Some people change jobs, spouses, and friends,
but never think of changing themselves.
~ Paula Giddings
Some people change jobs, spouses, and friends,
but never think of changing themselves.
~ Paula Giddings
Was it a daymare, or did Morgan really ask me that question? She was sitting alone, spreading butter over a sliced bagel. Unfortunately, Lovell’s excitement the other evening led to one of her now infrequent episodes. This time requiring hospitalisation. Three days and nights Alice had spent by the bedside, it was only when Lovell was in a steady induced sleep, she allowed herself to walk to the cafeteria.
Suddenly, aware of a shadow across the table, she was back in reality. She pulled herself upright from her chair and stood unsteadily. Her almost empty coffee cup spilled, but she did not notice. Blood drained from her face and she began to shake…
Morgan moved silently and put his strong arm around her to steady her. He whispered quietly as he guided her slowly out of the room. They found a quiet corner and Alice brought him up to date on Lovell’s condition.
“There is talk now of surgery… pressure on the brain….. they need to remove….” The words came in short bursts and she battled to hold in the tears.
“You need a break, and to sleep properly. Let me take you home while Lovell is sleeping, I’ll come back and stay until we know what is happening, The workmen have all gone for the weekend, so the place will be quiet. Mr Yates, said he will look in later today and again tomorrow to check the house. Come on, we will go back to the room and gather your things. The staff will not mind, you do not need to become ill on them, do you? Anyway they have all our numbers, if there is any change.”
The ward sister saw them coming and walked to meet them.
“I hope Mr Troy has come to take you home, Mrs Slythe. You are exhausted and need proper rest otherwise you will become ill and be of no use to yourself, never mind any one else. Lovell is sleeping and we want to keep her so until the Morning. Nothing will happen until the Consultant arrives tomorrow. Mr Troy, I think that you should stay home and rest too. We have your numbers and promise to contact you if there is any change.”
They agreed and went in to collect the few belongings and check one more time on the sleeping Lovell. The lights were low and the room was quiet but for the gentle whirr and bleeping of the monitors. Morgan took Alice’s hand and soundlessly walked her out of the room.
They were in the car before Alice broke the silence.
“Oh Morgan, she is in a bad way, they mentioned Rasmussen’s encephalitis and MST. Multiple sub…. Multiple subpial transaction, I think that was what they said and there are risks. Risks like infection, bleeding, or an allergic reaction to anaesthesia.
The surgery may make things worse, or may create new neurological problems.”
“Alice, chronic skepticaemia helps nobody, in fact it is more trouble than a speck of salt in a pepper jar. Three nights ago, you thought Lovell would not see morning. She did. She is still with us and well settled for tonight. You saw yourself, the staff are doing all they can for her. Let us take one day at a time. Little steps. Please. For what it’s worth, I’m not going anywhere, you have me to share this with. And for the moment, that’s gonna have to be enough for both of us. Okay?”
With that he turned the key in the ignition and headed for home. Traffic was light, and he left Alice to relax with her own thoughts. It seemed no time until they were turning into the driveway to Hour House. Morgan drew the car to a gentle stop outside the green door. Moving briskly, he opened the passenger door for Alice, and led her into the house.
“You go up and run a bath, I’ll bring in your things from the car and then make a start on a meal for us.”
Alice managed a smile of thanks, she had no energy left to even talk.
I suggest you get into your bed after the bath and when you are ready, I’ll bring up our food on a tray. I need to make sure you stay awake long enough to eat my efforts. Then if you are a good girl, I’ll read you a story and lull you to sleep.” He said with a wink, giving her a gentle push towards the stairs.
“Mind you, my dear, if that does not work, I might be forced to sing!” He reached the door to the kitchen before he finished the sentence.
Once Alice was fed, comfortable and settled for sleep, Morgan crossed the room carrying the tray, he closed the door and headed down the stairs to the kitchen. “Foibles, smoilbels and toy bells, I need a walk”, he thought as he tidied the kitchen.
Puttin on a ganzee, he pushed his phone deep onto his pocket, and headed outdoors for a walk in the grounds. The air was crisper now, it reminded him of a day when he drove Alice here with the car full of tea chests. The idea was to spend a week sorting & clearing years of dust and rubbish before selling the house… How things had changed!
How his own life had changed… “I wonder what Rowland Troy would think of his son, if he were alive to see me now?” he muttered to himself.
He let his thoughts drift back to the early days when a very young Morgan spent many hours in the workshop with his father and Sidney. Over in his own corner, tapping away or oiling his first tricycle, then came a two wheeler and eventually the gold star moment when given his own engine to work on. It may well have been oddments from an old retired engine, but it was His Very Own! He was imitating the actions of the men across the garage, who were the light of his life back then.
There were memories from those days and years that he had not yet shared with Alice, but the day would come, and he would tell her about his mother and how she broke two hearts. Two hearts that Sidney Slythe helped heal, with each tap of a hammer, drop of oil from a can or wipe of a spark plug.
Rowland had married his schoolgirl sweet heart. They were both to young and in love, more with the idea of being in love, than thoughts of the reality of daily living, A house, with the daily chores in running it, and soon enough a child to care for. Morgan may have lost his mother, but he gained a second father and between Sidney and Rowland, they prepared him well for life. When he needed a part for his engine, he had to ‘work to earn it’. They gave him a job to do, they paid him cash, which he had to enter in his ledger – read a notebook. He had to enter the job he did and how much he was paid, then on the opposite page, how much he paid them for the item ne needed. Maybe that training, led him down the road to accountancy.
There had been a dinner date or two, but perhaps losing his mother as he did, led him to build a barrier against further heartbreak. He never set out to win Alice’s heart, his aim was to aid with her healing process, just as Sidney did for him and his father. Slowly, very things changed, they learned to trust and be comfortable with other and now? Will they actually tie that knot?
“Lovell my dear, it is up to you. Please, please, please, heal and respond quickly to all the medical ministering. We need to go looking for that dress!
( All previous parts can be found in the Header page of the same title)
A man and woman were married for many years.
Whenever there was a confrontation, yelling could be heard deep into the night. The old man would shout, “When I die, I will dig my way up and out of the grave and come back and haunt you for the rest of your life!”
Neighbours feared him. The old man liked the fact that he was feared. Then one evening, he died when he was 98.
After the burial, her neighbours, concerned for her safety, asked, “Aren’t you afraid that he may indeed be able to dig his way out of the grave and haunt you for the rest of your life?”
The wife said, ” Let him dig. I had him buried upside down…and I know damned well he won’t ask for directions.
Thank you, Nancy L for this weeks special.
I stole something from the internet. Well it was facebook actually. I am not frightened to tell you and I will not beg forgiveness either. You see I feel entitled to take what I did. I kinda own it in a roundabout way.
When you nurture, feed and watch something or someone grow, then it belongs to you for life. Right?
What did I steal? I hear you ask.
The answer is simple. It was a photo. A nice photo of someone I love.
My Elly tries to convince me that she works really hard. Head down from the minute she goes into the office until way after she comes home. I nearly believe her!
One day a week or so ago, there were visitors to her place of work and my Elly being my Elly, was right there where it happened. The six Nations Rugby Cup, no doubt accompanied by some brawny players came to visit.
Elly with RBS 6 Nations Cup
As a young lady who played rugby while studying in France at University, she not only played on a ladies team, but on one occasion, played on an all male team against an all male team. So I suppose you cannot fault her for taking the opportunity to hold that cup in her sweet little hands.
It is a lovely photo of her and I have added it to my desktop, so when I open up the laptop in the morning she is smiling at me (just like she did as a little girl) and the last thing I see before shutting down for the night is Elly.
It brings her closer to me, but as I head south today I will see her for a real hug sometime in the next few days. I wonder if Buffy knows I will be around at some stage during the week.
Yesterday I arrived to a rapturous welcome from Buffy, my visit was short, I had places to go and people to see, with plenty of hugs, paw shakes and attempts to lick my face…
Thank you Elly & Brogen for calling in, Real hugs are way better than any photo!
Now for breakfast and a little planning to see what mischief we can get up to today.
Blogging & blog visiting might be light for a few days.
How old would you be if you didn’t know how old you were?
~ Satchel Paige
Me? I would be young enough to skip through the daisies!
From Mrs Beeton’s Cookery and Household Management 1981 edition….
We are told on the flyleaf that it is ‘A totally revised, metricated and updated to bring it into line with the very latest developments in the cookery and Household management world’. How things have changed in the kitchen during the last thirty three years, never mind the one hundred and fifty three years since Isabella put her quill to parchment!
While searching for something else this morning I came across this entry in the household management section:
This means the cessation of the monthly periods, which normally happens any time between forty and fifty-five. Many women are frightened of the ‘change of life’, but there is no necessary reason why trouble should arise. If you are worried, go and talk to your doctor. You can be sure that the disturbances, which include hot flushes, insomnia, joint pains, increase in weight, and the general irritability, will pass: but in a number of cases the emotional upset is made worse by domestic strain or by loneliness. By the time of the menopause, children are likely to be leaving home and husbands are often absorbed to an increasing degree by the responsibilities of their occupation. In such circumstances it is sensible to try to find a new interest in life, or to resurrect an old one. Although hot flushes are unpleasant they go unnoticed by other people, and there is no reason to worry about how you look in company. As for sexual activity, the menopause need make no difference, except, obviously, that there is no longer the possibility of pregnancy.
There you go… ONE paragraph and it is all done and dusted! I actually wonder, how much of the above appeared when the good lady first published her Book of Household Management in 1861? I know it proved incorrect in relation to the ‘change of life’ in my case, but then I always claimed that I did not have a text book body.
The Book of Household Management (1861), comprising information for the Mistress, Housekeeper, Cook, Kitchen-Maid, Butler, Footman, Coachman, Valet, Upper and Under House-Maids, Lady’s-Maid, Maid-of-all-Work, Laundry-Maid, Nurse and Nurse-Maid, Monthly Wet and Sick Nurses, etc. etc.—also Sanitary, Medical, & Legal Memoranda: with a History of the Origin, Properties, and Uses of all Things Connected with Home Life and Comfort. – Wikipedia
I think we should leave dear Isabella to her rest these days and discover more practical and up to date information and advice from a new book about to be published in September.
Letters for my Little Sister – A Fellowship Book by – Cecilia Gunther
If the group name for zebras is a dazzle, let me see what I can do to dazzle you with the group names of the animals who are regularly roaming the 5***** farmy hotel at THEKITCHENSGARDEN.
The grist of our swarm, flock to peep over the five bar gate each day, braceing ourselves for the news of brooding hens, silent sheep, droving pigs (believe me, they go for a walk twice a day!), pouncing dogs, strutting peacocks and pea hens or visiting children clutching eggs laid by plump hens.
Drooling for a knob of fresh butter, cheese or yoghurt while waiting for the bread to rise to accompany the glories of the vegetable patch for supper each day all washed down by the home-made wine. We clutter and clowder for big servings of chowder, trying not to be a nuisance as we watch with Ton-ton and Boo, the dogs, as Daisy or Queenie provide milk for the tea, the churn and the animals.
Good Queen Celi rules over her clutch of chickens, kine of cows, kennel of dogs, muster of peacocks and peahens, flock of sheep, and pigs led by Shiela, always watchful for the odd snake in the grass.
When most of us are ready to collapse at the thought of all that work, Celi finds time to bottle and freeze food for the winter, make candles and soap, before sitting to document her day with photographs from the previous twenty four hours, on her blog for the fellowship of the farmy.
A few months ago she threw us a line. An idea. A suggestion for a book.
Letters for my Little Sister began as a real letter, that Cecilia Gunther was writing to her little sister. Their mother died when they were young, so they grew up with no one to lead them through the hurdles of life or to give them any very personal advice.
Celi was trying to help her sister navigate the journey of aging and menopause. She felt there were others out there in the farmy fellowship who daily offered support or advice, and since they came from all ages & corners of the globe, they would have a wide perspective from dealing with mothers, aunts, sisters and daughters, never mind their own experiences of the dreaded word ‘menopause’.
So a book was born sixty eight
brave men and true women stepped up to the plate to share their experiences. The book includes essays, letters and poems all written to share this common experience that effects no two women the same way.
Coming soon, from Sable Books, and Pre-orders are available.
A husband and wife went to counselling after 15 years of marriage. When asked what the problem was, the wife went into a passionate, painful tirade listing every problem they had ever had in the 15 years they had been married.
She went on and on and on: neglect, lack of intimacy, emptiness, loneliness, feeling unloved and unlovable, an entire laundry list of un-met needs she had endured over the course of their marriage.
Finally, after allowing this to go on for a sufficient length of time, the therapist got up, walked around the desk and, after asking the wife to stand, embraced and kissed her passionately. The woman shut up and quietly sat down as though in a daze.
The therapist turned to the husband and said, “This is what your wife needs at least three times a week. Can you do this?”
The husband thought for a moment and replied….
“Well, I can drop her off here on Mondays and Wednesdays, but on Fridays, I fish.”
This week we have the old spade Frank to thank for our Thursday Special.
Growing up,I always thought that the colour puce was a yucky member of the green family shade card. Think mushy peas.
I would never wear a ‘mushy pea’ outfit no matter how carefully tailored or expensive, next my pale skin covered in freckles and topped with a crown of rich auburn tresses. Just thinking about it, is enough to bring on morning sickness…. Even at my age!
Then I discovered that Puce is a brownish purple or a dark reddish brown. I did have an outfit a few years ago that answered that description, I loved and wore it into the ground, as they say – who ever ‘they’ are. Nobody ever admired it, but they always told me how well I looked, when I was wearing it.
Years ago, I learned that if the first thing people notice are ‘your eyes’, then you are wearing the correct colour.
Then I learned that Puce is the French word for flea. It is said to be the colour of the bloodstains remaining on linen or bed sheets, even after being laundered, from a flea’s droppings or after a flea has been crushed. I don’t really want to think of that. According to the Oxford Dictionary of English Etymology, the first French use of puce as a colour name, meaning “flea-colour,” dates to the 17th century.
I would still go for clothes in brownish purple, but I think I would invent a new colour name first!
A very short season, giving Cecilia a reason to share her wonderful philosophy on life, with a magical turn of phrase over at THEKITCHENSGARDEN!
Yesterday the air felt dense. Not hot and not cold, just full and thick. The clouds stayed low, heavy, old, bosomy. Like flat pillows. There was no wind and little sound…………
No matter how deep life throws her, she rises to the surface and swims above the storms on a cloud of positivity. Now, click on the link above, over you go and enjoy the experience!
Giving up doesn’t always mean you’re weak or wrong in any way,
sometimes it simply means you’re strong enough and smart enough
to let go and move forward with your life.
~ author unknown