My favourite lisping Spanish choir
And orchestra
Can anyone spot my favourite woodwind player??
The Art Wall part 1
The next couple of blogs will explain, in part, the significance of the paintings, and drawings and prints and fabrics chosen. It’s not static, it has to be fluid , but most, (but not all) have a special significance to me
First it is this little map
This was a gift , a secret Santa gift given to me on the first Christmas I worked at the hospice. It was given to me by Sionad a woman that couldn’t be more Welsh if you had dipped her in a mixture dragon poo and Bara Brith
It signifies the purchase of my cottage. A thing that could only have happened when I managed to get a full time job and a contract saying so. Despite my age, the Halifax took me on as a customer and the cottage and the village remained mine and Sionad remembered my relief on that day and had the map made accordingly as a Christmas gift.
Note there is a heart and a Gray ( Grey) one where the cottage stands
Catherine, Princess of Wales reveals cancer diagnosis
A pitch perfect reply to Fleet Street et al
Gracious and supportive and incredibly Brave
Brava !!
Finished
It’s Friday and I’ve finished the kitchen and it’s Friday and I’ve passed my filmed Counselling assessment I will have the opportunity to critically assess my own skills next week, as we have to write an essay review.
I hate seeing myself on video.
The weather is brighter today and Trendy Carol’s Hubby phoned to see if one of the dogs could go around to keep him company. I’ve sent Mary around because she loves a cuddle slightly more than Roger.
The kitchen now looks fresh and clean.
I’ve used a Jasmine White only in order to allow the colours of the paintings to pop a little, but as you can see, nothing matches too well, which suits me just fine.
Can you see the felt scotch egg hanging from the window!!!
Morale and A Memory
Morale at work is low, it always is when a much loved workmate dies unexpectedly and staff gather together to morn, to talk, remember and gain comfort. I’ve not been back to work since Ann’s death but I’ve been in touch with others I work with and now am able to go to her funeral as others that didn’t know her well are kindly now covering my shift.. As a Manager I have dealt with similar scenarios and you just have to have broad shoulders and an open office door.
“I have often heard that cats are attracted to people that either don't like them or are frightened of them. Such is the fickle and rather demanding nature of felines.
Every night The Prof is approached by Winnie after he has sat down heavily into his armchair.
She doesn't bounce like the terriers, nor does she jump up to rest huge paws on a knee, she just sits and looks, waiting for that big kiss on a face the size of a large dinner plate.
To be fair to the Prof, he never wanted or indeed even likes bulldogs. Winnie's arrival was a kind of fait accompli which drove him almost to distraction, so he kind of tolerates the big old girl, without offering the sloppy affection I give her, every single day.
But every day. Winnie wanders up to the Prof as he taps away at emails that need reading, and rather seriously she will lower herself down like a fat woman negotiating a deck chair, her eyes never leaving his face. There she will wait,sometimes for an age, for him to look over his spectacles to acknowledge her.
I watch this scenario every single night.
The acknowledgement always comes eventually.
It's never, however, a kiss on a big sloppy face. Nor is it an overwhelming coo-cooing an old lady gives to her pekingese but eventually the Prof will look slowly down from his work and without a smile he will pat the big girl firmly on the head .
Winnie will always battle for more. She will wave a fat paw at the Prof in a futile attempt for him to pat longer and hard as it may seem on the surface, I realised that all this is a kind of game the two of them play.
She is more than happy with that one pat!
It's a dance between bulldog and stoney faced academic.”
The following blog of a decade ago, was flagged up by a follower this morning. He emailed me with a kind, thoughtful observation which I shall take on board and I will share the blog with you today.
On reflection I’m rather proud of it, and I’ve enjoyed the memory
“I have often heard that cats are attracted to people that either don't like them or are frightened of them. Such is the fickle and rather demanding nature of felines.
Dogs on the other hand seldom approach someone who does not want to be approached. They, like insecure children, need and love adulation and will often grab it whenever it is offered.
They are wrong footed when they feel rejected, like toddlers can be.
They are wrong footed when they feel rejected, like toddlers can be.
Every night The Prof is approached by Winnie after he has sat down heavily into his armchair.
She doesn't bounce like the terriers, nor does she jump up to rest huge paws on a knee, she just sits and looks, waiting for that big kiss on a face the size of a large dinner plate.
To be fair to the Prof, he never wanted or indeed even likes bulldogs. Winnie's arrival was a kind of fait accompli which drove him almost to distraction, so he kind of tolerates the big old girl, without offering the sloppy affection I give her, every single day.
But every day. Winnie wanders up to the Prof as he taps away at emails that need reading, and rather seriously she will lower herself down like a fat woman negotiating a deck chair, her eyes never leaving his face. There she will wait,sometimes for an age, for him to look over his spectacles to acknowledge her.
I watch this scenario every single night.
The acknowledgement always comes eventually.
It's never, however, a kiss on a big sloppy face. Nor is it an overwhelming coo-cooing an old lady gives to her pekingese but eventually the Prof will look slowly down from his work and without a smile he will pat the big girl firmly on the head .
Winnie will always battle for more. She will wave a fat paw at the Prof in a futile attempt for him to pat longer and hard as it may seem on the surface, I realised that all this is a kind of game the two of them play.
She is more than happy with that one pat!
It's a dance between bulldog and stoney faced academic.”
A Beer With Eleanor
I love meeting Chic Eleanor in the pub at early doors. The place is usually filled with blue collar chaps relaxing after work, so the sight of an attractive woman calling out “ Oh Darling lovely to see you!” Seems to turn everyone’s heads with a slight envy.
We drank Cruzcampo beer and put the world to rights and I was home in time to watch Interior Design Masters which is camp as Christmas.
It was lovely to see her
Today I’m painting, and I’m late starting. With no bulldog to wake me up, I sleep as long as the Welsh do and they love their lie ins .
The place looks like the wreck of the Hesperus
Running Dogs
Skills assessment today.
An important day, because if we fail this we’re off the course.
Our counselling scenario is videoed and assessed by our tutor and a second marker. If we pass then I have to reassess and critique the video in its entirety.
I think it went ok, but you can never be sure, and the criteria for passing is justifiably stringent.
I was very aware that at one point my post covid cough got the better of me and I barked out one so forcefully that I farted in unison.
Does one acknowledge ones own farts in a counselling situation ?
I’m my case I did not ! Hey ho
So back to painting, the kitchen .
My latest piece of art is Eniko Eged ‘ Running Dogs which is away getting framed
It’s lovely
Burleigh
The cheeseboard in the front was designed and made by my sister Janet and that is my favourite piece of pottery in the kitchen.
There is something very pleasing when these pieces sing in the sunlight.
My cottage kitchen is quirky for It has three windows. Two look back into the back garden and a small one faces the lane. Most people that walk the lane are locals so they respect my privacy more than intermittent walkers who I often catch peeking through the window with idle curiosity.
Before cleaning the paintwork I opened up the widow wide, letting the noises of the Churchyard spill into the cottage. From the open window I can see the 13th Century Prayer Cross as well as my laburnum sapling which remains robust and healthy and optimistic .
Bats In A Dark Lane.
When you are part of a group where one of the members is suddenly poorly WhatsApp can be a godsend. Like bats in a dark lane, messages flit through the night, keeping you updated and worried. And early this morning I found out that a dear colleague and friend Ann from the hospice had died after a short illness.
We started together a few years ago under similar life challenges of a sudden marital separation and a needy to earn some money. And from day one she proved herself to be a hardworking support worker who would always go that extra mile for her patients and for you, the trained nurse she was allocated to.
I shall miss her as will so many others I know.
It’s a sad end, to a sad week, so I’m grateful for my friend Colin who messaged me with the offer of lunch out today. We are meeting at the Glasfryn in Mold ,which is a hearty gastropub perched above my beloved Theatr Clwyd and I intend to eat something with mash and gravy .
This morning I removed nails from the art wall and filled in the holes then sanded and washed the walls in readiness for paining tomorrow.
I’ve also carefully washed by Burleigh Ware crockery which sits on the top of the kitchen cabinets and put them carefully away
I will leave you with the talented Mr Wu, whose house and garden renovation is almost at an end
Pick Your Battles
“Can’t you see I’m disabled ?”
The shouted comment was like waving a red flag to a bull,
I have spent most of my adult life working with “disabled” people
and I absolutely hate when disabled people use their disability as an answer to everything
“There’s nothing wrong with your eyes” I countered, a reply that sent the man puce
Perhaps you need some context here
The car park at Prestatyn beach. I am parked in a regular parking spot near the promenade with the doors open, waiting for a dithering Mary to jump into Bluebell
Roger was staring out to sea looking somewhat gormless
The man in the large disabled cart was making a slow wide turn over several empty spaces in order to return to his wife, daughter and their Labrador. He had been barking brusque orders at his family for ten minutes or so, which had irritated me, as I had followed him up the Prom back to the car park.
He came so close to Roger, that the poor sod jumped and whimpered ( he is a wuss) but my paternal juices started flowing hence the sharp( but not unfair)
“ Watch where you’re going!”
The rest you already know, except for the hysterical turn the man then took.
With his voice going up at least two octaves he instructed his wife to take Bluebell’s registration number
“ Get it on your phone Jean !” He yelled making another pass
I felt that I had turned over my wagon and the Indians were circling
But by the look of things Jean didn’t look too bothered.
He kept shouting about discrimination,
I told him for the last time to watch where he was going, which I didn’t need to
And so it continued
Now the man had brand new trainers on so cheap Shoes would have been inappropriate comment so would have been my usual and usually effective Jog On put down , so I resorted to
“ knock Yourself Out” before getting Roger in.
He was still swearing and circling when I drove off , so didn’t notice when the world weary Jean mouthed the word “ Sorry” as I passed her.
Ps 
The village Male voiced choir is in Swansea today , singing centre stage before the six nations Rugby match between Wales and Italy.
A Whale In The Sink
Today, all I’ve done is wash and clean
Every painting and bit of artwork has been carefully cleansed of soot and detritus and stored away.
And every piece has been looked at again, as if it was new.
I have a feeling I will pare down the wall and perhaps add open shelves to it
I’ve not decided as yet.
I’ve only seen Mr Poznan today. He popped in a load of old Readers Digests for me, you know the little ones that are a great loo time read
“ You have a whale in the sink” he observed before leaving
All women do the same
I love good theatre but I’m not a huge Opera Buff.
I have my favourites for sure but at 61 Mozart’s Cosi Fan Tutte ( translated as All Women Do The Same)seems to have slipped me by, so as it was my friend Ruth’s birthday, I thought , I would take her. ( she inherited a love for the medium from a mum steeped in London Culture who ended her days in Llanfairfechan.)
We saw a quality production for sure, but it’s themes of grooming, entrapment, fickle female sexual behaviour and infidelity seemed rather unhealthy which had Ruth observing if this wasn’t Mozart no one would be here!!!
The singing quality was amazing, truly sublime at times, as you would expect of The Welsh National Opera but I have to be honest I’d had enough after two hours of three of sexual subterfuge.
Before the Opera we went for a lovely supper at Dylan’s where I had something called Mochyn Budr which means Dirty Pig in Welsh . It was fantastic
I got home late and happy at having the first really nice time in two weeks and the reality hit me as sharply as slap in the face would have done. The Welsh , raised their heads sleepily from the reading chair in the kitchen and smiled a hello , but there was not the hysterical, tail wagging welcome from Dorothy as I’ve been used to for over the past five years.
I sat at the kitchen table and for the first time since she was diagnosed by the kind Spanish vet , I had a good loud cry.
Only then did the Welsh get up and put concerned paws on my knees, their noses cold sniffing my face.
Hostiles
I watched the western drama Hostiles last night, which has the pitch perfect final scenes of any movie I care to mention.
It’s a brutal and hard film to watch, but it has a hopeful final theme of redemption.
Today I’ve bought paint and dust sheets to repaint the kitchen and have started to wash everything down
Nick and Velvet Voiced Linda , Lywenna and Eirlys have called around with gifts of eggs, and jam and a gin and tonic.
Mrs Trellis dropped in a sort of essay which I have yet to read .
People are so very kind
I am off out shortly it’s my friend Ruth’s birthday and I’m taking her to supper then the Opera
The Welsh
The Welsh terriers are quiet.
Not that they are pining, which they are not.
It is because things are different.
Mary is now back in charge
She sat in Dorothy’s old spot all evening last night
Hogging my attention, licking my hands and feet and followed me around as Dorothy would have.
She and Roger came to bed, gleefully rubbing snouts on the duvet as they made circles to settle.
Typically Roger is going with the flow.
He really hasn’t got a clue, his job of home protector continues with excited, woofing gallops into the garden whenever anything bigger than a blackbird can be seen.
He employs a Zebedee type bounce when any human goes past in the vague hope he can obtain a hug and still can’t quite maintain his balance when putting paws onto Bluebells dashboard.
He is, and will always be, a tonic
Normal
Trendy Carol ( probably sporting something springlike in green) sent some flowers around with her hubby yesterday. I told him, and I meant it that I should be the one buying flowers for if it wasn’t for them , I would not have been able to keep my dogs let alone acquire one like Dorothy .
I bought them a bunch of flowers too, and signed them with thanks , Dorothy x
I went to college today then bought some towels on the way home. I’m on annual leave this week
The cottage is quiet, I’m managed to read all your comments tonight , and am thankful I’ve only had to delete a couple , you’re a nice bunch and I feel supported
Postscript
To add to today’s post
Some perspective . Last night before we went to bed I put Dorothy in a pair of adult incontinence knickers.
(She took a small.)I’m sentimental, but I’m no fool even with the palliative care of my own bulldog.
She had the energy to look down slowly at the nappy , then looked me directly in the eye with a “ What the fuck have you just done to me !!!! ” look on her face.
It made me laugh out loud
Monday
Emotionally speaking it’s been a bit of a rollercoaster ride over the past two weeks..ever since a blogger insulted me on line, only removing the insult when challenged by a third party. The internet allows for such behaviour .
Such words would never be verbalised if I was stood there in person and the whole thing strangely upset me. Work has been challenging at times . I’ve had to pass an interview and essays too
It’s all been a bit h e a v y .
The antibiotics I’ve been prescribed have made me intermittently nauseous but have reduced most of the soft tissue infection in my face. However my glands remain swollen and painful, and I’m self conscious and down about how I look.
I still have my effing cold too.
Dorothy last night with me on the sofa she’d just shared a frankfurter sausage !
And of course Dorothy died early this morning
I’m relieved she won’t have to linger any more and was grateful for having time to spend with her on the couch over the weekend with the fire lit warmly.it was her time and I’m glad.
At the end she looked a little worried but hid her head under my chin as I told her to be a brave girl. She snapped at the others so as usual it was only me and her against the world.
The last smell she smelled was me,
the last voice she heard was mine
In the five years since she came to me, she’s always been such a scared girl at times
But not scared anymore.
I’m going to the cinema later.
The place that makes me better.
A Chippy Tea
When the world and their mothers were busy with Mothering Sunday, I took the dogs to the beach and out for a chippy tea.
Now I’m sure many of you may not know what A Chippy Tea is, so I shall explain . A Chippy Tea ( or Dinner) is when historically the lady of the house , through busyness, illness, holiday time or whatever had decided not to cook that mealtime and a rare “ take out” was in order.
For my family A Chippy Tea was a rarity and a treat.
It remains so
It must be well over 2 years since I last had one.
Now, for those that still remain in the dark , the meal consists of a large battered fish fillet ( usually cod or haddock ) lying on a bed of chips. These chips are thick cut fresh fries that are slightly crispy on the outside and soft on the inside, but generally in the steam of the take out, they can be just soft!
Everything is covered with a generous amount of malt vinegar and salt. Then wrapped in a box and paper.
It’s a delight on a miserable day.
We ate it in the beach car park. Dorothy had a small battered fish of her own ( with half the batter removed) where the Welsh shared my box
Sweet
Dorothy has had a comfortable day
Trendy Carol’s Husband came around to visit with a pork steak in hand.
He’s looked after Dorothy everyday I’ve been at work, holiday and college for the past 5 years.
And I couldn’t stand to watch as he stroked her head gently and called her his Dotty, and so busied myself with something in the kitchen as he said his tearful goodbyes.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)