Post 420: Sis & Bro Pop By and Where Are the Darn Bags?
There are some things that somehow don’t get onto the page and I have no reason why. Like the printing of the 400-odd blogs or the sale of my truly lovely Volvo Olive.
My Mum’s middle name was Olive.
I’ll move on a mo, I can’t carry on in that vein.
I woke up in agony today and I think it could be the physio on my shoulder.
Ouch!
The physio was good. A young lady who had a face that was a face I was immediately comfortable with, if that’s not cruel or silly to say.
She was too young-looking to be an expert, but expert she definitely was.
I was put through some exercises, slowly and increasingly strenuous in a very mild way. In fact, it’s likely that the young me would sniff derisively at this method of light stretching. But boy, has it given me aches in my shoulder and arm. My left one…
Yes, I said the left one, not the right one (that’s been operated on). The right one that has been operated on is fabulous, whereas the left one has been aching more and more lately.
I think the creaking and muscle ache lately is probably cancer and old age come early. Well, that’s what I’m sticking to.
Oh, someone’s laughing — stop that right now.
Ha ha.
I am young, in my head that is.
So I’ll take it easy and hope that in another day I can start the exercises without the pain. I do hope so. I want to get movement back into my body and get back to normality.
Now where are those pesky bags?
I’ve been trying to find the bin bags since yesterday. They’re lavender-scented ones and they’re for the bins upstairs mainly.
My room and the bathroom are the main offenders, but the loo downstairs too has this size of bin. But where are the two big rolls I bought from Waitrose last week?
Heavens above!
Why is it so difficult to find stuff sometimes? Has it got legs?
I give up.
There are two things bothering me at the moment and that’s my Darling, my cherished Volvo and my Mum’s ashes.
Two? I meant to say three. Sorry.
The last few weeks have seen Mum’s ashes nearing their final destination. It’s about time too, as she’s been gone these last four years (in July) and should have been put with her mother long ago.
Long ago seems so sad, doesn’t it?
It’s such a final thing to do but it’s necessary.
I’ve been living with them, her ashes, in this bedroom since I got put here after a medical bed was prescribed to help my problems getting in and out of the matrimonial bed — which it certainly did do — but living with Mum is sometimes a bit strange.
So in just a few weeks Big Nan and Mum will be reunited, and I mustn’t forget the cash for the grave digger. £50 for the ashes to be assigned to.
The Volvo I don’t want to talk about, but I have a dilemma about saying yes to a bid far below what I would like. But in the circumstances, it is the only way I can move on and get some space on my drive and in the garage.
But I’m not all that happy about it deep down inside.
I’ll tell you later.
I think I told you about the 400-word homework from the U3A creative writing group. But I hope I told you about the story I’ve written.
Well, I’m not going to actually tell you the story. That can wait till Tuesday after I’ve read it to the group.
I just hope they’re not too critical about it — the group, I mean.
It’s the first time since school that I’ve written anything like this and I think I like it now better than I did then. I’m not sure.
My Darling headed off to town for the weigh-in and success again. She’s now not trying to reduce her weight but keep it the same.
I’m sure she’ll be OK because she’s been ill all week and I’m guessing she’s not taken in the calories she might have done normally, but she’s been in bed a few days and that’s not good for you.
Anyway, I decided to chat to my best buddy and owner of a lovely narrowboat.
He’s a great sounding board and has a better, more acute brain, so I’m always in his debt when it comes to big ideas.
In fact, the Volvo was an idea of mine that he very much helped with, for which I’ll be eternally grateful, but sadly it has to go now.
But stop that maudlin nonsense, please. This story is a happy ending, not a sad one.
The blog now has over 400 posts and I wanted to display them as a hard copy for use in the storybook I want to write, which is partly based on the chemo treatment, partly about me and my love for my Darling, and that’s where my blogs come in.
It’s all in there.
But finding a way of printing 1,300-ish pages is not that easy.
So I’ve asked two printers and failed to get a quote.
So I’ll figure out if it’s possible to print, with the help of my mate, the “Captain”.
So after a long chat on the phone before my Big Sis arrived, we chatted about how many of this and how many of that I need, also the time it’ll take and the margins for binding.
Oh Lordy.
What have I done?
This is getting to be a very big job.
I already need a rest and my mate needs a rest too, but he won’t stop till he’s figured it all out logistically, bless him.
So Big Sis broke up this conversation and arrived with her phone of many problems.
For the next few hours it was just me, her, a sleeping cat and a nightmare Samsung phone.
It’s lucky I have the patience of a saint because the list of snags that Big Sis had was dreadful.
“How can I help you, Sis?”
Well, we started at the top of one page of a notepad with all her phone problems on it and descended down a few more until we ran out of problems, by which time my Darling came back home with some shopping and a smile because her weight today was stable.
Great stuff.
The next thing was that, due to rain stopping work, my brother-in-law was able to join us early for a takeaway.
He was full of chatter and we all sat around with plenty to say until the crane came by to take us into the TV lounge to rest our weary bodies.
The TV was on and the first view of the World Cup was on it. Mostly we didn’t care, but as it was Canada we gave it until the first half was over.
Now for the bin bags…
What should turn up but both rolls of bin bags in my Darling’s hand.
From where, I don’t know.
Thanks, Darling.
Take care.
Good night.
