Rubber Chicken

 

Sailor John from next door brought a package around for me today 

He had opened it, thinking the package was for him.

I wondered why he raised a Roger Moore eyebrow when he delivered it.

For in the parcel was very small, bright yellow rubber chicken 

It was a gift from blog reader Donell. 

The chicken has a odd skill as when it is pressed a small red egg protrudes from some sort of prolapse out of its arse...

It made me laugh, as it was intended to do.

Thank you Donell. 

For years I have been in receipt of many many similar gifts from scores of lovely people who follow Going Gently . The gifts are as varied as the givers .

25 kilos of hen feed and two bales of hay, arrived one day a long time ago and since I have received scotch eggs, a patchwork quilt, books and photos and paintings and art work. Hand knitted and crocheted items, walking dead T shirts and games and memorabilia . Dvds, doggy treats, plants and flowers, sweets and goodies and even a Steiff  scotty dog and money have been sent and all gratefully received .

Today, I’ve walked on the beach.

Prepared pulled pork and sauteed potatoes for lunch 

Tomorrow I’m meeting a friend from Australia on zoom. 

We have the same recipe planned  and will talk and cook together which is another lockdown phenomenon , born out of lonely days .....

I’m looking forward to it. 

Two dogs on the trendy couch look incongruous as do the Christmas card garlands around the room 

I need a third

And I need to fold away the cards 

Hey ho

 

Phone

For who it may concern ... I am having problems with my mobile phone at the moment 

Cold

 It hasn’t gotten much over freezing all day.

The neolithic burial mound on top of Gop Hill is dusted with snow and stands out in relief against the blue sky.

On and around it are the black spots that are the village children and their squeals of delight as they snowball and sledge can be heard down at the cottage, where I have lit the stove early.

Trendy Carol tottered past on the ice wearing a smart faux fur number

I dozed in the armchair after an icy walk.

But I didn’t dream of Mr Hemingway again,

Which was a shame .

Snow and Hemingway

The snow has fallen fast over the Eastern Welsh hills, so much so that I just had time to buy some logs  before Bluebell slid precariously over the road East of the village

I was glad to have finished work for a week. I am tired

Last night I slept on my break , my head resting in my hand

I had a dream that I was dating the writer Ernest Hemingway, I’ve always had a bit of thing for him

He had a thick moustache and heavy stubble and wore a blue woolen jumper with a hole at the neck and he had a touch of dandruff

He also looked 60 which surprised me as I only consider myself as a “young” middle age thing

 

But he had the voice like chocolate and kissed like Doris Day every time I passed him in the kitchen doorway

So I didn’t mind much

 

He also stood smiling at me as I hurried around the cottage looking for Mary to walk before I went to work.

And I tried to cling onto that image when my phone called me back from break with a vibrating tinkle

 

I was very pissed off that it was a dream

 

very

Mary, Dorothy bounce with a friend when out with the dog Walker

God Loves A Trier

 I’ve had my hair pulled, face slapped  and my face mask pulled off several times tonight

Violence seldom happens in the hospice and it’s usually only a product of terminal agitation.

Everything is quieter now but I’m watching the sleeping patient closely. 

Intensive care prepared me well for such occurrences.

It’s only 1.13 am

I’m not complaining , I’ve just read that my former colleagues on the local intensive care unit are having a real crap time of things see link

https://www.dailypost.co.uk/news/north-wales-news/north-wales-intensive-care-consultant-19570872?fbclid=IwAR2PTgdI6rXp6rEvr6fNjSZ5tjGU01XRJ8agZ-PKCWz2qzV_iX2Rj14MLGA

I send them all my love and respect

So many people have forgotten those Thursday nights 

When we clapped for those on intensive care who tried so hard to help the victims of the first wave.

I will leave you with some frivolous and some hastily snapped shots of Albert who has decided that in Winnie’s absence he will settle for a “mini me” in the shape of a somewhat perplexed Dorothy.

God loves a trier 

Never Far From Me

My patient was listening to a message from a best friend living under lockdown in another country

I was changing the medication in their syringe driver and was doing so very quietly.

The message was in the form of a song that I recognised and it’s effects were understandably profound and incredibly moving to watch

I’m on nights, covering sickness then I have a week’s leave.

I try to book a weeks holiday every eight weeks or so.

The stressors of hospice work are very different to those exhausting times, I remember on ITU and Spinal Injuries. They are subtle and insidious and lockdown makes recharging a little more challenging 

Any time I feel low
I just don't know how you know
You are never far from me
You are never far from me

Once again, there goes the phone
How could you possibly know

You are never far from me
You are never far from me

Before the time that you go
There is something you should know
You will always be in me
You are never far from me

The song is a beautiful one. 

The scenario I observed was a beautiful one too...but terribly sad......

And after two night shifts, I’ve sorted out to cover sickness I am off for a whole week 

Weak Sun

 

The chimney sweep is here!

A visitor! 

How wonderful.

He’s a cheerful chap, behind his mask and has already asked where his “ Big bear helper “ was.

He was genuinely  sad  when I told him that she had died.

To give him covid space I took the dogs into the Churchyard and sat on one of the benches facing south.

The weak sun took an age to warm my face and for the first time in weeks I sucked in as much vitamin D as I could.

I didn’t notice old Rowenna’s walking stick until it poked me in the back

“ Mr Gray ! “ she said brusquely but not unkindly “ I haven’t seen you in a long time!” 

“ I have been on night shifts” I told her

“ I have been told you are working too much” she told me 

Word gets around , I thought

Rowenna is a stalwart of the Church and strangely is a far distant relative of mine. She lives next to village elder Islwyn who she always refers to as Billy. Her sister Barbara used to be the champion baker in the village and could knock out fifteen different cakes and a pot of jam in just one morning before the flower show.

Like many older women of Trelawnyd She has a sing song welsh voice and seems always in a hurry.

Dorothy grew bored with the conversation and started chewing my crocs so I made my goodbyes and walked back to the lane where I bumped into Meirion from Maes Offa

He was walking alone , so I just knew his old dog who always accompanied him, had just died . 

He looked awkward as dog walkers always do when without a lead in their hands.

We shared dog stories as Dorothy tap danced for attention again.

He looked sad.

And I tried to be kind.

I put the dogs back in the car and watched my cottage for a while. 

I was waiting for the sweep’s brushes to poke up through the pot before I returned home.

The cottage looked warm and sweet in the weak sun, and the walled bluebirds flying towards the lane , glinted briefly an azure blue

Neighbour Mandy darted down the lane and she waved 

Then jumped when Bluebell’s horn let off a sharp Parp! 

Dorothy again, this time jumping on the steering wheel

Merv’s racing pigeons scattered above the lytchgate   

I waved back at Mandy and looked up at the cold blue sky

I am home 

Eartha

England heading to tier 5

Let’s smile at this fantastic piece

Ms Kitt singing in Japanese 

I LOVE IT