Lunch With Jazzer

Jazzer and I went for lunch today in a little restaurant beside The Junction, just outside Antrim town. Jazzer lives in Antrim and I was born in Antrim and yet we still managed to make a few wrong turnings before we got there. Still, we found it eventually and had an enjoyable time. 

Back home again I continued with a little project I've set myself and that is to make a hard copy of this blog. I started yesterday and have got three months' worth down which, so far, amounts to 20000 words. Only another 217 months to go.

Whilst doing this I came across this snippet from 18 years ago.

Yesterday Jazzer and I set off for Toys,R,Us in Whiteabbey. Jazzer did the directions which were hopeless and we got lost. Typical Belfast-bred and she hasn’t a clue how to get anywhere. Before we found Toys.R’Us we found Woolworth’s where I bought a DVD player and some kitchen scales. I have decided to become a champion baker of cakes. We did find the shop eventually. I cannot say what was purchased, as to do so would contravene The Santa Act, 2004.

Jazzer and Nelly - getting lost together since 2004 

Degrees of Lost and Found

The main theme of tonight's post shall be the mislaying of important things which is a very common occurrence in my day to day life.

But first, it would be remiss of me not to mention Hannah's Graduation. For the past four years, Hannah has been working towards a degree level qualification in counselling and this summer she achieved it.  Incidentally, she also passed her driving test (third attempt) so quite a year for her.

I was delighted when she told me she would be going to her graduation ceremony, especially as she didn't bother for her first degree. These are proud parent moments to be relished. The day went very well despite the presence of a local businessman known to be besties with both The Lord Jesus and Boris Johnson.

So, on to lost things. The first and longest missing was my sewing basket. I've had it for years and years and generally, I always know where it is but I couldn't find it for months. And I kept looking for it but with no success. Then one evening I opened my arms wide and asked the universe to find it for me. There were a couple of false starts and then I went to my wardrobe where I stored all my patchwork bits and pieces, pulled all that out and there was my sewing basket and another little basket I'd forgotten I owned. I was so pleased I decided to start on the Pearlie Vintage Apron project right away. After all, it was more than a year since I'd spent a week or more cutting out the squares. At present, stage one is almost complete. Yay, Universe. You're far more effective than Saint Anthony.

The next lost thing was the van keys and it was absolutely certain that it was Nelly that had misplaced them. The day after Hannah's graduation her wee car wouldn't start so I had to take her to work at a very early hour. Sometime soon after five am. I've got out of the way of these early starts since she's been driving so it has left me feeling rather underslept. This morning I got back to the house just before six am and after divesting myself of the layers of thermals and woollen garments I padded into my private, secret sitting room to see if Trump had started WW3 yet. Then I made coffee and toast and returned to my cosy warm bed. I fell asleep to be rudely awakened by Bert wanting me to collect him from the mechanic after delivering Hannah's car. He left in a hurry as the vet was coming to test the cattle and I started looking around for the van keys. Not in any of the usual leaving down places nor in any pocket or bag, not in the van. Lost! Next thing the vet arrives in the yard. I went out and told her the situation and she offered to drive to the mechanic to collect Bert. How kind. I had to go with her as it was easier than explaining where it was and that turned out rather well except the keys were still lost.

I spent a further half hour looking for them. I asked the universe to give them up but the universe explained to me that the searching process was of great benefit to me and that I would learn lessons from it. I accepted this advice and carried on. I retraced my footsteps, rethunk my thoughts and eventually, the universe directed my gaze to one of my utensil racks. The keys were not there. But I immediately looked at my other utensil rack and there they were hanging from a hook. I have never hung keys on a utensil rack before but I must have done so as I padded towards my PC to check if the world was still intact. In fact, I must have been in some sort of a fugue state which is more than a little worrying considering that I'd just driven to Hannah's work and back. I remembered that Farming Today was about brassicas and that Prayer For The Day was given by a Sikh but when my journey ended I did not remember where I put the van keys.

Well, with these great finding successes behind me I thought I'd try and locate my phone which I hadn't seen for at least a week. Lesson from the Universe? Maybe live in a less cluttered house? I looked in all the usual places. Four times over. I looked under things. The dining room table, the welsh dresser, the bed. I looked in my desk drawers at least three times. And that's where it turned up, snuggled under my passport. Plugged it in to charge and discovered that a world of things has been going on in the family WhatsApp group. Mostly parcels being posted and delivered. I updated my own information on that one.

Which brings me to my last Found which wasn't even found by me nor lost for that matter. It was a bottle of rosehip wine found by Les behind his piano which I must have given him quite a while ago. My records show that I started it in October 2012 and bottled it in November 2013. He thought I'd like it back to see what I thought of it. I've never kept wine that long so I was interested to have the opportunity. Well! It was delicious, ever so slightly fizzy - which means it might have kept fermenting in the bottle - and it was potent. Three small glasses equalled three sheets to the wind. Great stuff. I really should try to leave my wine for longer.

On The Kindness of Strangers

I am not the kind of person who feels the need for the latest phone but, several years ago, a young friend who does feel a need for the most up-to-the-moment gadget, sold me his old iPhone. This phone came complete with something called a Griffin All-Terrain Survivor Case. It wasn't elegant. It looked like it ought to belong to a macho building site worker or maybe a mountaineer. I kept the case despite its ugly appearance because you'd never know when something bad might happen. Since then that phone has survived several falls on to hard surfaces and even a winter's night lying in the yard outside our house. It rained that on night but not heavily.

Not like the downpour that Evie and I were caught out in this afternoon. That was one of those sudden heavy showers that soak you to the skin after a few minutes. We were crossing the road, only yards from the van when it started and by the time we reached it we were both drenched. I could barely pull the car key from my saturated pockets in my haste to get Evie into the dry. We drove home singing 'silly songs' about rain and getting wet and when we arrived on our yard there were Caitlin, Cara and Maria over to play while their Mummy and Hannah went out for coffee.

First Evie and I had to get into dry clothes while Caitlin, Cara and Maria rang brass bells, banged Fisher Price pianos and blew harmonicas. Then the phone rang. British Telecom wanting to speak to Bert. I told them he was on holiday and wouldn't be back for a week. Next week I'll tell them he's in hospital, the week after I'll say he's in prison. I'd only put the phone down when it rang again. I'm still wet and the girls are still ringing bells, bashing pianos and blowing harps. It's a young woman, foreign accent, talking about a phone. I could barely hear her. Then I realised she's talking about my phone and she's on my phone! I'd dropped it. I was able to tell her that my daughter lived around the corner from where she'd found it and I'd be very grateful if she left it there.

Evie's dad brought it round later that evening. He said the finders were a young couple, very pleasant. I wish I could have thanked them myself. The phone looked OK. But it had been dropped in a downpour and there was water inside the casing. For the first time ever I took all the casing off and that six-year-old phone looked like it just came out of the box. It's elegant now but I'd be better to put all that rufty-tufty casing back on. You'd never know when I might be half way up a mountain on a very rainy day.

Here Be Pigs

We were contacted yesterday by friends of a friend to find out if we were missing a pig. An exotic specimen had turned up in the yard of another of their friends. This lady kept horses and her horses were mortally afraid of pigs. This seemed odd to me but it seems that many horses are wary of pigs. Out of curiosity and some concern for the pig we agreed to go check it out.

The pig was in a huge barn and the five of us strolled in. The pig, a potbelly, was in the corner of the barn. It was only a baby, maybe a few months old. Anyway it got spooked and made for the door which was closed but it found a little breach and off it went. Pigs are great escapologists. The last we saw it was haring up the side of a hedge. Bert decided to take to the fields to see if he could find it but had no success. I met him in Clint's yard. This lady's place was a mile or two by road but only a couple of field lengths as the crow flies.

We were cross with ourselves because that time in the shed was our best chance of capturing it. I must say it preyed on both our minds that poor wee thing was out in the open without food or shelter. I was angry too with whoever had owned it because it seemed very likely that it had been abandoned. It was just about the right age to have been small and cute at Christmas time. Perhaps it was a gift that turned out unsuitable. The practice of dumping unwanted pets is common here and over the years I've come across it many times. Our big ginger cat, Fred, was actually dumped from a car in the Doagh Road as I was walking there.

What do people be thinking of when they do that? Do they think that their unwanted pet will be picked up by a kind stranger and taken in? I've been that kind stranger on a number of occasions but, believe me, there are not enough kind strangers to go round. A few years back Bert had to scrape a pulverised dog off the road and bury it. He did this on the off chance that it was someone's lost pet and that the sight of it would be too upsetting for them. But no one came looking and it is probable that the dog was dumped on our road and got hit by a car.

The little pig was on our mind and Bert went out with the dogs yesterday evening to see if he could find it. They had no joy. It wasn't a cold evening and we were hopeful that it would survive to live another day. He and his friend went out again today. Máirtín is a city boy and enjoys the things we do here. Dosing calves, potting up clematis, burning stuff , driving tractors and searching for pigs - Máirtín loves it all. Jess led them to the pig, two pigs! Two potbellies grazing at the edge of a copse, enjoying the late winter sun and not overly afraid of humans or dogs. Still too skittish to be caught. They are only a field length away from Clint's place and he says that if they turn up in his wood they can stay!

I'm glad there are two of them. It will increase their chance of survival but I cannot help wondering what is going on. Two dumped pigs or two lost pigs. Will we ever find out?

Hypochondria

Matty informed me that she had what she believed was a mini-stroke on Thursday. "I've had one before," she informed me. I'd taken Matty on her weekly outing to Tescos on Thursday evening and she never mentioned the mini-stroke. She did say that her wrists were very sore. I resolved to give her plenty of help whilst shopping. We started off at magazines, My Weekly and The People's Friend. I glanced quickly at the books then caught myself on, remembering the height of my 'to read' pile. Matty was wandering up the household goods aisle. I tried to keep her in sight. She darted off, then I lost her. I searched up and down the aisles and found that she'd backtracked. I waited for her then became distracted by the office supplies. It was only for a few moments but when I turned round she'd disappeared. Up and down the aisles I went before bumping into her in fruit and veg. I swear she was trying to shake me off. "Wait here," says I, "I'm going to get some onions." I was quick as I could be but of course she hadn't waited. She never, never does. I had another searching match for her with no success and after throwing a few bits in my trolley I decided to call it an evening and tried to catch her before she got to checkout. She'd got there before me and smiled triumphantly as she took the last item out of her trolley. At least I was able to pack for her while she went off for a scratch card. I'd exhausted myself looking for her and didn't get a quarter of the things I needed but, thanks be, I did get the gin. In the car she winced at the soreness of her wrists but never mentioned the mini-stroke. We talked about an appointment with her GP to discuss pain relief. On Friday I phoned her from work and she said she wasn't feeling that well so I went to visit her during my lunch break and made up a bed for her and put together a rhubarb crumble. She was expecting Ganching for the weekend. She seemed perky enough. No mention of the mini-stroke. On Saturday I went to the car boot sale at Dunsilly and was sitting in Matty's at eight o'clock. Ganching had to pick up a hire car so I said I'd take Matty to Randalstown for a coffee. She'd already had her usual toast and tea breakfast. She was keen as mustard and we went to the Forge and had Ulster Frys. Matty ate everything except a tiny bit of bacon and pronounced it very enjoyable. I wanted to go to the charity shop to see if they'd sold any of their high-priced books. They all seemed to be there, the book on the 19th century religious revival (big chapter on Kells & Connor, 55 pounds) and the book on Winston Churchill (12.50) , and the Arthur Grimble (17.50) and one at 75 quid, damme if I can remember what that was, but it was in very middling condition. Matty complained of not feeling great while she was there so we didn't stay long. When we got home I made a cuppa and she told me about the mini-stroke. When I got home I looked up mini-strokes on the internet and I really don't think she has had one. There are no obvious symptoms and apart from her complaining, which is usual, she seemed well enough, with a good appetite, talking normally, no real difference in her movements or appearance. If a doctor in a hospital once told her that she had suffered a mini-stroke I would think that he/she may have been (a) talking shite, (b) she didn't hear them properly, (c) she imagined it, (d) he/she was thinking of the woman in the next bed or (e) she really had one. But Matty is a panicker when it comes to her health. Her GP once told her, maybe 25 years ago, after she presented him with a host of vague symptoms, that he was going to test her for Multiple Sclerosis. She told me that she fully expected she'd end up in a wheelchair. I have other stories like that but I'm not going to tell them right now. I'll never forget how upset I felt when I heard that. Then I felt angry that she upset me because she didn't have MS, no wheelchair was necessary. Matty, when she's in good enough form, is a great woman. She has many wonderful qualities and I'm glad she is my mother. I love her. I do not love her preoccupation with illness and I feel that it has blighted her life. But now that she is over 80 and she does have angina and she does have painful arthritis and thyroid problems and I don't know how I should deal with her. I try to be supportive and I worry about her lots. But if I'm honest, I have to say that I find her never-ending preoccupation with illness hard to handle. I used to try all kinds of strategies when we were both younger such as ignoring her, jollying her along (I still use that one), reasoning with her, getting cross with her but now she is very old I have to find new strategies. What do you do with a mum who has had hypochondriac tendencies all her life and then she gets really old and she does have health issues? Maybe there's a simple answer. I've got a feeling somebody out there might have it. We are going to the doctor tomorrow and I'm going in with her. That's a start.