A Team Effort

I felt worse on Monday for some reason.  I think the arthritis which flared up because of my trip to the Clinic is draining me.  The day before the op, Wednesday week, I made a carrot cake, and - showing how much I have deteriorated - it had to be a joint effort.  (A "joint" effort! Ha.)  Col helped all the way.  He grated the carrots for me, and worked the beater while I poured in the olive oil.

The cake was good, and the freezer is restocked with his lunchtime cakes.

We had a lovely visitor to our Moth Hotel, an enormous Red Underwing.  I will see if I can get one of the Captain's photos of it for the blog.  Got one and, as you can see, it was quite a poser.  Mind you, so would I be if I was as lovely as that.

The noble Captain is doing the washing and making all the meals.  I helped a little bit with the soup - fried the curry spices to add a bit of flavour.  I do feel very tired - and am sleeping better at night.  I feel I am dreaming a lot - making up for the many sleepless night before my op I suppose - but I don't really remember the dreams. They often seem to involve our expat life, or even our uni life - so going back in time - a long way back.

And the Captain is still beating me at the Ordles most mornings.  How can that be?!

The Sandwich Fairy is back on duty - so the Captain's packed lunch was waiting in the fridge for him this morning - with a piece of our joint enterprise carrot cake included.

Last night was my last night of having to wear the eye patch, so that is a progression - I hope.

I have got back to my daily Bible reading - in Deuteronomy now - and hope to finish my studies for the meeting tonight.  The more you study the Bible, the more you get out of it, and as a Jehovah's Witness I am being taught it constantly at all our meetings.  For example, just at the moment the worldwide congregations are studying Jacob's deathbed prophecy about his sons, how they were fulfilled, and what we can learn from them.

IRISES

Captain Butterfly bought this lovely bunch of irises - kind of appropriate for my recovery from a Cataract op I guess - and also these two cyclamen to replace the African violets which sadly died. 

Hopefully my recovery is going well in these early days.   He is on full time care duty - putting my drops in and making meals etc, but I seem to be coming back on line bit by bit.

It is a very strange business, the operation. The actual thing itself takes about 10 minutes.  You feel nothing beyond some pressure and see nothing but a bright light that you told to look into.  Well, I was told to look just below the light which I did. Your head is tilted back and kept still, and your blink mechanism apparently stops functioning. 

Amazing.

But the preliminaries took a long time, and there is a bit of aftercare too - lots of post-op instructions.  We arrived at the Clinic at 10:30 and left just before 2:00.

All the staff were so lovely - kind, patient, funny and explained everything very well.  And that makes such a difference.  The problem is that all the extra moving about - not a lot of it - but getting in and our of difficult chairs in various waiting rooms has flared up my arthritis.

Captain Butterfly is being a tower of strength.  He has cancelled his weekend's detecting to be here.  And so I very much hope it is not this weekend of all weekends that the lads find the Hoard of Gold - the long lost  treasure chest of King Canute (assuming he lost one)!

I would never hear the last of it. 

I got back to the Hall for the Sunday meeting, albeit in Pixel form. The congregations worldwide are doing a very interesting study of Jacob's inspired deathbed prophecy - and what we can learn from it.

An Old Woman Speaks of the Moon

 

I am letting the poets speak for me today, so here are two, very different, takes on old age:

An Old Woman Speaks of the Moon

by Ruth Pitter

She was urgent to speak of the moon: she offered delight
And wondering praise to be shared by the girl in the shop,
Lauding the goddess who blessed her each sleepless night
Greater and brighter till full: but the girl could not stop.

She turned and looked up in my face, and hastened to cry
How beautiful was the orb, how the constant glow
Comforted in the cold night the old waking eye:
How fortunate she, whose lodging was placed that so

She in her lonely night, in her lonely age,
She from her poor lean bed might behold the undying
Letter of loveliness written on heaven's page,
The sharp silver arrows leap down to where she was lying.

The dying spoke love to the immortal, the foul to the fair,
The withered to the still-flowering, the bound to the free:
The nipped worm to the silver swan that sails through the air:
And I took it as good, and a happy omen to me.

https://www.poetrynook.com/poem/old-woman-speaks-moon#google_vignette

Father William

by Lewis Carroll

  "You are old, father William," the young man said,
    "And your hair has become very white;
  And yet you incessantly stand on your head —
    Do you think, at your age, it is right?"

  "In my youth," father William replied to his son,
    "I feared it would injure the brain;
  But now that I'm perfectly sure I have none,
    Why, I do it again and again."

  "You are old," said the youth, "as I mentioned before,
    And have grown most uncommonly fat;
  Yet you turned a back-somersault in at the door —
    Pray, what is the reason of that?"

  "In my youth," said the sage, as he shook his grey locks,
    "I kept all my limbs very supple
  By the use of this ointment — one shilling the box —
    Allow me to sell you a couple."

  "You are old," said the youth, "and your jaws are too weak
    For anything tougher than suet;
  Yet you finished the goose, with the bones and the beak —
    Pray, how did you manage to do it?"

  "In my youth," said his father, "I took to the law,
    And argued each case with my wife;
  And the muscular strength, which it gave to my jaw,
    Has lasted the rest of my life."

  "You are old," said the youth; one would hardly suppose
    That your eye was as steady as ever;
  Yet you balanced an eel on the end of your nose —
    What made you so awfully clever?"

  "I have answered three questions, and that is enough,"
    Said his father; "don't give yourself airs!
  Do you think I can listen all day to such stuff?
    Be off, or I'll kick you down stairs!"

https://allpoetry.com/Father-William

I think this was a clever parody of an improving Victorian verse - but I may be wrong.  And my experience of old age tells me that both poets have a point - and they make their point very well.  Many of the old have some amazing experiences and stories behind them, and are very fit and active.

The moon, of course, is not a goddess.  It is part of the creation - such a lovely part too - and as it shines down, never growing old, coming and going, lighting up our nights, pulling our tides, it is telling us, as clearly as if it spoke, of its Grand Creator, Jehovah.  So, yes, it is "the undying letter of loveliness written on heaven's page".

It wanes and wanes, but back it comes as lovely as ever.  Whereas I wane and wane... until...  however, if the Grand Creator of the moon remembers me, I will live again, never to grow old or die.  And I so much want always to see the silvery moon as it waxes and wanes, waxes and wanes.

I hope we all will.

Oh, and I thought a couple of the Captain's photos of the moon might make a prettier heading than a pic of an old woman, i.e. me.

When I post this I am hoping to be able to add that my Cataract operation went well.  If it ended in disaster then this will be my last blog - aarrgghh.

--------

postscript from Captain - cataract operation went well and Sue is convalescing.

ZOOMING, ZOOPER

I thought I must put up a pic of our recent visitor, a Poplar Hawk Moth.  Either quite a few of them have come to visit, or one of them really likes our hotel and checks himself into an eggbox room every night.

It is another hot day, but the burn seems to have gone out of it.  Have we reached the moment when August begins to tip over into Autumn?  We desperately need rain, so I guess the trees will be dropping their leaves early anyway.

While I am hoping for Autumns without number in the restored earthly paradise, just at the moment I am hoping for at least one or two more of my favourite season.

But I wanted to say how amazing Zoom is, and how we now take it for granted.  I had two Zoom sessions on Monday morning, one with a congregation sister, and one with my siblings - reaching as far as Oz.  

And today I have two Zooms - the field service meeting and one with one of the young pioneers.  Oh and Col had his usual Monday session with his brothers.

Medical matters also take up a lot of time. Col had a hospital blood test on Monday, and I have my Cataract operation coming up.  I am trying not to think about it, though people who have had it assure me it is not at all bad, and over very quickly.  

Col left early for The Field - the Archeologists' Field - today, so whatever wonderful thing he might find it stays with them. But I get to see a photo.

And to get back to Super Zoom - I am very grateful to Jehovah's organisation for transferring all our meetings into Zoom two days before the government lockdown and for providing many young sisters and brothers to patiently teach crumblies such as myself.

I wish it had been around when my parents were still here so they would have been able to talk to - and see - John every week.

Visitors (Moths and Otherwise)

The family came down for the now traditional week by the sea - and had their usual week of sunshine too!  Well apart from Thursday which was warm, overcast and included a little bit of rain.  Col took lots of photos of the littles in the Playground.

The youngest was interested in the Moth Trap Hotel.  We had a dramatic guest returning night after night to its comfy eggbox bed.  It was a Poplar Hawk Moth, and she did a great drawing of it that will appear in the Captain's Log in time.

The oldest is now a glamorous blonde, long-legged teenaged, superglued to her phone, but very pleasant when she manages to extract herself - occasionally

And my sister and I continue to grow older - but still manage to enjoy life and be creative.  And still work, in Nute's case.  So much so, that work rang her up twice during her stay, asking for some help, even though she was on her holiday.

We also got a moth new to our balcony - a Willow Stick, see photo above.  That would not be a bad name for a super-model, Ms Willow Stick.

Now I have to begin my cataract operations, which are going to take up quite a lot of my time over the next couple of months.  They ask you to be very careful in the week following the op - two weeks ideally.

I can't say I am looking forward to them, but I am grateful that they are on offer through the NHS.

I also had to ring up and make another appointment for a blood test - as requested.  That will be in September.  Life seems like nothing but hospital appointments, these days. But I must be, and am, very grateful that all this help is still available, given my age.

Walking Sally

I was thrilled to have a fb request on Monday to re-post my poem Walking Sally. Which I did.  What poet could ask for more - that someone liked their poem and wanted to read it again?

So here it is - and I think it is probably more verse than poem, but I hope I put a lot of the joy of doggie walks into it.

WALKING SALLY

by me

Round and round the bushes

Sally rustles

Past picnickers and children

Sally bustles

Cyclists and grey squirrels

Sally hassles

Joggers and old ladies

Sally passes

On new grass and ducks bread

Sally grazes

On cats and Konkord Castle

Sally gazes

Bent twigs and giant sticks

Sally carries

Terriers and tomboys

Sally harries

Home again at sunset

Sally hurries

Up the slopes of Brocco Bank

She scurries

Hoping for her doggy bix

And marrow

And another walk in Endcliffe Park

Tomorrow.

So I now have to see if I can find a photo of her in Col's gallery. But I couldn't find one! I know Nute has plenty so maybe we can get one or two in the gallery in time. But I did find the rather lovely pic of Endcliffe Park in the snow to head the blog. I think what makes it is the blue in the sky behind the trees.

The park is a ribbon of woodland and streams and ponds that runs all the way from Hunters Bar (near the city centre) to the moors at Ringinglow. And it was Sally's happy place. She was there at least once a day.

It was and is full of squirrels too, just to add to the excitement.

Anyway, it is lovely to feel that someone has enjoyed a poem I wrote. Makes me feel useful.

And I must note how being a part of the Jehovah's Witness organisation always gives me a feeling of being useful and appreciated, even though I am pretty decrepit now, and still not much of a people person.

It's a great feeling, and it's one of the many reasons that I keep urging people to accept our offer of a free home Bible Course and find out both what the Bible actually says and why we can be sure it is the truth. I want everyone to know how well their Creator, Jehovah, knows them, and what wonderful potential he sees in every one of us.

It is the beginning of restoring that connection so fatally broken in Eden.

The Garden of No.5 Disraeli Crescet

Memories, once again. This is the garden of our childhood house, which appears as 5 Disraeli Crescent in my books.  Captain B is there with the young me, the young Nute, and the very young Alex.  Alex is now a dad with two children of his own - one of them a teenager, who has, apparently, been superglued to her phone.

The garden was daddy's pride and joy.  He kept it up very well, and grew a lot of fruit and veg for us all as dads did back then I guess.   I think the memory of his garden was triggered by the travellers' horses who were recently on our Green, as one of my siblings pointed out that back in the day - the 1950s - food rationing and grow your own - those horse droppings would have been greatly prized and not left lying around.  Every father in town would have been out with a bucket and spade.  "For the roses!" was the cry.

They usually chased after the horse and cart of the Rag and Bone man, with his strange cry of AAAANNYOLDIRON.  In my granny's village, milk was delivered to the jug you left on your front doorstep via horse and cart.  I suppose that back in the early Fifties all the local fathers must have chased after the cart too - but I don't remember.

Maybe manure was more readily available in the countryside?   Though just about everything was in short supply back then, apart from bombsites.

And, as we, the human family, have learnt nothing from our past, not even from two World Wars, there is still no shortage of bombsites.

So let me finish this blog with a comforting promise from our loving Creator who has not abandoned us to the tragic decision our first parents made.

Psalm 37:11:  But the meek will possess the earth, and they will find exquisite delight in the abundance of peace. 

Under the loving, perfect rule of the Kingdom of God there will be peace in abundance.  Forever.