Post 137: Halloumi and chips by the sea.
I do a morning check on what’s good and bad with my body each day — today the aches are worse in my ribs.
That’s a bad start.
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It was a reply to yesterday’s blog that set up a lovely but apologetic trip out in the car — thank you Puddock for prodding my conscience.
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By the time my Darling had come back from the weigh-in at SW with her arms full of shopping bags, I had made tentative inquiries about a little trip out this afternoon.
I had heard her car pull up on the drive, so was able to open the front door for her and welcome her home.
It’s the little things that help ease the daily grind, and my Darling looked like a different woman compared to yesterday’s grim demeanour.
I helped out a bit putting the shopping away and asked if she would like to go for a walk along the beach. Great minds think alike, so the saying goes, and the idea brought a smile to her face.
I said, “I’m driving, you can relax and enjoy the ride.”
Any trip out nowadays is accompanied with the usual pill gathering and checks on just-in-case items, which seem to remind me that we are getting older and sadder — if you know what I mean.
When you’re younger, you don’t think there’s anything else needed than a wallet and a smile when you leave the house for a spontaneous jaunt out with your Darling. All you need is each other.
Ah, those days of freedom and love are gone, replaced by the continual checks and double checks: water, pads, pills, and all kinds of clothing for a sudden weather change — all packed in the car alongside a survival bag of “important” just-in-case things that are never needed. We are all turning into our parents, sadly!
With everything stowed away we buckled up, slammed the doors and headed down the road in a cheerful mood.
“So where are we going?” my Darling asked.
I replied, “To see our youngest and the home improvements. They’ll be finished with work soon, so by the time we get there we can have a tour of the house in daylight — and a stroll along the beach too.”
That alone settled any nerves she might have had about the memories of my bad behaviour yesterday, and a small warm hand lightly and lovingly reached over and rested on my leg, while I drove down the road with a happy heart.
While I had my Darling’s attention I steered the conversation towards what I considered to be an important and fun topic that I wanted to discuss and infuse her with:
a new car of her choosing.
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The background to my wish for my Darling to have a new car is an easy one to explain.
I want, for purely practical reasons, to leave this mortal coil with things done to make my Darling’s life easier after I’m gone.
A new bathroom and the hallways decorated would be high on her list, and a new car for her, is high on mine.
Historically we shared old cars and had our fair share of troubles, as you can imagine. We didn’t have money to fritter away on luxurious or new motors.
So this last car purchase is my way of, hopefully, overcoming a whole lot of aggravation with her daily commute or trips out.
Also, I’m not going to make retirement due to the bloody cancer and will draw-down some money from a small retirement plan (which I certainly don’t need) I won’t reap any benefit from.
This is my money to lavish on anything I like… and I’d like my Darling to have a new car. Simples!
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So I grilled my Darling about what colour she’d choose if she could pick any colour in the showroom brochure.
That started the ball rolling, and my captive audience was cooperating easily and happily in a pre-salesroom chat that would help me help her get the most out of the meeting at Mazda next Tuesday (while our car gets a full service in their garage).
I also suggested that a “26 plate” would be out in March next year, and we could look forward to that being the key date for this enterprise to be set on.
I’m already excited and distracted from the mundane aches and pains, clinical meetings and advocacy, and general health worries.
We could get a new car. Wow!
How utterly not us that would be — but how fabulous too.
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We were at the beach before we knew it, and after a few big loving hugs with our youngest and his fiancée we were given the guided tour of the buildings work-in-progress.
The transformation was amazing, even though the blue tarps were noisily flapping in the stiff breeze in all the window apertures that await the delivery and fitting, next week, of all the double glazed windows and doors.
It’s still a work in progress, but we can now see that the wild plans we thought were outlandish have become a reality. It’s going to be the most amazing home when it’s done, and we can’t wait to see it finished.
We chatted together for a while but soon became more interested in a bite to eat in town.
I wanted to get to the local chippy and sample again the wonderful chips which I rarely ever have in my diet.
It’s a treat I’ll drive all that way for, and I was determined to have my wicked way.
Without any arguments we all agreed to cross the footbridge over the tidal mudflats to the restaurant and ordered up our feasts.
Without any help I licked my plate clean, so to speak — my halloumi and chips with garden peas was a rare and tasty delight.
All we needed was to saunter back the way we came to the ice-cream parlour, where our supper was rounded off with my favourite frozen mint-flavoured dessert, and then a slow walk home via the windswept pebble beach.
We got back to the work-in-progress site and sat comfortably with mugs of tea in hand, the lead-light hanging loosely on the door frame our only source of illumination, while we discussed the finer points of life and family.
This was a good day.
I didn’t get my Darling flowers, but I did promise the possibility of a new car for her.
Watch this space.
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Next week’s meeting with the oncologist is bearing down on me heavily. I’m drawing up lists of questions but probably need all day to ask them. Oops!
I’m grateful for the blog reply advice — both for the apology and the benefit info. Thank you for reading, and even more so for commenting.
The bus is still taking me who knows where, but in my mind it has stalled.
My rib pain is worse each day — not much, but enough to notice. I guess I’ll be talking to Ms O from the hospice again soon for more advice about the pain relief.
But, I will try my best to have a good day tomorrow — you try too.
