The Bits About Ageing Nobody Mentions

 

Getting older is all very well, but it’s not all sunshine and roses.

Later this week I will score my three quarter century.  Not everything is fun.    Knees creak.  Feet are downright painful.  My guts do the occasional fandango.  I could go on

My memory isn’t what it was.  Sometimes I think my glasses have legs and they hide from me.  I can go through to the kitchen and wonder why I have gone there.

I find the world increasingly complicated.  For everything I want to do I need a password.  A new car is baffling.  

Ageing can be lonely.  When I retired I moved further from many of my friends.  Some friends have died.  Sometimes my house can be wonderfully peaceful.  Other times it is painfully quiet.

And the weirdest bit? Inside, I don't feel particularly old. I still have plans, interests and the occasional foolish idea.

There are good things about growing older. I care less about what people think, enjoy the simple pleasures and have become rather protective of my time. An empty diary can look remarkably attractive.  My plan is to keep laughing, keep learning, enjoy what I can and complain when necessary.

This is a rather unusual post for me but I felt that my blog is sometimes a little smug.  I wish I could get my act as much together as my blog sometimes implies. 

Please don't worry.  There's nothing especially wrong today except that I am getting more and more irritated by Facebook and Instagram!

The Doctor

If I had to choose a saint to have a chat with, I just might make it Luke.  He was a man who knew how to listen and he knew how to tell stories. It is his feast day today.

He wasn’t one of the twelve apostles but he was an important companion to St Paul who called him the beloved physician.  He wrote a Gospel and The Acts of the Apostles.  His Gospel is full of kindness, forgiveness and second chances. He tells us about the Good Samaritan, the Prodigal Son and the one grateful leper who came back to say thank you.

Luke seems particularly interested in people in need of a little TLC. His stories remind us that God's love often appears in the most ordinary places: at a meal, on a journey, or in an unexpected act of kindness.

St Luke reminds me that I can make a difference simply by listening properly, checking on a neighbour, or offering a kind word to someone having a difficult day.  After all, healing the world is a noble ambition, but we might as well begin with the person sitting beside us.

 

Seventy sleeps to Christmas

Yesterday I made a start on the Christmas puddings.  There is something deeply smug about making the pud in October.   I can almost feel like a woman who has her life together.   Almost.

My bungalow is about forty years old but when making Christmas pudding I can feel like a Victorian cook.  Weighing a huge selection of dried fruits into a bowl, stirring with a big spoon, adding booze, spices, suet, and all the other bits and pieces, makes me feel as though I’m in the kitchen at Downton Abbey.

I rather like the idea of making a wish while stirring. Mine would probably be for a peaceful Christmas, a tidy house and the ability to remember where I have put things.  

There is also something rather satisfying about preparing food weeks before it is needed. The pudding can mature quietly in its bowl while I get on with other things.  It will be stacked away at the back of the cupboard and over the next few weeks I shall see it and feel happy.

I say “it” but that’s not quite true.  I shall make around twenty puddings, mostly as gifts.  In return I will be given shortbread, sausage rolls, mince pies, Florentines.  Making the puddings is effectively doing most of my Christmas baking.

And now I can sit down with a cup of coffee knowing that I have made a huge start on my Christmas preparations.  I shall enjoy the feeling.   It won't last.

Thank you

Looking after Holly looms pretty large these next few weeks but looking after me looms even larger.  All my routine health appointments  fall in October/November.

Yesterday I went to my flu and covid vaccinations.  In a couple of weeks I am due to have routine blood tests.  Early November I have tests on my legs to make sure any complications as a result of old injuries are caught early.  A couple of weeks later I have an RSV vaccination.  (Older people often feel like pincushions as we are offered so many vaccinations!)  And when everything has been tested my regular medications will be reviewed.

Like many people I am concerned about the NHS.  I know we grumble about waiting lists, the difficulty in getting appointments, telephone queues etc and I too have the occasional moan. 

The NHS is not perfect. It is under enormous pressure, and those who work in it are often expected to do far too much with far too little. But every day, doctors, nurses, healthcare assistants, paramedics, porters, cleaners, receptionists and countless others turn up to care for people they may never have met before.  And they do all this for people from every walk of life.

But perhaps we could also make a little more room for saying thank you.  Small gestures cannot solve the NHS's enormous problems, but they can remind the people who work there that their efforts are noticed.  The NHS belongs to all of us, and so does the responsibility to value it.

So today, I simply want to say thank you, NHS.

 

What did Roman soldiers do in the winter

Roman soldiers used their hibernacula to shelter from the winter, repair their equipment, eat, sleep, play games and generally prepare themselves for the next bout of looting and pillaging and conquering.

They still had duties to perform.  Rust and rot were as much an enemy as were conquered peoples seeking to rebel against Roman rule.  Weapons needed cleaning, buildings needed repairing, and somebody had to stand guard.

I have no empire to defend, no barbarian hordes at the garden gate and very few weapons requiring polishing. My winter preparations are more likely to involve checking the heating, finding my slippers and making sure there is something comforting in the freezer.

The regular routine of training, eating, sleeping and so on would continue.  There was probably more time for socialising with one’s comrades and maybe even a little self-care.

There is one important difference between my hibernaculum and a Roman military camp. I am in charge. No centurion shouting at me to get up at dawn. No military drills in freezing weather. And absolutely no marching around in the rain merely to demonstrate my fitness.

Almost time

It's almost time for my hibernaculum!  This is the first time I can remember looking forward with pleasure to winter, which says a lot for how I found my first attempt last year.

Hibernaculum?  It's what Roman soldiers used to call their winter quarters when they took a break from looting and pillaging.  These days it's more commonly a place for over-wintering plants, or the lair of a wintering animal.   

I had read that the Scandinavian peoples are amongst the happiest in the world which seemed very odd as they have much "harder" winters than we do.  I wondered if I too could have happier winters.

One of my great sources of inspiration was "The Gifts of Winter" by Stephanie Fitzgerald.  She had started from a similar viewpoint to mine i.e Winter Is Bleugh!  I actually read an article from The Guardian first.  This takes several points from the book in a very short form.

This year I start with a little experience as to what helped me.  I've started to batch cook and freeze some of my favourite meals for days when cooking feels like too much effort.  I've dug out and added to my collection of LED candles.  I've draped throws over all the chairs in the sitting room.

I've also set aside money for a treat meal each week and some flowers.  It's part of my self-care.

Visiting Holly

 I've got quite a few nights with Holly Dog this month while G, her regular staff, has gone to America to visit her daughter.  Holly is a bit subdued at the moment.  She was distinctly off colour last week so G took her to the vet and she has been sorted but she's not her usual perky self.

I think she may have decided to train me rather better.  She wasn't very enthusiastic about her food when I arrived but she persuaded me that roast chicken might coax her appetite.  It did.  The smell of it roasting had her nose twitching and she found it necessary to do extensive tests as to its quality.  I think it passed but there is plenty for both of us for a couple of days.

And while I am here I have taken a picture of "my" tree.  It's still got most of its leaves but a few have fallen.  

Canadian Thanksgiving

Greetings to one and all but especially my Canadian readers.  There is something rather appealing about a country that celebrates being thankful in October, before the Christmas madness begins. 

Canadian Thanksgiving falls on the second Monday in October. The leaves are turning, the evenings are drawing in, and we English are wondering whether it is too early to put the heating on.

I understand Canadians celebrate with roast turkey, stuffing, gravy and pumpkin pie. Christmas dinner, almost, but without the expense of presents, the Christmas cards or the annual hunt for Sellotape.  I rather like the idea. Although pumpkin pie might leave me wondering what to do with the rest of the pumpkin.

Thanksgiving is about pausing to appreciate the good things in life. We have our own harvest festivals in England, of course, -  I led one yesterday.  But perhaps we could borrow a little of the Canadian spirit and set aside an autumn day for good food, friendship and a moment to count our blessings.

A quiet day of gratitude, with a roast dinner and perhaps a pudding, sounds splendid.  And if gratitude happens to come with roast potatoes, I am entirely in favour.