family

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Keeping memories

Mum 20sWe moved my mum into her new sheltered accommodation last week.  It is a lovely modern studio flat, where she has her own kitchen and bathroom and a key to her own front door.  It is so much nicer than her long, dark, narrow, crabby old flat which she had been living in for the last 40 odd years.

The trouble with living somewhere for so long, is that, without even realising it, you accumulate lots of ‘stuff’. Ornaments, and tacky souvenirs that family members have brought back from holidays; photographs in broken frames; pictures; lots of tapestries that mum had done herself years ago; CDs and cassettes;  very old records; programmes from long-seen shows; and many, many, years worth of birthday cards (‘I can’t throw them away, they’re too nice’).  Of course, moving into a smaller flat meant that she couldn’t take much with her, not even all her furniture, and it’s been down to my sister and I to encourage, co-erce, and downright nag her into leaving much of it behind. Sadly, what seems to us to be old tat, was to her much-loved possessions that were proof of a full and long-lived life.

When I look around my own home, I can see that a lot of the things that I hold dear would, quite likely, seem like ‘old tat’ to others. But every piece has a memory attached.  Who bought it, why and when.  When I dust I caress each piece like a long lost friend, and every plant is loved and nurtured like a child.

Sitting here, I can look up and see photos of my children, a vase bought for me by my husband for one of our anniversaries, a moving fish that my daughter made in woodwork class years and years ago, the remains of a hookah pipe bought on our honeymoon in Turkey nearly 30 years ago, a slate rabbit from a mine in Wales, and a small wooden Buddha bought on our first trip to India. Now they nestle alongside some brass candlesticks rescued from my mum’s old flat.

I didn’t rescue much, just the candlesticks (which I remember sitting on the mantelpiece back when I was growing up), a couple of ornamental plates that we bought for her on trips to Turkey and Greece, a small wooden elephant, and some finger cymbals that I found in a box and had no idea she had. Heaven only knows where she got them, or why – perhaps a relic of a belly dancing phase of her life that none of us knew about?  Hehee..I’d like to think so!

Nan and Lil

My nan, mums friend, Mary, and my aunt Lil enjoying the sea

The only other thing that I took was an enormous suitcase full of old photographs.  There are lots of odd weddings with bride and grooms that I barely recognise, many of them now long dead. There are pictures of my grandmother as a young woman sitting alongside her mum who I never knew, or paddling in the sea in 1951 with her sister and a friend, all of them clutching their skirts above their knees to stop them getting wet.  Of course, there are also lots of pictures of my mum.

She’s there as a child with a big doll, and another very formal shot where she’s posing in a Mum dancingballet position aged about nine.  She’s there looking cheeky with her boyish brothers, and again as a young woman in a smart dark skirt and white blouse, smiling brightly, and it makes me wonder what the occasion was, maybe she was starting a new job?

She is there as a bride, marrying my father, with evidently, and mercifully, no clue as to the bitterness he would eventually bring her.  There are pictures of her at office parties, and on holidays with people I don’t recognise. All these pictures together add up as a testament to her life as a beautiful and vibrant woman.

Now, at 92, she retains her beauty, but some of that vibrancy is lost.  Old age is a dreadful thing, and something we all face, its limitations are both bewildering and frustrating, and ill health and aching joints can make you irritable.  When we meet older people who are suffering these difficulties, it’s easy to forget that they have led these amazing full lives, had jobs, children, experiences, hobbies, interests, just like we are having now.

If like my mum, you have to give up the home that you have created over the years, albeit no longer suitable, or desirable, or that others may be less than impressed with, it is a wrench.  A big wrench. And whilst it’s lovely to see her settling into her clean and tidy new home, and enjoying the company, we mustn’t forget that.

Unfortunately, once we had taken what she needed we had to have the flat cleared. The house clearance chappy told us it would all just go to the dump – the furniture; cookware; washing machine; ornaments; records……and all the other bits and pieces – just disposed of without ceremony. ‘No-one wants this sort of stuff now, you can’t give it away’ he told us, and I’m sure he’s right.  Still seems criminal though.

After this experience, I’ve promised myself I’ll reassess my own home.  Clear out all the stuff that I’ve collected in cupboards and kept in the loft. I don’t want my children to have to face clearing it out and having to live with the guilt of throwing away all those memories, no matter how sentimental and tatty they think they are.

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New Horizons

In response to this weeks photo challenge ‘New’.

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This is a photo of my beautiful mum that I took a couple of days ago, over the Christmas break. Ok, she’s not exactly ‘New’, in fact, (I’m sure she won’t mind me telling you), she’s in her 90’s.  However, she is off on a new adventure.

She’s lived in the same town all of her life, and been in the same flat for about 40 years. She’s been happy and comfortable there, but now she has come round to the idea that it might be nice to have a bit more support and company, and we’re in the process of helping her find some sheltered accommodation.  Somewhere that she can still be fairly independent, and have her own front door, but where she can have a little bit more help when she needs it.  Also, somewhere a bit closer to family – she will still be a couple of hundred miles away from me, but nearer my sister and her family, so for the first time in her life, it’ll be a move away from her home town.   She’s both excited and a bit nervous – as you should be with all new adventures in my opinion! It’s a big leap of faith and we’ve all got our fingers crossed that it’s a good one.

Of course, she’s only willing to go if they have broadband so she can still use her ipad!

I’m very proud of her for facing change so stoically. I hope I never get too old for new challenges either!

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Pieing Solo

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Christmas eve eve and I’ve been baking mince pies.  It’s strange baking christmassy goodies on my own. Up until now my daughters have made the mince pies.  It’s been their thing for years. Initially, when they were small, they played with the pastry by my side, stuck their little fingers in the filling, and basically got flour everywhere. As they got older they started seriously helping out. Cutting the pastry circles and spooning the filling in carefully so as not to get burnt bits stuck on the outside of the tin.  They cut out holly leaves, and santa faces (sort of – they have never quite mastered them!) as decoration, and eventually were able to make them way better than me.

It’s been one of those little Christmas traditions. For the past few years as soon as they both arrived home for the holiday, however late in the day it was, and having not seen each other for months, they’d be out in the kitchen giggling together over the mince pie making, while I sat with my feet up for a bit. Of course, they still ended up covering themselves and the kitchen in flour.

So I was feeling a bit wistful this afternoon, all on my own having to make my own mince pies!

Families build their own traditions around Christmas almost without realising. I’m sure I have carried some from my childhood with me, and so has my husband, and blended together they have made our own Christmas’s special, albeit predictable: Watching Carols from Kings on Christmas Eve, opening presents in the morning while it’s still dark outside, Mince pies and Bucks Fizz for breakfast, Christmas music blaring out all morning, and of course crackers, turkey and trimmings, lighting brandy on the Christmas pud, a nap after lunch, Dr Who and Strictly on the TV, then board games until two in the morning or thereabouts.

This year, the girls won’t be home.  Both working.  So for the first time, as far as we can remember (we traipsed between parents before we had kids), my husband and I will spend Christmas day on our own. I am kinda looking forward to a slobby day, might even be a pj day, but goodness me will I miss my girls.  They are coming home the first weekend in January though, so don’t have to wait too long, and we’re having a proper Christmas then.  Turkey, presents, mince pies…

Wishing all my friends in this lovely blogsphere a wonderful and peaceful Christmas full of surprises and laughter. xx

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Ghostly goings on?

DSC_0398I’ve just finished watching a mini-series on the BBC called Remember Me, which was a good old-fashioned ghost story.  It was supposed to be spooky.  It had the lot.  A rocking chair rocking on its own, doors slamming, unexplained phenomena, not to mention weird music and bangs to make you jump. It didn’t scare me though, I don’t believe in ghosts.

Nonetheless, perhaps Christmas is a time when we think about them whether we believe in them or not. Well, we all know about Scrooge and his ghosts of Christmas past, present and future.  Certainly we think about loved ones that we’ve lost over the years.  We might hear the echo of their laughter over the turkey, or their voice singing Christmassy tunes.

Whilst nothing has yet has convinced me that spirits walk the earth rattling chains, with their head under their arms, or that they are vaguely wafting about waiting to give us a fright, I have had one or two odd experiences that other, more open minded sorts, might put down to ghostly goings on.

In particular two incidents stand out as being just so real both at the time, and even in retrospect, that I am left with the feeling that, though completely explainable, these things were out of the ordinary.

The first time was when I was in Florida.

My father-in-law was a wonderful man, kind and jovial. Sadly he died aged just 64 from Mesothelioma, an asbestos related lung cancer.  Before he died, and unbeknownst to us, he left instructions and enough money to make sure that we took our daughters to Disneyland and had a fabulous time.  At the time we were scrimping and scraping our way through life, so this gift was unimaginably generous, and we were all extremely excited.

We spent our first week enjoying the delights of Disney, and the second at St Pete’s beach, which was equally wonderful in its own way.  While we were there, I was woken in the middle of the night by the phone ringing.  The girls were asleep in the bed next to us, so I quickly jumped up and sat on the edge of the bed to answer it before it woke them too. I remember the conversation exactly:

‘Kaye?’

‘Yes, who’s that?’

‘Gordon’

‘But you’re dead’ (I know, I was a bit blunt..it was the middle of the night)

‘Don’t you worry about that. I just wanted to know if you’re enjoying yourself?’

‘Yes, yes, its fabulous and thank you so much, but…how are you ringing me, you’re dead’ (I know, rubbing it in)

‘Don’t worry about it, as long as you’re all having a good time. Are the girls ok’

‘Yes, they’re fine.  How are you ringing me??’

That was it.  I got no more, just the dialling tone. I put the phone back on the hook, lay back down and went back to sleep. When I woke up, momentarily, I believed it was real, but of course, it had been one of those really vivid dreams.  I had wanted so much to tell him just how grateful I was that, without realising, I’d wished myself into dreaming of that contact.

The second time was when I was in a car crash.  I was waiting to turn right into the road where we live.  It was Friday evening and I’d dropped the kids off at St John’s (they were members from the age of six until their teens), so I was, fortunately, on my own.  I was minding my own business, waiting for a gap in the stream of traffic heading towards me on the other side of the road, when there was an enormous thump.  A car, travelling at speed had hit me in the back and sent me careering across the road into the oncoming traffic.  I can vividly remember my confusion. I had no idea what had happened, just knew the car was moving without my having done anything.

Now it can only have been a split second, but as others will testify, time slows down, we go into slow-mo when something like that happens, and in that split second I quite clearly heard a voice. It sounded like my nan.  She shouted at me

‘Kaye you have to steer….and brake..NOW.’

It woke me up from the shock and I managed to safely bring the car to a halt.  As I say, a split second and I’m pretty sure it was my subconscious initialising a safety procedure.  The car was a write-off, but apart from a bit of whiplash and shock I was fine, and I’m sure it was just the shock that left me with that slightly odd feeling.

Of course many people believe our spirits live on and equally as many have a belief in reincarnation. Again, I’m afraid it sounds far-fetched to me. But I can concede that often children seem wiser than their years, or people have skills they appear to have been born with. They have vocations or yearnings that would appear to have come from nowhere and I’ll be open with you here.

For many years, I have longed to visit Japan.  I have a fascination for all things Japanese. Unusually for a Westerner, I can listen to, and get lost in, Koto music for as long as you like.  I dream of mountains, and gardens, and cherry blossom.  So much so, that in fact, I’ve often said that I must have been Japanese in a past life.  But it is said facetiously.  I don’t really believe it.

Or do I?

Let me know if you’ve had any weird experiences like this. I’d like to think it’s not just me!

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Double Trouble

Part of the Photo 101 challenge – Today’s theme ‘Double’

Oh now come on, you didn’t really think I’d waste this opportunity to share a picture of my girls when they were small did you? Lots and lots of old photos to choose from, but this one always makes me smile! I think they were about two when this was taken. I don’t think their clothes stayed this clean and tidy for long!

I have had to clean it up quite a bit (there are piles of toys on the floor in the original!), so practicing my skills in that way instead today.

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Treasure fingers

Taken as part of the photo 101 challenge – Today’s theme ‘Treasure’

You must have realised by now that I’m a sentimental old fool, so today I’ve been on a steep learning curve trying to take a timed portrait of my own treasures – That is, my wedding ring, and my grandmother’s engagement ring, both of which I wear everyday.

My nan’s engagement ring must be over 100 years old by now and I have worn it on the ring finger of my right hand since her death in 1973.  I have not taken my wedding ring off since my marriage nearly 29 years ago. Together, they represent the real treasure which is my family.

When I started, I had no idea how difficult it would be to capture a decent shot of the rings. I didn’t realise quite how creepy my hands would look in close up, or how sausagy my fingers would appear. They’re not good models it seems, either posing all stiffly corpse-like, looking all wrinkly and mottled, or moving involuntarily just as the shutter went.  eeewww….and the veins….! Anyhoo…thank goodness today it’s all about the rings.

By the way, I should mention I have some other gorgeous rings bought for me by my husband over the years (don’t want you to think he’s a cheapskate), that I also wear everyday. But those don’t hold quite the same sentimental value as these two. They may not be worth as much, but to me they are priceless.

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When death do us part

If I go first
don’t weep and reel
or let sorrow fill you.
Keep your tears.
But,
place my picture on the mantel,
remember summers in the sun,
and smile.
Though I won’t see it
it’s comforting to me now
to know you’ll remember me
with joy.

If you go first
I will not cry.
I’ll be dry and dusty.
Empty,
like a forgotten room
in winter.
I’ll keep your photograph
on the pillow
where your sleeping head should be,
and dream of when
we were young and smooth
and love was all we knew.

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Connection lines

Taken as part of the Photo101 challenge – today’s theme ‘Connection’

These are some hand prints my husband, myself and my twin daughters did nearly fourteen years ago.  We had great, messy fun producing them, and at the time, made a conscious decision that we should each make our hands into a different pattern, as well as using a different colour.  Thus, they are different and yet the same – much like us as individuals.They have been gracing my walls ever since.

Underneath I have pinned the scroll of my extended family tree which goes back over 200 years. There are many that are long since dead, and even some more recent relatives that I have never known.  Nevertheless, we are still connected by a blood line, and keeping a record of their names means that their connection to us will continue to be remembered by future generations.

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It’s Magic

In response to the writing 101 challenge to write a longform piece about ‘your most treasured possession’.

I used to think that the first thing I would rescue, if there was a fire in the house, would be photographs.  They are irreplaceable reminders of the good times.  Weddings, births, holidays, Christmas’s, days out.  The past is all there, carefully arranged in photo albums, or stored higgledy piggledy in dusty shoeboxes.  Now, however, I’ve scanned the best of the older ones, and all the more recent ones are digital anyway, so they are all safely waiting on the cloud ready for me to look at whenever, and wherever I please.

So I had to think hard about what my most treasured possession is now.  At one time it might have been some jewellery that had belonged to my nan.  I wore the necklace on my wedding day.  It was just costume jewellery, not even gold, but it was a row of mother of pearl circles that she wore often, and when I looked at it I was reminded of cuddles and lavender smells.  That’s gone now though. Stolen the first time we were burgled, along with every other piece of jewellery I possessed at the time.

Not only did they take my stuff, but they ransacked the kids rooms and took all the plastic, and even homemade, bits and pieces that they had collected, every bit of electrical equipment (even the phone – no mobiles at the time so I couldn’t ring the police even). I was devastated, and the sense of injustice remains.  I’ve also been left with a feeling of insecurity in my own home which will never go away, or even recede, despite all the double locks and alarms in the world.  Thanks for that burglers.

However, I do have something to thank the miserable toadys for. I no longer invest such emotional attachment to things. I have realised that life goes on even if you’re favourite trinket goes missing. Despite my insecurities, my fear these days is not of losing goods and chattels, but of the house being trashed, or being bopped over the head, or the dog’s (and the fishes – please don’t wee in the pond) wellbeing.  Whilst I don’t want them to pinch my stuff, after all, we’ve worked hard for that and those lowlifes don’t deserve it, it really is all about my family’s personal safety these days.

My love of technology is well documented.  I am gadget woman.  Many years ago now, my husband bought me an ipod for Christmas.  I cried with excitement and joy.  Likewise, when my company presented me with my first iphone, I got embarrassingly over-excited and yes, a bit blubbery. I am one of those saddos that likes shiny new toys.  I know, it’s undignified, what can I say?

I was the first amongst my friends and family to own a tablet (Ipad of course! p.s. Dear Apple, do I get a free upgrade for the advertising??).  Again, it was my husband who forked out for it as a Christmas present.  I had to order it myself though because he is a technophobe.  Hates it all.  Mind you, he’s a bit better now and I think secretly enjoys using his ipad (course I eventually bought him one – gave me something new to play with).  When I ordered mine the Apple store was offering free engraving so I chose for him to write something gooey and lovey dovey on the back as well as ‘Christmas 2011’.

You’d think from all this I would be about to say ‘my most treasured possession is my ipad’.  Well, those that know me might very well think that is the case. My ipad and my phone go everywhere with me.  I’ve often tried to explain to unbelievers why I love it so much

‘What do you use it for’ they ask

And I set off on a list as long as your arm; l listen to music; I keep up to date with the news; I look at the weather forecast; I play games; I use online banking; I keep in touch with my friends and family; I read books and blogs;  I shop; It’s a dictionary and theasaurus; a compass; it tells me about the traffic when I’m travelling; I can visit other places using google earth; there’s a map of the stars; a calculator; my address book; my calendar; a camera; my photos…. Well that’s for starters, you get the picture, and I always forget something or other anyway.

‘it would drive me mad, all that stuff’ they say

‘Ah, but that’s the beauty of it, you can use it how you want to. You can download the apps that you want.  You don’t need all that stuff.’ Let’s face it, nobody needs Candy Crush Saga or Bejewelled Blitz.  And though it pains me to say it, I suppose nobody really actually needs Facebook.

So you see, my ipad is a treasured possession. But when I think about it, it’s not my most treasured possession.

Now, you might be thinking it’s my family.  But then you can’t call them possessions.

‘I have daughters’ doesn’t mean they belong to me. They are their own people. Even as children we shouldn’t view them as belongings, though undoubtedly some people do.  For instance, I had a colleague who told me that if she wanted anything in the evenings, a glass of wine, a sandwich etc, she always made her son get it for her rather than hauling herself from the sofa to go to the kitchen. She argued that she provided for him so the least he could do was to wait on her hand and foot, slavelike. It was not a happy relationship though, and quite rightly in my opinion, he rebelled.

Without a doubt, my children are the most treasured people in my life.  I am tempted to write something gooey about the happiness they bring me. How I would be nothing without them in my life, but I’ll spare you, and them.  Suffice it to say, even though they now live great distances from me they continue to make me smile every single time I think of them (unless I’m going through a worrying about them patch, in which case I get wrinkles in my forehead) and that is practically all the time.

I should of course mention my husband.  Can’t leave him out.  He is there, walking beside me, encouraging me, making me snort with laughter, making me cross occasionally, making me delicious food, making my world better.  Where would I be without him?

It is he who has encouraged me to write.  Pushes me in fact. Tells me when it’s good and when it’s a bit pants.  Tells me when it gets just a bit too ‘dark’ as it, bafflingly, so often does.  Tells me how proud he is that I’m putting it ‘out there’.

And now we come to the crux:  Out there.  The Internet. The World Wide Web.  The Cloud.

This is what I couldn’t do without. Having that connection is something I truly treasure.

You see, the internet was born quite late in my life, so I do remember the world without it. I remember life before Windows. I remember my first ever email. The beep beep beep of the dial up connection and frustration when you couldn’t get through. I can remember life before Google and Amazon, and Ebay, and Paypal.  Makes me feel old. (note to self…you are!)

What I mean is, I really appreciate it. The connectivity of it. I can manage without my ipad, or iphone, or laptop. There are always others. Upgrades even. New ones to buy or borrow. They would be nothing without the connectivity though. I know how I feel when we have a power cut (all too often) and there’s no wifi for a couple of hours.  It’s like my arm has been cut off.

Twenty one years ago we moved North, away from my family, and since my daughters left home, my husband and I are alone, apart from friends, in this neck of the woods.  The internet provides a means of keeping in touch that no postal or telephone system could.  Communication is instantaneous.  Now, I am even able to facetime with my mother, who at 92 is using her ipad to email and text, play soduku and word games, and play solitaire.  She lives alone and it has been a revelation to her. Given her a new lease of life (apart from when it goes pear shaped sometimes which knocks another couple of days off her I think!).  Facetimes with her are hilarious too. She keeps forgetting to hold the ipad up, so most of the time I can only see the top of her head, but it gives us both something to chuckle over.

Without the Internet I would never have been brave enough to try and publish anything. Now though, thanks to WordPress and PoetrySoup, my writing is reaching far corners of the world. Something I could never have envisaged when I started writing stories years ago.

I’m more intelligent too…well, appear more intelligent.  I see news as it happens. I feel well informed about current events, and can read opinions from all sides thanks to the likes of Twitter.  I read more because books are cheaper, free even, and appear on my devices instantly (yes, of course I’ve got a kindle). It’s modern day magic.

Yes, sad but true, this is the thing I’d be lost without. The ability to reach my family, friends and the rest of the big wide world from the sofa, and to see and share my documents, photos and projects wherever I might be.

So thank you all you clever people out there who know how it works.  I don’t need to know.  I am just a grateful user.

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Tell Father Christmas not to bother

October, and already the shops are filling with Christmas ‘cheer’.  For the first time this year though, for us, Christmas is cancelled.

Now, I’ve often thought about cancelling it before. For a start, there’s the hassle of Christmas shopping.  Fighting through hoards of harassed people to find gifts that you know will be gratefully received, but will probably be stuck at the back of the recipients cupboard for all eternity. The queuing to pay, only to eventually be served by thoroughly cheesed off staff who have had their brains fried by the constant loop of ‘Jingle Bells’, and ‘Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas’. Frankly, you’ve only been in the shop for ten minutes and you would willing smash the damn tannoy yourself.

Then there’s the long heated discussions about who is going where, and when.  Which mum is coming to us this year? When are we going to see brothers/ sisters/nieces/nephews… ?? Are they coming to us or should we go to them?  Who’s staying over? Will they want lunch the next day as well??

Once decided, there is the happy task of food/drink shopping.  You park in the one spot left in the supermarket car park. The little one.  Next to the bollard that you scrape as you pull in.

You get a trolley with wonky wheels that insist on going in the opposite direction that you want to, which makes you swear loudly, turning heads and forcing mothers to cover their children’s ears. The supermarket is packed with people all standing chatting in front of the aisles that you want to go down. The shop has run out of just about everything you’d planned to buy, and you know you’ll have to repeat the visit again before the big day. Yet still you end up paying over a hundred quid and having a trolley load big enough to feed an army, and somehow you’re going to have to find room for it all in the cupboards when you get home.

You’ll guess I’ve never been a big fan of the run-up, but I do love Christmas eve, when the wrapping is finished, the turkey is ready for popping in the oven the next day, and we sit down to watch ‘Carols from Kings’ with a glass of sherry.

I love the morning itself often dragging everyone else out of bed early.  Even when my daughters were young, they were never ones for getting up at the crack of dawn it was always me waking them

‘lets go and see if Father Christmas has been!’

He always had.

The smell of Christmas dinner cooking while we ate mince pies and drank Bucks Fizz. Playing with the daft games.  Eating chocolates.  Lighting the Christmas pudding with Brandy.  Falling asleep in the afternoon.  Eating some more.  Drinking some more. Playing raucous board games ‘til two in the morning.

Yes, overall, I pretty much enjoy the actual event.

But as I said, this year, for the very first time, Christmas is cancelled.

Our doctor daughters have so far been lucky with their shifts and have always managed to come home for Christmas.  This year though, it’s their turn to work, one has to do a long shift on Christmas day and the other on Boxing day (though they live and work at opposite ends of the country – just an unfortunate coincidence!).  So me and my husband will be on our own.  For one reason or another, we won’t be seeing any other family either.  It will be very weird.

Of course, we’ll try and get together at some time, either before or after the ‘big day’, and I’m determined that ‘our christmas’ will be exactly the same as everyone else’s whether it fall on the  1st December or the 1st January.   I’ll still have to do the shopping and the wrapping. We’ll still have the tree, and the presents and the turkey, and it will still be brilliant.  And I keep telling myself it won’t matter when we do it, as long as we’re all together at some point.

But secretly, whilst being really, really proud of my hardworking daughters, I’m still very sad that I’m having to write to Father Christmas and tell him not to bother to come on the 24th!

Written as part of the Writing 101 challenge – ‘think about an event you have attended and loved and you’re told it will be cancelled – your voice will find you’.