It's been a while since I posted but I'm still here. The recovery road has been rough of late and flare-ups of any kind dry up my blogging juices, but dammit I don't want to stop. So I'm going to keep the bar low. A few lines will do.
Let me tell you about this morning's gale. A wild one. The last few leaves from the silver birch danced and and soared in front of the kitchen window like so many yellow butterflies. The tree herself swayed and shuddered, tossing her branches as a woman might her long hair.
Thursday, December 5, 2013
Thursday, October 3, 2013
Tuesday, October 1, 2013
Spider
I was tidying up in the kitchen yesterday afternoon when a black spider appeared close to my right eye. I tried to brush it away and realised it wasn't a spider at all. It was a large black floater dominating my field of vision. It sank out of sight and a few minutes later came back again with a couple of small friends. Panic. But since the PVD diagnosis for the left eye a few months ago, I knew what to do, called a taxi and headed for the Eye Casualty clinic at the local hospital.
Five people ahead of me but I didn't mind. Just being there was a comfort. I would be dealt with. Leafed compulsively through the one magazine on the waiting room table. A local community newsletter about Hay on Wye. I read through the features, returned to the beginning and started scrutinising the small ads in desperation. The spider came and went. The other five: an elderly man and his male friend; two women (I couldn't make out which one was the patient) and a young lad with a cold chatted and/or stared at the ceiling.
Called into the triage section. A motherly and reassuring nurse took the relevant details and put dilation drops into both eyes. A different waiting room. They'd made an effort with the decor - prints of cheerful impressionist paintings, an Ansel Adams photograph. More magazines. A wider selection here: She, Good Housekeeping, Country Living, and even Hello (I know, I know, when you're in a hospital waiting room you'll read anything. It occurred to me that I only recognised about half the celebrities featured). I was contemplating tackling a caravanning periodical when my name was called.
It was obvious Dr Patel knew what she was doing. She sat opposite me at the ophthalmology machine. Chin on the machine, a succession of dazzling bright lights, white and blue, in the eyes. Look upwards to the right. Downwards to the left. Focus on my right ear. Keep your eyes wide open. I know it's hard. She handed me a tissue.
So it's just PVD again. Floaters rather than flashes this time but the same thing. Grateful to have been seen. Grateful to be reassured. Still have to watch out for the signs of a possible retinal detachment but I feel like an old hand at this game now.
On the way home I debated why I hadn't asked my neighbour to accompany me. At the hospital I had alternated between a wistful melancholy that I had no-one metaphorically to hold my hand but at the same time I was relieved at not having to worry about anyone else's welfare - especially with the long wait. My neighbour is lovely but I don't know her well enough to feel comfortable in this kind of situation. It seems that when the chips are down I rely on myself. This is the way life is now and I'm not sure I am capable of changing it. Besides, I've been robbed of my independence these past few years and it felt good to get a little of it back.
The spider is still with me this morning. Maybe as time goes by I'll start to get fond of him.
Five people ahead of me but I didn't mind. Just being there was a comfort. I would be dealt with. Leafed compulsively through the one magazine on the waiting room table. A local community newsletter about Hay on Wye. I read through the features, returned to the beginning and started scrutinising the small ads in desperation. The spider came and went. The other five: an elderly man and his male friend; two women (I couldn't make out which one was the patient) and a young lad with a cold chatted and/or stared at the ceiling.
Called into the triage section. A motherly and reassuring nurse took the relevant details and put dilation drops into both eyes. A different waiting room. They'd made an effort with the decor - prints of cheerful impressionist paintings, an Ansel Adams photograph. More magazines. A wider selection here: She, Good Housekeeping, Country Living, and even Hello (I know, I know, when you're in a hospital waiting room you'll read anything. It occurred to me that I only recognised about half the celebrities featured). I was contemplating tackling a caravanning periodical when my name was called.
It was obvious Dr Patel knew what she was doing. She sat opposite me at the ophthalmology machine. Chin on the machine, a succession of dazzling bright lights, white and blue, in the eyes. Look upwards to the right. Downwards to the left. Focus on my right ear. Keep your eyes wide open. I know it's hard. She handed me a tissue.
So it's just PVD again. Floaters rather than flashes this time but the same thing. Grateful to have been seen. Grateful to be reassured. Still have to watch out for the signs of a possible retinal detachment but I feel like an old hand at this game now.
On the way home I debated why I hadn't asked my neighbour to accompany me. At the hospital I had alternated between a wistful melancholy that I had no-one metaphorically to hold my hand but at the same time I was relieved at not having to worry about anyone else's welfare - especially with the long wait. My neighbour is lovely but I don't know her well enough to feel comfortable in this kind of situation. It seems that when the chips are down I rely on myself. This is the way life is now and I'm not sure I am capable of changing it. Besides, I've been robbed of my independence these past few years and it felt good to get a little of it back.
The spider is still with me this morning. Maybe as time goes by I'll start to get fond of him.
Thursday, September 12, 2013
Earth
The gardener, Brian, came yesterday afternoon; he's been on holiday for nearly a month so the garden needed his ministrations. This morning - very early - I bag up the rubbish for the weekly collection. Overcast sky. It has rained overnight, moisture still hangs heavily in the air, and a snail makes its slimey way up the wall. The scent of the newly turned soil and cut grass is wonderful. Half a dozen fuchsia flowers provide a splash of flashy, showgirl colour in an otherwise muted and damp space. I always try and walk barefoot on the grass as I read somewhere that is good for the health - and even if it isn't I love it, particularly in wet weather.
Brian went to the States for his holiday. We compare notes on the Grand Canyon and both agree that we needed far longer than the allotted single day in a packed itinerary. I still dream of making it back there one day to walk some of the lesser-known trails - around the North Rim for example.
I was at the canyon in early November 2000. The day after our arrival in America the Presidential Election took place. We left for home a week and a bit later, still not knowing who the next President would be. The rest, as they say, is history. History that is still playing itself out.
Brian went to the States for his holiday. We compare notes on the Grand Canyon and both agree that we needed far longer than the allotted single day in a packed itinerary. I still dream of making it back there one day to walk some of the lesser-known trails - around the North Rim for example.
I was at the canyon in early November 2000. The day after our arrival in America the Presidential Election took place. We left for home a week and a bit later, still not knowing who the next President would be. The rest, as they say, is history. History that is still playing itself out.
Sunday, September 8, 2013
September
"September is different from all other months. It is more magical ..... For days the weather has been the same. One wakes to see the trees outside bathed in green-gold light. It's fresh - not cold. It's clear. The sky is a light pure blue.
.... Midday - with long shadows. Hot and still. And yet there's always that taste of a berry rather than a scent of a flower in the air. "
Katherine Mansfield
Journal, September 1921
Journal, September 1921
Monday, September 2, 2013
Daybreak
Very early morning, pre-dawn, in my dressing gown I carry the filled charity shop bag to the front lawn for collection. A warm wind from the west, soft as a caress, with the faintest scent of flowers and pine. High above the waning crescent moon says her farewells to the current lunar cycle.
Most of the bag is filled with old books. I have a schizophrenic relationship with books these days because as fast as the old ones are given away new ones are being ordered; second hand all, so bankruptcy isn't too much of a threat. In my defence, reading still has to be the primary occupation. I've just ordered a copy of Katherine Mansfield's Letters and Journal - my previous one fell apart a few years ago I re-read it so much. Also I'm currently addicted to Lawrence Block's Matt Scudder detective novels. Very dark but riveting, particularly if you know New York. At some point I'm going to have to get a Kindle.
****
A couple more butterfly photos. The underside of the Small Tortoiseshell's wings is less showy than the upper surface but equally beautiful.
Most of the bag is filled with old books. I have a schizophrenic relationship with books these days because as fast as the old ones are given away new ones are being ordered; second hand all, so bankruptcy isn't too much of a threat. In my defence, reading still has to be the primary occupation. I've just ordered a copy of Katherine Mansfield's Letters and Journal - my previous one fell apart a few years ago I re-read it so much. Also I'm currently addicted to Lawrence Block's Matt Scudder detective novels. Very dark but riveting, particularly if you know New York. At some point I'm going to have to get a Kindle.
****
A couple more butterfly photos. The underside of the Small Tortoiseshell's wings is less showy than the upper surface but equally beautiful.
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