you see, don't go looking for it; when the time is right, friendship and love will find you.

Enough of that, back to my spleen venting.

I have been told the time is right to move on. 

I have been enlightened on the fact there is nobody decent to be found in a pub, or a club.

I have been warned online dating is a big no-no.

I have been informed the way forward is to look at personal adverts in the Telegraph because "you get a better class of person there, rather than one of the red-top newspapers".

I have been regaled with stories of who he met and how unsuitable they were for him (eh?). 

Guess what? Widower met a lady, who he now lives with (well, isn't she the lucky one...), not through a personal ad, but by pure chance at a golf club. See? It comes back to the point I made above.

But anyway...

Excuse Me? W...T...F...??

Why should I search for a man? Putting that to one side, the bigger question is, what business is it of his? I'm sitting here trying to coherently write my thoughts on this, but all I can think of are numerous expletives, varying from the mild to the outrageous, although truth be told I'm leaning heavily towards a stream of the downright offensive.

I will sort through the rest of Significant Other's clothes - a few months ago I went through them and took several bags to a charity shop. There are still some items to go through. The garage and shed have been started.

I almost scattered Significant Other's ashes a few weeks ago in Cornwall but it was too windy - I would have ended up wearing them. I had visions of being asked what I was covered in and replying, "my husband"! Cue horrified faces and much backing away. How to clear a bustling harbour in thirty seconds or less. Forgive my black humour.

When I am ready I will do what needs to be done. I have no intention of living in a time capsule, but I do not need to be told what to do, particularly by someone I don't know too well. I know myself and I know when the time is right for me to tackle things. Anybody who possesses more empathy than a toenail clipping would understand that. I will not be pushed into anything by anyone.

End of rant. Phew.

Jungle Drums

I went out for a few hours with Youngest Daughter and on our return found a card on the doormat, with my name on it, from a local florist stating they'd tried to deliver flowers, received no reply, so had left them with a neighbour. Two thoughts immediately went through my head:

1. Who the hell has sent me flowers? It's not my birthday or any other event
2. Oh shit, I have to talk and be polite to a neighbour

Let me explain something. We moved here ('here' being what's described as a large village) approximately four years ago. Our house is one of only a few in the road and with the exception of one neighbour across the way, the rest are, how can I put it, un-neighbourly. Extremely un-neighbourly in one case.

Were the flowers left with the one neighbour who's decent? Of course not. They were left with a neighbour who's very friendly with the Extremely Unpleasant Neighbour. Sigh.

So, taking a deep breath, off I trotted. As soon as I knocked on the door, their dog immediately went into one, attacking the side gate in it's attempt to get at me to savage my ankles, shoes, jeans or whatever it could get to (small dog, big chip on it's shoulder syndrome). The neighbour eventually opened the door - it took so long I started thinking 'they're my effing flowers and I'm not leaving til I get them'. She greeted me like I was popping in for coffee. Huh? This from a woman who totally blanks us if passing in the street. Whatever.

At this point I decided to have a tiny bit of fun. Seeing as there's only a few other houses, they're all aware of what happened to Significant Other and when. I'd spotted the card amongst the flowers and had a bet with myself that she'd looked to see what it said and find out who they were from. As she passed them to me, I told her I didn't have a clue who or why I'd been sent them and gosh, how exciting and intriguing it was. I thanked her for taking them in for me (see? I can do polite) and went back home.

Reading the card made me laugh. A lot. As soon as I read it I knew they were from Eldest Daughter who lives in Australia. However, all it said on the card was 'Love love love love xxxxx'.

That'll get the jungle drums a-beating the wrong rhythm!