In the middle of the night we had a cake and cards
Loved the giant scotch egg card from all on duty
The views from your windows continue to come in
How interesting and occasionally stunning they are too...
Send them to jgsheffield@hotmail.com
Views from Your windows
Please keep them coming
Ive been asleep a couple of hours before nights and these were sent in
jgsheffield@hotmail.com
Competition
My sister turned up today and as part of my birthday pressie, enhanced the front garden.
This is my view this morning, another glorious day.
On the back of this email request
The view out your office window is just lovely and it brought to mind that you might ask folks to send in photos of the view from one of their windows at home. Not necessarily for voting as to which is prettiest, etc, but just to share our lives a tad more. Your choice!
Hugs! Barbara Anne
Please send me your photos of a view from your window.
Just a bit of fun.....email me jgsheffield@hotmail.com
The Wind In The Trees
Who needs to go away, my garden this morning
It’s Sunday morning and my first lie in for ages.
I watched YouTube and Tictok videos with Dorothy’s head on my chest until the twentieth ping of my phone galvanised me into action.
I knew who was pinging messages, it was answers to The Velvet Voiced Linda, who runs the community Wardens group. Her weekly check ins during lockdown have been a constant during cloudier times
And it’s fitting that the warden group no longer needs such a sweet natured manager.
I had bagels and eggs for breakfast with lots of coffee, and after watering them, I put some of the house plants out into the sun for a warm
I’ve been listening to the delightful Amanda Khozi Mukwashi on Desert Island Discs and one of her childhood memories sparked an old one of mine.
Her memory, so eloquently told, was of her grandfather who allayed her childhood fears when walking in a wood by saying the noises of the trees in the wind was of them joking to each other about how she jumped to their “voices”.
When I was a staff nurse on the mother and baby unit at Bootham Park Hospital in York, I remember a patient called Zara who was incredibly poorly with Postpartum psychosis.
She was heavily medicated , slept for long, long periods and had to be supervised when caring for her newborn daughter at all times , but , daily, and in all weathers , she would ask to sit outside on a small bench where she would enjoy a cigarette and look out on the long , tree lined drive leading to Bootham Bar , one of the ancient Roman gates to the City of York.
I took my fair share of sits on that bench.
Trying to engage Zara’s waxy, and frozen countenance with snippets of small talk and bland efforts at reality orientation.
But she would stare at the giant horse chestnuts and take a draw on her cigarette and say little to nothing as her arms grew stiffer under the surges of phenothiazines as they kicked in.
One afternoon, after crying silent tears on the ward, Zara Sat with me on the bench without her cigarettes, it was breezy and the wind through the trees had made several conker cases fall onto the grass field in front of the hospital.
I caught her half smiling as they did so and I asked her what was on her mind
The trees know I’m so sad and are sending me gifts to help heal me she told me seriously and her face sort of lit up beneath the drug mask
I watched her smile and was moved.....
And for once I wasn’t going to divert her from her delusion
As comforting as it was
Anne Marie
I’m having a quiet moment in work. coffee, silent office, a tick of the clock...
It’s been a sad morning but a professionally successful one and I’m taking a minute to share some some sad news that long time supporter and follower of so many gay friendly blogs Anne Marie ( http://frommybraintomymouth.blogspot.com/) has died after a short illness.
Outspoken, and friendly for several years now she has rung me on Christmas Day with a bellowing laugh of “ GREETINGS SQUIRE JOHN” and her pithy, one line advice has followed my life for a decade now as she has loyaly followed Going Gently waving her rainbow flag
She will be missed.
59
I didn’t blog yesterday because blogger was playing up and wouldn’t allow me to download photographs.
We have had the wettest May on record this year, so the unexpected sun had us all in the garden potting up plants and weeding the planters.
I’m 59 in a few days time....
Now sometimes I feel a very old 59......and before the deserters start their usual “ Stop moaning I know a lot of people older than you you who feel vibrant and vital and young”
all I have to say to them is try wearing PPE for 12 hours in an non air conditioned environment and see how you feel as a burly support worker is peeling your white sweaty flesh from beneath blue plastic, figure hugging pinny.
12 hours in PPE makes even 25 year old nurses feel old .
Being 59 in gay years is neigh on being dead,
a phenomenon which thankfully doesn’t bother me too much as I am not particularly attracted to younger men. Unfortunately most of my fellow 59 year old gay men are attracted to younger specimens so the chance of dating someone remotely sanguine and normal is somewhat limited.
I’m not particularly arsed about all that.
How do I really feel about being 59?
Rather ambivalent to be honest
I dont feel almost 60, though it is sobering seeing the numbers written down- but I must admit that I do now walk like JohnWayne after sitting too long in at my daily car commute and I do enjoy an occasional crafty nap in an afternoon.
In 1984 my father was 59
He looked ten years old older than I do now, to be sure, but also to be fair to him, he still ran a successful business full time, was a mason and a full time councillor with a chain of office and everything.
What he didn’t do was wear PPE on a hot day....by gum if he did that the heart attack that eventually killed him at 65 would have probably occurred a great deal sooner.
He chain smoked too, something I have never done, but I concede that the nicotine probably kept him going
.... but like me he kept his hair
I can’t abide the smell of cigarettes
Gifts
I received two gifts today
The first is an absolutely beautiful crocheted blanket which consists of small intricate waves of blues and greens and purples and yellows.
The second is a hastily painted piece of art in a deep blue, which features what could be swirls of clouds over a forest of blue trees.
I absolutely adore both as both were made with affection, a certain skill and a great deal of personal time.
Perfect gifts.
Thoughtful and meaningful
The blanket was crafted by my friend Ruth over many months, and it shrieks .....class
The painting was a result of a joint paint-a-long-on-zoom with a lifelong friend Nia who lives in Australia
A much needed , fun morning in the middle of lockdown.
Loved them.
Gifts with meaning, not just a promise of something nice ,where words mean really nothing
My nephew texted me the other month and asked me what I would like for my birthday
I told him I would love an up to date photo of him and his dog which I could frame
Is that all? he asked, his Asperger’s finding some difficulty with my request
“ It’s because I haven’t seen you for a few years “ I explained and he replied with a short “Arr ok!”
Moments later came another message
“ Are you sure you don’t want a dvd? “ he asked
Ditto
I’ve always liked being a twin
Synchronicity with each other is something that has followed us all of our lives.
I messaged my sister to see what she wanted for her birthday.
I sent her my very short list which had only one item on it at the same time
On both lists we wrote
Red geraniums in pots
Men Who Sing
How fabulous is this?
The village Male Voice Choir has had a documentary made about it
A film which has its debut in Sheffield’s documentary festival in June
The film can be seen online,
It looks melancholic and rather fun
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