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Reflections 2019 w37

Ahh, a day late. To be honest I fell asleep.

We are on the last bits of clearing Uncle Joe’s house, well I say last bits, I kinda added some work to the list by going over his garden and giving it a tidy and the grass a mow. It did not feel right to leave it in an unkept state, I never saw it that way when he was alive, and I wanted the garden area to be playable straight away if children moved in.

Tomorrow should be the last day at the house, and to be honest I am not looking forward to leaving it for the last time, empty and partially gutted. I now only hope that an item or two is accepted at my local museum. I spent many an hour at that place as a child, fascinated at the “modern” items they have on display. I think it would be nice if a piece of my uncle and aunts life got to do the same for other children.

Maybe my son and nephew can play spot the item on future visits.

At least his galvanised watering can that I am turning into a planter, with his fuchsia coming out of the top, will be around for a while.

It is going to my allotment gate, with my plot number on it.

 

 

Reflections 2019 w36

This weeks reflections is going to be a little different, and I apologies in advance for those that read these and my poetry releases – there is going to be a double up.

All of us at some point will have to experience this, in fact it is probable the only thing in life we CAN guarantee…

My heart goes out to those sharing the feelings that this time brings.

So here is the (amended) poem…

 

JOE

 

TV now stands quiet,

We’ve no need now to shout.

For Uncle Joe, he was quite deaf,

When hearing aids fell out.

 

No – “Oh, Hello.”

Followed by a smile.

His chair it sits empty now,

It has done for a while.

 

We’re not here a visit,

But sorting what is left.

Wonder what this item is?

And, Why was this thing kept?

 

Memories we’re a sharing,

Whilst doing this last task.

With fondness and with laughter,

What more can we now ask?

 

What things we find of value,

Will those that we will leave?

More precious are the memories,

To those that do bereave.

 

I hear the clock a ticking,

Just like those at Nan’s.

Noise level is a matching,

Dried peas n shake tin cans.

 

Yes everything is leaving,

All of it must go.

We’ve said  our last fare-well,

To my,

Uncle Joe.

 

Rest in peace.

Reflections 2019 w33

When do you say “goodbye” to a dementia patient?

Sounds a bit mean does it not? However it is a genuine question on perspective.

The person is still the person despite the dementia, though at times their mind is not ‘here’, the feelings for the person are the same, they may even be stuck in the struggle to find – words, or mentally in a place thats different altogether.

And is that goodbye for the persons benefit; or is it for our own?

Does the goodbye need recognition for it to be validated? Or does it not count if it is forgotten when they close their eyes for just a little while?

And why do we feel the need for it, or carry the guilt for not saying it before the final goodbye ceremony of a funeral. Which makes it seem like it has to be at least said to the living.

But when your mind blanks areas of ones mind they are no longer accessible. It is as though it never happened. So who’s perspective holds the power of the goodbye?

We are not the only species to do funerals, it has been recorded that crows do it, even to the extent of holding a silence and a gathering at the final resting place of a fallen crow. Crows also tell stories to their young much like our stories of things to watch out for. So this gets me to thinking as to whether or not they also feel the need to say goodbye, and  do they also feel guilty if they do not?

Or do we need to make every goodbye the last goodbye, carried on a smile and with a warmth in our hearts. Letting the person know that we care, and that we value the time spent with them.

Maybe thats what the crows do, because can we really say when our goodbye is going to count?

 

Reflections 2019 w27

Well my skin is taking a strange turn this year. Instead of the usual red head burn and peel, if I misjudge being outside by 5 minutes, my skin is burning and going white. Not that the Scottish DNA that runs in the family does not provide a white sun intolerant skin as it is.

Usually if I can do it right, the sun exposure goes pink, tans ever so lightly and leaves behind more freckles, but one patch of my hands looks like I have poured bleach on it to get rid of the freckles and any sign of colour.

I have googled it, and I will bring it up with the doc when I see him, but I can only find one cause. Nothing can be done and it is more a skin type than condition.

But I remembered that I had a hypothetical conversation on vampires before. That Hollywood has not got enough red head vamps. We are a natural for this type of being.

  • We avoid the sun.
  • We do not have to be told, or trained,  to avoid it at vampire elementary.
  • We burn if it catches us unprepared.
  • We tend to lurk in the darker or more shaded recesses  of locations whilst everyone else walks in the light, perfect for a passing snack during the day.
  • Pale pasty skin is our look any way.
  • Nobody would bat an eyelid at a pale pasty red head walking down the street.

When you wear factor 50 suncream and still get burnt, you know your kind originated in some miserable weathered place.

Which makes our thick curly/wavy hair even more annoying. As this weather will make it frizz like mad.

No wonder we are classed as being moody, we have not found the weather that suits us yet.

 

www.awanderthroughthemind.co.uk/reflections-2019

 

Reflections 2019 w26

It’s been an mixed week, I have been on holiday, came back to my sons birthday and my uncle going to the hospital after a fall.

That is where my first, and I hope last, encounter with love Island occurred.

My uncle is suffering from the early stages of dementia and is constantly looking for ‘you know’ on the telly. Whilst he does this he leaves programs on. Tonight it was Love Island, 20 minutes of it.

I do not understand the appeal, or what entertainment it offers that differs from the end of a night of booze down the local nightclub. Except these people are sober, I think.

Petty squabbles, jumping into differing beds like they were teenagers and that was pretty much all I saw them do.

I thought entertainment was to transport you away from reality for just little while, to give you a break. Not bring strife into your home – except via news channels.

I do not miss having my TV connected to a multitude of telly stations. It’s been 4 years since it has shown a tv station on it. And from what glimpses I catch, it is the same program formats from before I switched off.

I do not think I will be switching back on for a long while. Box sets offer programs I want to watch – minus all the adverts. Binge watch anyone?

www.awanderthroughthemind.co.uk/reflections-2019

Reflections 2019 w25

The wind blew at my strapped down Tilly hat as I crested the hill that was once a fort at Dinas Dinlle, sea spray travelling over the land in a fine mist, leaving the taste of salt with each heavy breath.

I love these dog walks with Spot.

My heart pounds with the exertion my body has with the short but sudden climb, lungs filling with fresh, clean air; Welsh air. I hear only the sound of the wind and crashing waves, glad I am not trying to fight the sea to catch a fish or two, not even the bleating of the sheep can be heard. I know not if they are hiding in a far off field or just behind the wall, silently waiting for the wind to die down. Even the seagulls hang in the air as though they are in a painted seaside scene.

The only other people I can see in this quiet place are other dog walkers, some are clearly taking pleasure in the weather, others look like they wish they had cats. It’s not cold, but some are dressed like it was the middle of winter, accompanied by a bloke in shorts. My smile as we pass seems to convey my humour at the sight, much to the annoyance of the person wrapped up, which in turn makes me smile more. Not in a mean way…OK it might be a little mean.

I never get bored of doing the same walks over and over again at the coast, or in the countryside. I find a peace with the empty space, a quiet in the natural sounds, the voice in my head has nothing to find fault with that cannot be easily forgotten by something to see. Yes I may just sit and cry, emotionless, yet calm. Not knowing why, but accepting the release of pressure.

These are the times I know there is hope, because these are the times I do not need to lean on the medication.

They just do not happen often enough. But I am Grateful that they do at least happen.

www.awanderthroughthemind.co.uk/reflections-2019

Reflections 2019 w22

One went up to the allotment today, armed with a paving slab and a couple of bags of sand, and rearranged the top half of the path for the third, and last, time.

Luckily the weeding on the no dig beds is super quick and easy, meaning one can keep on top of the plot at the same time as doing all the maul jobs.

I am looking forward to finishing the last bits now, just so I can relax and plant/harvest.

But what do I wear???

The rain’s coming in with a big drop in temperature, but when it stops and the sun comes out I’m cooking. And that has been in the space of an hour.

One cannot plan for the afternoon.

One can truly say that one is grateful for the shed, and green tea.

This time next year I will have the shed organised and the greenhouse competed/organised, so seeds can be sown and seedlings transplanted while the rain is a pouring.

There is a calm that comes with sowing seeds and pricking out plants…When your not balancing the trays.

www.awanderthroughthemind.co.uk/reflections-2019