Going Gently






"Sky News presenter Colin Brazier has asked people not to wear bright colours at his wife's funeral, telling mourners to "leave their Hawaiian shirts at home" and wear black."

This banner headline caught my attention the other day

On the surface it was a personal plea by a grieving husband to have what he saw as a respectful and perhaps more traditional funeral for his wife, a move away, or so the article suggested , from the modern day phenomenon of the " happy funeral"

I've attended both kinds of send off over the years and I guess it's a case of to each his own to what is preferred. A celebration of the life or a mourning of the lost...with every permutation in between, the simple answer is the choice is whatever gets you through the day.

Mind you I think Brazier does have a point when it comes to grieving children, for he suggests the cognitive dissonance put into play may be damaging in itself.

"Maybe grown-ups can handle the cognitive dissonance required in 'celebrating' a life rather than, you know, being all morbid. But I seriously doubt children can."

Brazier also added this comment,

".... wearing black gives people a "licence" to get upset, and to "treat a funeral like Ascot's Ladies Day" not only trivialises death but moves the spotlight of consolation away from the family."

Like I said , each to their own.

The best funeral ( best?) I ever attended was led by a humanist speaker . I suspect he was an actor too, and he did what most vicars don't do well at funerals, he did his homework

He knew everything about Janet, a colleague of mine who had died after a short illness, he knew her friends, her wishes, her humour and her life. He breathed life into what was a tragic and sad situation and got the balance just right between mourning and celebration.
Like I said before, it's whatever gets you through on the day that's important .

Sweet




I had a good kind of cry today
It was a brief sort of  weep. A happy one.
A nice one indeed.
Years ago I planted several buddleia which always bloom in late July and today in the oppressive heat , their blooms seemed to explode with their tiny nectar filled flower heads.
A mass of butterflies descended on the cottage today, and their numbers included the beautiful leopard spotted Comma with their fluted and oh so delicate scalloped wings.
The air was alive  with them this afternoon
Half Blind  twelve year old William loves to chase bees , but the butterflies are so much easier  for him to see, and I teared up briefly as I  watched him gleefully chasing their fluttering shapes around the flower beds like a silly uncoordinated puppy

Comfort


I comfort eat.
There I've said it .

Another elephant in the room

I love my food too much and recently have begun to waddle
Gay Man waddling ....
Is worse that Dead Man Walking

I'm back on track from today.
Fresh lemon water to drink and a vegetable stir fry for lunch

No snacks except fruit .
No scotch eggs.
No biscuits at Samaritans
God help my bowels .

The stir fry took an age to eat and even George huffed and walked off after sensing there would be no left overs to eat.

I've spent an age arguing with a dim teenage call centre bod about my nursing registration , it should now be processed within 6 weeks ( and had been put on hold until my enquiry God Knows why).....usually after such phone bun fights I reach for the nearest colourific savoury .

Today I bit the fuck out of an orange

A Gift Returned


Sundays can be a funny day when you are on your own. In North Wales they can be dead sort of days if you let them, with little to do and little to talk about.
I'm sat at the kitchen table finishing breakfast.
It's fat club tomorrow so I've had my usual 2 eggs on dry toast. George is waiting impatiently for the left overs and is tap dancing on the kitchen floor.
Scotties tap dance when they are excited.

I'm debating on whether to see another movie . I saw In The Fade yesterday and haven't had the energy to review it . It was a German movie about a fairly unsympathetic German housewife (Diane Kruger) and her reaction to a Nazi terrorist attack on her family.
Yes,  not a bag of laughs ....anyhow I digress.

As I sit here, I can see a hand written card open on the table inside the card is a small parcel of kitchen paper that sort of hissed when handled. It was filled with tiny, button black flower seeds
For those that can't read fine print this is what the card said
" To John,.....when I bought my first house in Sheffield you gave me a packet of aquilegia seeds. So cutting them today, made me think of you.........Ruth"
A kindness repayed and remembered, I thought.
I had sent the tiny gift of seeds in 1990
28 years ago!

Scabby Knees on the beach


Dog in a hoodie

My favourite place at the moment is the small beach at Colwyn Bay.
Mary and I often go in the mornings
Today she sat inside my hoodie for a while as it was raining.
We were sat on the Promenade when the boy pointed at her,
This happens a lot when you look like one of those 1930 dog toys on wheels
Only the boy wasn't pointing at Mary, he was pointing out my psoriasis scabby knees to his suddenly embarrassed mother.
I pulled up both short legs so he could have a better look and stuck my tongue out playfully
I would have flipped him the finger but he only looked about seven


Not quite Sitges 

Walking Dead 9

I've just seen the season 9 trailer!
How wonderful it returns in October 
Only managed to capture a few screen shots 
Jerry is kissing Nabilla ! How wonderful

Zombies


Carol cuddling Daryl 

Rick dies apparently 


Huh?


Maggie and Daryl 

I suspect it's the last series and by the look of it has 30 characters ! Too much but I can't wait .. it been part of my life for 8 years....go figure 

Mr Vasey

He was a horrible man, Mr Vasey
He occupied the corner bed in a bay of six, and polluted the air with his complaints.
" That man kept me awake all night with his moaning" he would spit out in public
"Nurse! NURSE!! He smells of shit, get him away from me!"
" Nurse where are my tablets.......NURSE.....NURSE,,,,!!" 
He was a railway man in his fifties with a wife and daughter.
The daughter never visited, the wife did dutifully.
Mr Vasey spoke to his wife as he did his nurses.
We disliked Mr Vasey.

His locker had to be organised just so, and nursing routines watched and commented upon especially when we were in anyway late or completed some task in a different way. He preferred nurses he knew to care for him but once at his bedside you ran the risk of a cruel personal comment being unleashed .
I remember a colleague from the station visiting with flowers who was told " why bring them in for me?" In such a curt way that she burst into tears.

Mr Vasey recieved adequate care.
But nothing more. The nurses grew tired of his temper tantrums and his brittle ways and sought out other things to do and other patients to linger over.
The ward was busy,and  it was easier to be busy elsewhere.

I remembered Mr Vasey yesterday.
Back then in 1989 we didn't understand autism
Today, I'd like to think that he would have recieved more understanding and slightly better care.

In 6 Hours


Today I didn't move 1000 yards from home
I met and laughed with Sailor John, Mandy, animal helper Pat, matriarch Irene, and Mo with her clip board. I chatted with Ian, Nick and Gwawr from the community Association , got cuddled by Rowenna " you are sweaty John!" And got told off by Christine.
I waved at Liv as she sang to us in the Hall  ( she's seven) and got hugged by Sandra Cameron as her tiny Yorkshire terrier got flattened by Mary as I handed over a flower Show cheque. Ann ( Rebecca of Sunnybrook farm ) apologised for not being around just after Trendy Carol, gave me her best sympathetic smile ( lovely blouse btw) and Bridget from Well street messaged me a virtual thank you
Oh, and farmer Basil stopped to say he didn't want me to leave the village.
We locked eyes before he drove away, and I knew he meant what he said

And all this before 3.30 pm


I've been feeling shit but today ( by the village) and yesterday ( by the net) I've felt supported

Change of subject tomorrow xxx I'm boring myself