ahah! So I decided to write a bit more of the blog since I'm 71 and won't last forever.  Since my most recent post little Polly, my elder cat, had to be killed by the vet as she was falling over and getting thinner and weaker. She was 19 years old.  So now Lulu has had to take over her duties, except the "waking me in the morning by walking over my face" duties, they've been passed on to Zak but he's not much good at it, as he snuggles up to my face and falls asleep.  But Lulu has to remind me (every hour) to feed them, has had to turn in to a lap cat - even with visitors, and has turned into the yard cat too since little Jenny from upstairs, who was the yard cat, had to be also put to sleep.  I think of Lulu a bit like Prince Charles, waiting almost a lifetime for a proper job!

Now the "every time" list.
Every time I
iron a teatowel
water the aspidistra
cut the nail on my littlest toes
pencil in my eyebrows
see the snapdragons
cook roast potatoes
look up the hill
see a rainbow

Every time I iron a teatowel I think of our kitchen in Armfield Street, Coventry, where my mum got my brother and I competing to be allowed to iron! And I've never lost my love of ironing, though as a teenager I didn't much like ironing the adults' and my teen brother's underwear. Fortunately, now I live alone, I don't iron anything that doesn't need it.

I remember, late 60s or early 70s, we lived in Alderman's Green Road by then, mum having to heat up a solid (non electric) iron on the boiler to do the ironing. Why was that I wonder?  I don't think it was during the three-day weeks, they were later in the 70s.  

I enjoyed the 3 day weeks, we had to work by candle light at Gulson Hospital where I was a medical secretary. Some of those junior docs were very cute. That's all I am saying.

Every time I water the aspidistra it reminds me of so many things. The original aspidistra was in my nan's front room at Perkins Street, Hillfields, Coventry. Dad rescued it when she died and brought it to Alderman's Green. When dad died in 1990 he had not long split the plant into a number of smaller plants, and lots of rels took one with them from his shed.  I managed to save one and it's been with me ever since - 30 years and counting.  I split it off and give them away. I love it. And the other great thing is, the tortoise can eat aspidistra too.  He can't reach it, so I cut him a bit off every few weeks. So that aspidistra reminds me of my nan, my mum and my dad.  When I was little we didn't have indoor plants - they were a luxury, I guess, when one's money had to be spent on food.  Later though, my parents became really keen on indoor plants especially Christmas cactus.  Somewhere I have a photo they sent to me in the middle east of a cactus of which they were particularly fond. I'll see if I can find it! (nope, can't find it, but I can see it in my mind. The other thing I need to do is go through the big box of photos!)

Every time ...

Well, it's about ten years since I last posted on the blog, but I've rediscovered it. And remembered the password.

Every time ... I do anything ... I think of people in my past.  So I want to write about them.  Some people will be just X because of various factors - they were married, we are no longer friends, they wouldn't want the publicity, other reasons.  Of course, they may recognise themselves if they read this.  I shan't be putting anything nasty, because why would I even have interactions with nasty people?

A pet update: six months after my Mick Jagger died on 14th February, my lovely Sammy died.  I had to have him killed by the vet when he (Sam) was having a fit that wouldn't stop, and screaming, and staring into my eyes begging me to do something.  He'd been a fine cat, teaching me everything a cat owner needed to know.  Things he taught my other cats are still done, for instance ringing a bell when they want me to open a door for them.  He was a darling. When he began having fits I took to sleeping on the floor with him, so he couldn't fall out of bed. This is Sam on the right, with Lulu and Polly as youngsters.  Sam was an ex-feral cat, he was born in the barn behind the Kings Arms in the High Street.  I think he was glad to move into a house, once he'd got me trained.

The female cats that were young then, Polly and Lulu, are now elderly and slow and sleep a lot. They have a younger companion, Zak, who has lived with us for seven years, and a tortoise that thinks he's cat, Blackberry. The pets are my exercise.  Does everyone else do half an hour's exercise before coffee, shower, dress?  not many I think. Here are Zak and Lulu sharing the warmth from Blackberry's heating lamp!

Another update: my ankle, broken in the "fire on the conservatory roof" debacle, still bothers me and makes me afraid to walk on the hills, especially downhill.  I saw an orthopaedic consultant about it, and the Xray shows nothing but arthritic changes.  He asked me if I was afraid of breaking it again.  I replied, "No, I'm afraid of the embarrassment of falling over!"  

Meanwhile I need to begin my "Every time..." journal.  Let's make some notes.

Every time I
iron a teatowel
water the aspidistra
cut the nail on my littlest toes
pencil in my eyebrows
see the snapdragons
cook roast potatoes
look up the hill
see a rainbow

Must be a growing old thing, everything I do reminds me of someone I've loved.

Mick Jagger MY Mick Jagger 1995-2011

dear darling Micky died today 14th February 2011. He had gone into the bathroom overnight and lay on the rug in there; he drank some water and tried to eat a little breakfast but he was so light, so very light, so much weight lost over the past few days. He went out one morning last week, as usual, right after breakfast, to the front yard. Within minutes he was back, most unusual as he generally made his way around to the cat flap. He was different somehow, his tail stuck out and he was walking stiffly. I could find no blood, no bits of him that made him wince when touched. I don't know if a fox grabbed him, one of the neighbour cats (although Mick was friendly with everything in a laid back unostentatious way), or he was clipped by a car. But he became more and more quiet over the past few days. And died whilst I was at work today. He had had a special hug and a whispered Goodbye this morning.

Memories:

Micky as a kitten. I thought he was a girl and called him Kitty. He came from Pitchford village, my only cat who's not a foundling. Sammy had been an only cat for a year. Sammy and I were canoodling on the bed when Sam's eyes opened wide as he gazed over my shoulder. Baby Micky had been sleeping under the pillow and crept out to see what we were doing. I felt so .... dirty

Mick would leave home for two or three days as a teenager. I know where he went. To the house on the hairpin bend of Cunnery Road where he would socialise with Mrs Justin-Evans, who wore perfume. He'd drift home in his own time, looking well fed and smelling of perfume. Sometimes he would chirrup at me as I passed that house on the way home from the pub at night, and then escort me home the long way (up the road rather than via the field!)

Micky loved to go for walks in company; he trained me and Sammy to go with him round the Rectory Wood on summer evenings. There was a certain route we had to follow (and along this route his ashes will shortly be scattered); he and Sam would race toward certain trees and see who could claw their way furthest up the tree. On the way home they would scamper down the Rectory Field, zigzagging in and out of the bracken. It was Fun, for them as well as me.

His most recent long walk was with me and Daphne a couple of years ago. we set off for a walk around the wood; I looked back toward the gate and there was Mick, wondering if it was too late to join us. He calmly accompanied us all the way, including greeting dogs and their owners without fear.

More recently he spent each evening on my lap impeding my typing on the pc - or he would curl up alongside the pc thus managing to impede any use of the mouse. I always thought he had no sense of humour - but who knows.

Mick Jagger - my cat. Fearless and devoted; cuddly and purry; swaggering and strutting. Sixteen years of tolerant and cosy companionship. I miss you. x

What I did on my holidays - part I

yesterday Ian and I took the Shuttle Bus to the top of the Long Mynd - we get it free, being oldies; but then, so do most people that use it. We got off at the Stiperstones (actual, not pub) and had a wander up there nearly to the devil's chair, then turned and walked back the way the bus had come, toward Bridges and the Horseshoes Inn.

As we walked across the moorland at the top, a kite took off from a small tree about 10 yards ahead of us, flew low over us and circled, then flew back toward the Stiperstones. It was certainly the closest I've been to a kite, Ian too I think!

Because it was so hot, I didn't want to wear my MBTs to walk, them being a bit wintry and me wearing a white linen skirt ... so I wore a pair of plimsolls. Plimsolls are not recommended for walking 3 miles in 80 degree heat on rocky paths! Oh my feet and knees did ache! It's worn off now though (next day) and I've just been for an amble around the Secret Hills centre at Craven Arms. There were some fab turquoise dragonflies over a pool there, some of them "joined" to drab little brown dragonflies. I dunno if the bright ones are the women or the men. I suppose I could look it up. I'm back. If it was a common blue damselfly, then the women are the dull brown/green ones. Either that or they were all carrying bits of dry stick on their backs.

Also today I had the horrible thought that the old wall cupboard I've set my heart on for the kitchen might not fit through the door. I'd measured it yesterday in the antiques centre though without a tape measure. It measured across: elbow to fingertip x 3. It measured in depth: elbow to fingertip divided by 2. I didn't bother measuring height as the kitchen ceiling is really high. So today I measured the height of my door frame. 196 cm max. Then I went, with a tape measure, and measured the height of the cupboard. 200 cm. I WAS SO DEJECTED. This cupboard was going to solve all my storage problems when I have my kitchen remodelled. I don't want lots of kitcheny things in there.

As I walked away my brain suddenly kicked into gear. They lay these things on their sides don't they, to get them through doorways. I tell you, it's a good job the human race doesn't depend on my brain.

Chester, and on the way to Chester

I went toChester yesterday. Silly really on a Bank Holiday, it was s-l-o-w. I needed petrol and the loo so stopped at a service station. A Shell service station. The girl serving me was called Shell! (Michelle, she assured me). But it was like fate. She said when she was little she thought it was her petrol station.

There was a queue for the one toilet (handwashing facilities in the same room as the toilet, it always slows things down); two women and a man were taking turns and talking in a foreign language to each other. Finally just me and the man left. I thought I'd make an effort and said, in my clearest voice: "Where . Are. You. From? Poland?" He said "Sorry?", so I repeated myself, more clearly.

He looked me straight in the eye. "Wales", he said.

Ooops.

Life's disappointments

Life has dealt me a few disappointments. The earliest I can remember is my conviction that once I learned to read I could finish school and teach myself everything. Or everything I wanted to know.

So I was six when I had my first big disappointment.

There were others in the next few years, I'm sure.

Then I tasted, at a Chinese restaurant in Coventry in the very early 1960s, peppers, bamboo shoots and beansprouts. When I say "tasted" I mean they were in my bowl and I ate them. THEY HAVE NO TASTE!!!! How disappointing that was I can never explain. I was so excited to have bumped into my grandparents in the city centre, and to accept their offer of a trip to the newly opened Chinese restaurant. I know they decided to choose things that weren't too spicy for me .... and I definitely kept my disappointment from them.

We won't discuss here the disappointment of Rome turning out to be a scruffy chilly city or Cairo being probably the filthiest and smelliest place I've been to in my life ......

Knitting

I do love knitting (preferably for me). I just finished a hat in untreated sheep wool, dark brown, it smells of lanolin, it's fabulous. Probably will make a pair of matching mittens. That should encourage me to go out and WALK even in winter; trouble is, I'd rather stay in and knit :o)

Right now I have a fat blob in front of me, it's the torso of an Itty Bitty Baby Doll for someone's baby girl (we only have baby boys in our family). I shall begin the head soon but as it is just about a repeat of the body I need to take a breather.

I wonder how Daphne's getting on in China - is she wearing the socks I made for her?

Resolution: will try to update this blog every few days. Honest.