Mum Remembers a Dear Friend

Mum Remembers A Dear Friend.

We have a wonderful friend, June, who lives across the road from us; over all the years we have lived  here, she has been a dear friend and neighbour, always ready to visit Mum and spend time with her. 

Even before Mum broke her ankle, and had to stay with us permanently, June would come over and see Mum, and talk to her; if Mum was in a "funny mood" (i.e., grumpy and unpredictable), June would say,"Oh, I'll come and see her - she'll be alright!" And, after a short while in June's company, Mum was indeed "alright," and in a much happier frame of mind.

At one time, June also presented Mum a beautiful rug, which Mum uses a lot, draping it over her knees to keep her legs warm. 

Just before Christmas, June came over to see us, and we had a great time chatting about this and that, and generally setting the world to rights. When it was time for her to leave, June said she would look in on Mum in her bedroom, and say "Hello."

We weren't sure if Mum would remember her, so I went in with June, and said, 

"Mum...."

"Yes?" 

"June's come to see you - do you remember June? She lives just across the road."

And Mum's reply was a brilliant early Christmas present for us all.

Without any hesitation, Mum said, 

"Oh, yes, I remember June." Mum patted the rug on her knee: "She gave me this lovely shawl."

We all looked at each other, amazed and delighted that such a good memory is still tucked away somewhere inside Mum's head. 

I think it is so important never to stop trying to stimulate someone's memory, and perhaps bring back

something good to the forefront of their mind.  

I know June was equally thrilled that Mum had remembered her so clearly; and the best part about it was that Mum was actually wearing the rug June had given her. 

After nearly a month of not writing an entry in my blog - I'm back!

After nearly a month of not writing an entry in my blog - I'm back!

It's not that the spirit has not been willing, or the flesh has been weak - more a case of in the run-up to Christmas, the days flew faster than ever; in my childhood memory, the expression "The clock is going on gingerbread wheels," meant no-one could ever catch up with it, as preparations for the festive season gradually took over. Of course, Mum is our No.1 priority ("No. 1 priority" - is that tautology?!) and she is always cared for and attended to before anything else can happen; but I love Christmas, and I love the meaning of it, which for me means also getting in touch with dear friends and family, contacting people who will be on their own over Christmas, writing letters - e-mail and snail mail - and finding the opportunity to have chats on the phone and catch up on each other's news.

There's a gentle pleasure in knowing you've let folks know you are thinking of them and wishing them well, and this year, everything got done in good time.

I don't go mad on grocery shopping at Christmas; unless on the day you're catering for dozens of friends and relatives, where do people put away all the food filling their overflowing supermarket trollies? Just because it's a Christmas dinner, no-one in our family can eat two or three times as much as they usually do, so my extra shopping consisted of a turkey (yup, I'm traditional when it comes to turkey), and Yorkshire puddings; an extra pack of carrots and peas, a stem of brussels sprouts (I'm not keen, but the rest of the family is!), and the usual turnip, swede and cauliflower vegetables, along with roast potatoes.  Oh, yes, and I got a chocolate Yule Log.... I am very partial to all things chocolatey, as anyone who knows me will confirm.

My main concern is getting everything cooked and ready to serve at the same time; this year, on Tuesday, it all went smoothly.

Mum did extremely well; she joined us at the dining table, and we all helped to make sure she ate properly. It was such a treat for me to have all my loved ones together at the same time, and also for Mum to take part in the festivities. Afterwards, we repaired to the lounge to open our lovely gifts, and  took a couple of photos so we can remind Mum later on of all that we did on Christmas Day.

We sang carols around the piano until the carers came at 8.30 p.m. (earlier than usual this evening, because they also needed to get all their calls finished, and have some time with their own families); after such an eventful day, Mum was very ready for bed!

I Perform Poetry Again

I Perform Poetry Again

Some months ago, at a poetry session held at a local Library, it was mentioned that on 24 November, there would be a performance of George Butterworth's Rhapsody on a Shropshire Lad, based on A E Houseman's poetry, and that there was a request circulating for someone to recite some of the poems.

I put my hand up to say I was very interested! and Paul Kelly, Chairman of the Havering Concert Orchestra, got in touch with me, to explain what they were planning to do. The concert would be the last event in the Havering Literary Festival, running from 5 - 24 November; the Concert would mark the centenary of the end of World War One.

George Butterworth was killed in 1916, shot by a sniper on the Somme, which made his music a poignant choice to commemorate the end of the war; it was decided I would recite 5 poems before the orchestra performed the Rhapsody.

The Concert Orchestra has an interesting history; not every town or borough has its own orchestra, but the Havering Concert Orchestra has been known as such for over 50 years, and has existed since at least the 1930s; it draws audiences from a wide area in Essex and beyond.

So! Having committed myself to the task, next came the serious business of memorising A E Houseman's work. With a few exceptions, most of the poems in the cycle are very short; I could have a copy of them as an aide memoire, but I wanted to be so familiar with them, and so comfortable with how I wanted to perform them, I thought committing them to memory was very important. There's an old theatre expression: "Practice is what you do whilst you're learning your lines; rehearsal is what follows when you have learnt them off by heart!"

There was a hiccup at the start of the day, when Mum did not get up with the morning call; she did not get up at the lunch call either, but slept right through all the carers' ministrations. The carers knew our concerns, so they brought the tea call forward for us, from 4.30 to 2.30 p.m., by which time Mum was at last ready to get up; it meant there was now time to get her dinner ready, and for Mum to eat it, before I had to leave for the venue.

Because I also wanted members of my family to be in the audience - even if only for the first half! - there was the additional necessity of organising a sitter to be with Mum whilst I was at the show; we had to find someone really suitable to take over for a couple of hours.

Happily everything fell into place, and I had the double delight of performing before a very receptive audience, and seeing my loved ones there as well.

I get such a buzz from doing my best to interpret the meaning and emotion from any writer's work, and trying to convey to the audience, the pictures I can see in my head, and it was such a thrill for me to be able to take part.

As a performance poet, I was honoured and delighted to perform the selected poems to complement the opening part of the programme, and afterwards I was very touched to be presented with a beautiful bouquet of red roses - such a thoughtful gesture.

This is the photo that was published in the programme:

(Just to prove I do scrub up well!)

Mum's Birthday Week

Mum's Birthday Week

The following day, (her actual birthday, Sunday, 28 October), Mum slept right through the carers' early call; even whilst they were washing her, and putting nice clean clothes on Mum, she didn't make a peep. She slept through breakfast time; she slept through the lunch call and dinner time. She was perfectly peaceful - just catching up on all the excitement of the previous 48 hours.

By 4.30, Mum was awake; she got up and we went straight to preparing dinner for her. Wendy arrived in the early evening, and Mum was ready for some more birthday treats. I had already decorated another birthday cake, with candles ready to be lit, and we brought it in, the candles all aflame, singing Happy Birthday - Wendy played piano, Mum cut the cake and we all tucked in to a slice.

After all the excitement of the previous day, we could tell Mum was still tired, so it wasn't a surprise that after she had her tea, and some family photos had been taken, she was ready for bed again; at least it was a start to get Mum back into something of her normal routine and timing. Other happy events associated with her birthday, like opening her presents and cards, stretched over another couple of days, which meant that for nearly a week, she continued to enjoy things to do with her birthday!

And looking at the photos taken at the Ritz, and the good memories we have stored away in the memory bank, it makes all the effort made by everyone, very worthwhile.

And Now, The Backstory To An Eventful Day

And Now, The Backstory To An Eventful Day

There is always a lot to do before we can set off in the wheelchair-accessible taxi and be driven to the Ritz; I am always aware that things can go wrong, right up to the last minute, but with faith and hope in our hearts, we were up bright and early in the morning - and so was Mum.

The previous day - Friday - had seen Mum extremely bright-eyed and bushy tailed; after being awake all day, and not sleeping when she went back to bed that afternoon for a nap, she did not sleep on Friday night, either. I went in to see her at midnight, 1.00 a.m., 1.30 a.m., 2.00 a.m. - and Mum was still wide awake and chatty - and at one point, told me she was ready to get up. I felt she was a little bit like a child waiting for Father Christmas on Christmas Eve: you know Father Christmas won't come if you are still awake, but you just can't get off to sleep.

With Mum still awake at 3.00 a.m. on the Saturday morning, I was absolutely tired out; with a final instruction to Mum, "Close your eyes now, and try and get some sleep!" - to which she replied, "I have got my eyes closed, but sleep isn't coming!" - I went off to bed, and hoped Mum would get a few hours' sleep herself.

But she didn't. When the carers arrived to wash her and dress her in nice clean clothes, Mum was still awake - on overdrive, but somewhere, the tiredness must have been making itself felt, because she was less able to co-operate and follow directions, which is always a sign that she needs to rest.

We followed the routine as best we could; Mum brushed her teeth and then I made breakfast - cornflakes and tea, and I put out the four pills she takes each day. She had a few mouthfuls of cereal and her tablets, followed by the tea, so at least her fluid levels were topped up; but she was too tired to have many more cornflakes, so we left them.

The rest of the morning and early afternoon passed by in a bit of a blur. Apart from making sure Mum was o.k., I also needed to get ready; an old RN joke is that for ladies to get their make up on and hair styled for a big "do," it requires as much time as a six months' dockyard job for a full overhaul on a ship! But I can definitely get it all done much more quickly than that.

The taxi was ordered for 3.30; as arranged, the carers were back at 2.30, to take Mum to the loo and help me to get her dressed and into the wheelchair.

By this time, Mum had been awake for about 30 hours, and it showed. She was reasonably co-operative, but it was almost as though she was on automatic pilot; although she wasn't asleep, things were not getting through to her.

Just in time, Mum was settled in the wheelchair; I told her our lovely driver, Eddie, would be along very soon to take us to The Ritz, but I wasn't sure she had understood what I was going on about. I just hoped that once we were in the taxi, and bowling along, she would perk up and wake up and enjoy the afternoon.

And indeed she did. Perhaps being in the fresh air for a few minutes as she was wheeled from the house to the taxi helped, and then we were off, bowling down the road. As we neared the Embankment, Eddie noticed there was quite a build-up of traffic, so he turned off to make a detour and avoid the worst of it; Mum noticed we weren't going on our usual route, so I took that as a good sign.

We arrived at The Ritz just before 5.00 p.m; the Concierge opened the gates to the car park, and we drove in, up to the wheelchair accessible entrance to the Hotel. A few minutes later, we were all settled in the lounge, with spare time to relax and take a few photographs.

We really think it must be time,
Now you're celebrating ninety-nine
To book a table at The Ritz -
The only venue that really fits
For such a special birthday treat
The Palm Court is the place we'll meet
And eat elegant sandwiches, salmon and ham,
And beautiful cakes, and scones and jam.

It took some time; there was much to plan
To ensure the day just flowed
Everyone played their part to help
Get us safely on the road.
Now happy memories we'll recall
A memorable day enjoyed by all.

And so, we made it! and even if it was only a couple of hours in elegant surroundings, I also felt I'd had a longer time away from home, than had actually passed.  Our lovely driver arrived at 7.30 to drive us home, and helped us get Mum into her bedroom; I made Mum another cup of tea and a slice of coconut cake. By then she was really tired, and when the ladies arrived to get her into bed, she was ready for it.

Mum's 99th Birthday Celebrations

Mum's 99th Birthday Celebrations

Well, we made it!

We had wonderful day on Saturday, 27 October, when we celebrated Mum's birthday with Tea at the Ritz. As I've written before, whatever else Mum remembers or forgets, she always remembers our visits to The Ritz; the Palm Court Manager and his staff remember us, and everyone makes such a fuss of her. Mum looks forward to the day, enjoys it whilst we are there, and talks about it for weeks afterwards.

She loves the elegance of the Palm Court, and variety of sandwiches (with one platter of cucumber sandwiches made to order just for Mum and me, very simple plain white bread and butter with no other dressing - and, of course, no crusts!) followed by scones, cream and jam, cakes, and a great selection teas on the menu from which to choose.

I think the whole ambience of The Ritz captures Mum's imagination, taking us all back to an age when things were done with style and panache. This visit was no exception, and afterwards Mum was presented with a copy of the beautiful centenary edition book about the Ritz Hotel, which is a lovely memento of the occasion.

It is never easy organising an event like this for someone like Mum who has dementia is disabled, but everyone played their part to make sure it all went smoothly and to time, and we had a very helpful driver of the wheelchair-accessible taxi who took us to and from the hotel.

From the happiness on Mum's face in the photographs, I think it shows all the effort was worthwhile, and goes to prove that, with everyone doing their bit, and co-operating with each other, nothing is impossible.

On this occasion, we were joined by our good friend Owen Hayward from the Epping Ongar Railway - and he is the young man who helped me to set up this blog, for which I am so grateful. Owen celebrated his 25th birthday two days after Mum's special day, and we were all so happy he could be with us and share a joyful experience.

I think Mum is now dreaming of the next time we can all go for Tea at the Ritz; with faith and hope, we shall have to see if we can arrange it.

Mum and Alex at The Ritz

We Let The Train Take The Strain....

We Let The Train Take The Strain....

Uncle John is a wonderful traveller; uncomplaining, relaxed, making the best of everything, and our trip by rail was really pleasant. I am definitely not as keen a motorist as Wendy, and I will always prefer to let the train take the strain, if that is in an option.

The only trouble with not having a car, though, is that it did restrict our sight-seeing. At 87, Uncle John was marvellous at walking, and kept up well, but I have to admit it would have been easier, if I had taken the car. We used taxis on a few occasions, which speeded up our visits to places of interest; the drivers were very chatty and interested when they learned Uncle John had been away from Liverpool for so many years. We had a problem only once, with a driver taking us to a restaurant for dinner. He had such a strong accent, and used so many dialect words - pure Scouse - meant we could barely understand what he was saying.

Uncle John kept looking at me, and I kept looking at him.

"What did he say?" whispered Uncle John.

"I don't know!" I mouthed back.

We understood probably about one word in every half a dozen, and just hoped we were saying "yes" and "no" in the right places! It was a relief when we arrived at the restaurant we'd picked for dinner.

We'd arranged another date with the reporter from the Liverpool Echo, and at last we all met up at lunch time, on a beautiful day. A photographer was on hand to record the occasion; whilst Uncle John chatted to Bill Leece, he was photographed in the gardens of St Nicholas Church with the Liver building in the background. Afterwards, we all had lunch together; it was such an enjoyable interlude, and so good for Uncle John to be able to talk about his old home city.

Uncle John in St Nicholas Church gardens,
with the Liver Building in the background

Reminiscing about his childhood and youth, Uncle John said, "I was born in Tuebrook and then we moved to Mossley Hill. Another family home was in Purley Grove, off Brodie Avenue; we went to see it, and the road seems so narrow, after all these years!"

Uncle John also wondered why the city had got rid of its trams? A few years ago, Croydon in Surrey installed a tram system and whilst there was great upheaval at the time, it has proved to be a great success. Uncle John said in Australia, Melbourne had refused to get rid of their trams, which was a wise decision; Brisbane, however, opted to replace trams with buses, which in his opinion were not as good.

Uncle John also remembered that his father had once worked as a window dresser at Lewis's, a chain of British department stores founded by David Lewis in 1856; Bill said it was such a shame we had not been able to visit Liverpool a little earlier, because the store had only recently closed, and it would have been so good to have had the chance to go inside and look round.

From this commemorative plaque.....

After lunch, we went back to Lewis's and took photos; it was so sad to see how dilapidated the once-proud store had become.

We saw Jacob Epstein's statue standing proud (in more ways than one!) above the building's main entrance; officially named "Resurgent," it was unveiled to celebrate Lewis's centenary. It is known to the locals as "Dicky Lewis."

Apart from all the excitement of visiting Liverpool, during Uncle John's stay we also had more visits into London; we went to Greenwich, and photographed Uncle John with "one foot in the east and one foot in the west:"

We went for a flight on the London Eye:

And we drove to Portsmouth for the day, went on board HMS Victory, HMS Warrior, and saw The Mary Rose:

Uncle John on board Nelson's flagship

A glorious day in Portsmouth - note my parasol!
Proving to Uncle John that England is not as cold as he may remember!

Although it was lovely to go out and about with Uncle John, and he was very happy with all the activities we did, I think possibly the best part of his holiday was being able to just sit and be with us; read the paper and do the crossword and the number puzzle pages; and have the cats love him, and wait for him to pick up the brush for a grooming session.

He introduced the cats to the lint roller - gently passing the sticky sheets over their fur, the roller picked up all the loose hair and fluff. Blackie especially could never get enough of this treatment:he could hear the covering wrapper being peeled off, from a hundred paces, and weaved around Uncle John's feet until it was ready for use. "Only 10 sheets used so far? Keep going!" he seemed to say.

Uncle John never failed to remark on how good my cooking was; whilst he was with us, again he "filled out," and looked really well. When he first arrived, he looked quite small and tired, but after a few days with us - and on my good food - he somehow blossomed, and looked years younger.

He and Mum got on reasonably well, too - Uncle John understood more clearly the problems we had with her moods, and did not provoke her, or disagree with her.  That still didn't stop Mum, right at the end of Uncle John's stay, from picking a quarrel with him! He didn't rise to it; he kept calm, and tried to change the subject, but in her state of mind, she was not to be diverted.

She stormed out of the dining room, declaring she "...would never speak to him, ever again!" and slammed the door behind her.

As we were getting ready to drive Uncle John back to Heathrow, Mum would not come out to say Goodbye to him, which made us very sad. We tried very hard to persuade her to change her mind, but she was adamant; she would not see him off.

Uncle John was philosophical. "She can't help it," he said. We were left hoping there would be another occasion when Uncle John would be back with us in England again, and Mum would be in a different frame of mind.

Happily, there was; of which more later.

Uncle John Pays Us Another Visit

Uncle John Pays Us Another Visit

I love keeping "proper" photograph albums - those peculiar old-fashioned books with beautiful creamy heavy quality paper, with glassine interleaves - and I also have special books for any interviews and stories about our family that have been published in various newspapers.

I was looking through some press cuttings albums this week; it was so good to remember when Uncle John came over to England and stay with us during the summer, and the great times we had.

His first visit, in 2009, was such a treat; fearing he might outstay his welcome, he only stayed for a month, but he soon realised it was really too short a time to make a long flight worthwhile. He also knew how very welcome he was and, apart from Mum having a few "funny turns," we all got on very well, so it was great news when he decided to pay us another visit in 2010.

This time, he came for about six weeks - still not long enough! but heading in the right direction.

The pattern for this visit followed along the same lines as his earlier stay with us, with shopping, jaunts into London for meals at Garfunkels, and another Tea at the Ritz. We also saw a couple of shows; Uncle John had never seen The Mousetrap - neither had we! - and was keen to go, so I got tickets, and we all had an entertaining evening, becoming part of an Agatha Christie conspiracy: "Don't ever tell anyone the whodunit!"

Al, Mum and me, Wendy and Uncle John
Enjoying another Tea at the Ritz

Uncle John relaxing at home with us

Wendy and I thought Uncle John would also like a trip back to Liverpool, and he jumped at the chance to revisit all the places from his childhood - the street where he was born, and the area he grew up in. I also got in touch with the Liverpool Echo; the editorial staff were keen to meet him, and  interview him about his childhood, and hear his views on how the city had changed over the years.

In the event, Uncle John had not one, but two trips up north!

To start with, it was arranged that Wendy would drive Uncle John to Liverpool; as we all know, Wendy loves driving, and needs no second bidding to embark on a car journey; I am not so keen! I got in touch with William Leece from The Liverpool Echo, to make a date and time for them all to meet up after lunch.

On the day, Wendy and Uncle John set off at a very early hour, but it was one of those days when everything conspired against them for an easy run. There were road works, diversions, heavy traffic and, whatever decision Wendy took to try to find a way around each problem, it merely led to another delay; in the end, they did not arrive in Liverpool until very late that afternoon. Throughout the journey, they had kept in touch with William Leece, but when it became clear they would arrive too late for them to meet, everyone had to admit defeat and accept it wouldn't be possible for Uncle John to be interviewed - at least, not on this visit.

Their stay was still very enjoyable and a real nostalgia trip for Uncle John.  Wendy took him to all the places he knew - 76, Breck Road, where Mum was born on 28 October 1919, and 11 Acheson Road, where he was born exactly three and a half years later, on 28 April 1923. He remembered all the areas from his childhood, Tuebrook, Allerton and Woollton. Uncle John's Grandfather and stepmother lived at 67 Purley Grove, and the house still carries a plaque with the name "Ulverston" on it  - the town where my great-grandfather was born.

Uncle John was born at No 11, Acheson Road

"Ulverston," the house in Purley Grove where my great-grandfather and his wife lived 

The trip also brought back some very sad memories for Uncle John. His brother Austin died in February, 1938, in London. He was only 20, and when his body was brought back to Liverpool, my grandfather was distraught. Their house was called "Sunnyside," and my grandfather immediately painted over the name; it was no longer appropriate for them to live in a house with that name.  At the funeral, Austin's girlfriend paid tribute to a lovely young man, "The most generous boy I ever met."  Uncle John and Wendy visited Kirkdale Cemetery and found the family grave, where his mother - my Grandma - is buried with her eldest son, Austin, and her husband, my grandfather, John Woods.

My grandfather died in 1943 - in an accident - and my grandma often wondered, had he known he would live for only another 5 years, if it would have helped him in his grief. As it was, she had to contend with the loss of her son and husband, and the resulting hardship of having very little money to live on.

Wendy and Uncle John went down to the docks, which had changed out of all recognition since Uncle John was last in Liverpool, but the Liver Building was still there, and the birds still keep watch over the city. Uncle John was very impressed by Wendy's driving, taking him to all the places of interest, and they enjoyed exploring his old haunts.

It was an all too brief visit, and whilst they were away, I kept in touch with William Leece, the reporter from the Liverpool Echo and he was still very keen to meet Uncle John. The minute Uncle John and Wendy got home, I asked him, "Would you like a second trip up north - with me, by train?!"

"Oh, yes, I would!" Uncle John's answer was firm.

Wendy was not entirely surprised I was going to book train tickets, because she knows I am never keen to volunteer for a long drive, but to this day, she still thinks I should have given it a go!

Uncle John was back home with us for just 48 hours, and then we were ready to set off up north again: this time from Euston to Liverpool Lime Street Station.

Mum Proves She Can Still Remember Things

Mum Proves She Can Still Remember Things

Mum can go off on a tangent. Sometimes she talks about people and occasions and, because we usually know the background to what and to whom she is referring, we can work out where she is in her mind.

I know carers are trained to agree with what clients say,  even if it is incorrect, but I have a different perspective, especially relating to someone like Mum. Because we know her so well, my belief is that she should be guided gently back to what is true.

Sometimes, Mum says, "Where's my mother?" and I do not see the point of saying, "Oh, she's out shopping." Some long time ago, I heard a carer saying this to Mum; Mum got a bit agitated, and said, "No, she isn't - she can't be.....!" so it was obvious that reply was not going to satisfy her. I remember stepping in and explaining that Grandma had died in 1985, and that she was buried in Liverpool. Mum asked a few more questions about what had happened to her mother, and when I told her how Grandma had had a fall and broken her hip, Mum said, "Oh, and is that what killed her?"

"Yes," I said, "that contributed to it."

That satisfied Mum, and was the end of the matter, but it proved to me that, somewhere in Mum's head, are true memories of things that happened in the past, and it is better to help her remember accurately, rather than just fobbing her off with banal, untrue assurances.

Yesterday evening was a case in point. Mum was really "on the ball," and talking animatedly about her family, and when they lived in Liverpool.

"Yes," she said, "it was very sad. My elder brother - his name was Austin - he got pneumonia. He was only twenty when he died."

The carers made very sympathetic responses, and I looked in and added, "Mum is absolutely spot on. That is exactly what happened!"

Mum then carried on talking about her parents, and how her father had died, five years later, and was buried in Liverpool, with his son.

After that, she went on to happier themes, and chatted merrily away about her younger brother, John - and was very much in elder sister mode.

"John is 3 years younger than I am, " said Mum, "and he's 95 now. He lives in Brisbane, and he's looking for a wife!"

(And so he is - or at least, since he was widowed 15 years ago, he would love to find a nice lady companion, with whom he can go out for lunch, and enjoy sensible conversation once or twice a week!)

"How old are you?" asked one of the carers.

"I'm 98!" said Mum.

I think that exchange may prove my point that, at least in Mum's case, clear memories can come to the fore, and if on some days she is confused, honesty is the best policy.

A Carer Returns And See A Change

A Carer Returns And Sees A Change

We have lovely carers for Mum, who take the time and trouble to get to know her, and her ways, and we always miss anyone who decides to take a break, or have a change of career. 

One carer, who last saw Mum at about Christmas time last year - 9 months ago now - recently returned to us, and she was very pleased to see Mum still going strong. 

However, because we are with Mum all the time, and although we also know the past year has seen Mum get weaker in her legs, we tend not to notice exactly how quickly or slowly these changes take place. We could see this carer was a bit shocked to find Mum was no longer able to support herself anymore, and - even with help from us - unable to get off the bed and transfer to the chair or the glider.

We realise that because Mum is now hoisted at every visit, her strength has obviously declined - a clear case of "What you don't use, you lose."  We understood completely why the decision was taken to hoist Mum - Mum's fluctuating ability to understand directions, and her penchant for suddenly trying to collapse in a heap in mid-transfer, meant that without warning, her whole weight could be placed on whoever was standing behind her, trying to support her whilst she tried to do the "twiddle round" manoeuvre.

This was not a safe situation for anyone. The carers could end up with a strained back, or worse, and there was also the concern that if she could not be held up, Mum could end up on the floor, and that was a scenario that had to be avoided.

Over the months, we try to look for all the positives: yes, she may have to be hoisted, but at least she can be placed on the glider, and wheeled into the bathroom, where she can still wash her hands under running water from the bath taps. She is not just looking at the same four walls of her bedroom. She can also be hoisted into her wheelchair, for trips out of the house, and a nice drive in a wheelchair accessible taxi into London, for Tea at the Ritz. The next one has already  been booked!

I Escape For A Couple Of Days!

I Escape For A Couple Of Days!

I never expected to be able to go away on holiday this year. It's always been a bit difficult to get away, but in the past it was certainly easier to organise a weekend off, as Mum was much stronger, and able to get in and out of bed herself, and sit in the chair/glider/wheelchair; with the carers visiting four times a day, one member of the family could manage to deal with all the other aspects of caring for Mum.

Now that Mum is hoisted at all times, it isn't that simple and, of course, her ability to understand and follow what needs to be done can be a bit variable!

It was a terrific surprise when Wendy announced she had organised everything - including Al being available to spend two days with his Great Grandma, which meant there would be two members of the family at home with Mum. I could relax!

Last week, we flew from City Airport to Frankfurt; Wendy, always competent driving on either side of the road, hired a car, and we were soon heading off to visit dear friends.

We also went shopping - C&A is still thriving in Germany, and we had a request for jeans and tops from Al; Wendy knows exactly what he likes, and found clothes to fit the bill.

Then there is Globus, a large supermarket, with groceries on the ground floor, and clothing, shoes, stationery, make up and toiletries on the upper floor - just like Tesco and Sainsbury's, but really rather better. It was lovely and warm in the store - I think gas and electricity is probably cheaper in Germany, and they can afford to keep the shop warm and toasty!

Because the October Fest is drawing near, Globus also had a wonderful array of dirndls on display. I love dressing up and wearing Tracht, so, with Wendy's encouragement, I tried one on. It fitted perfectly, and it's now back home with me, waiting for an event when I can dress up for the occasion!

On the Sunday, we had time to drive to St Augustine, to visit a lovely family whom we hadn't seen for such a long time.

They are such good, dear people; they made us so welcome, and the morning we spent with them just flew by. Hildegard had made a delicious Black Forest cake for us, and as we talked and reminisced, the years since our last meeting just fell away and it felt as though it had only been a month or two ago since we last met up.

We all have wonderful memories, of attending the youngest son's wedding in a castle in Mandescheid - a marvellous venue, set up on a very high hill. The wedding had a mediaeval theme, with everyone asked to wear costumes that would have been appropriate to the era. I made dresses for Wendy, Mum and me, with long sweeping skirts and long pointed sleeves; the menfolk wore Knights of the Realm outfits and everyone entered into the spirit of a memorable day.

From the base of the hill, it took at least 300 paces to get to the first level, and more to reach the battlements and the towers. In places there were just smooth, worn stones, and you had to be very careful walking up, so that you did not slip. We were a bit concerned for Mum, as she was then nearly 85, and we wondered if she would manage to climb up so far, but she managed perfectly well - and so did I, even in high heels! All the guests made their way up to the courtyard where the marriage took place, and then everyone enjoyed a magnificent feast in the dining area of the castle, where traditional mediaeval food was served, including platters of fowl, and pork and fruits.

Afterwards, there was jousting and sword fights - Mum was in her element, taking everything in. It is something that she still remembers, and when we talk to our friends on the phone, Mum can recall so many things about that lovely day.

That's really what friendship is all about - being there for each other, and sharing experiences. We'll make sure we don't let such a long time elapse before arranging another visit, even if it is only a fleeting one!

Hildegard, Miriam, Alexandra and Wendy
A happy reunion at St Augustine 

Just As I Thought I Didn't Have Much To Write About.....

Just As I Thought I Didn't Have Much To Write About....

The past ten days have been so uneventful - just the usual routine, all going well - that I reckoned there wasn't much point in writing about nothing!

Wendy always says, "No news is good news." Especially where Mum is concerned, I think we all prefer a simple, boring life, to one that is ridden with difficulties... but the past 24 hours have given me something to write about.

Mum got to bed last night at about 11.00 p.m., and settled down well enough. I'd had supper and worked at my creative stuff upstairs until the early hours, and when I realised how late it had got, knew it was about time I got to bed. One can take this "Owl" mentality a tad too far.

I looked in on Mum at about 2.00 a.m. and she was wide awake, and raring to get up and go.  Go exactly where, I didn't know, but she certainly wanted to get up.

I was firm.

"Mum, it's very late. It's the middle of the night, and time to sleep, so go to sleep now."

"Why? What time is it?"

"It's 2 o'clock in the morning, Ma, and I am going to bed."

"Why? Haven't you been to bed yet?"

"No, I haven't. I've been working. But I am now going to bed."

"Oh."

"All the cats are asleep as well," I said, "so now we must sleep as well."

"Alright, then."

I made sure Mum had plenty of tissues, was warm and comfortable, and she seemed to accept it was very late (or very early, depending on which way you looked at it), and settled down.

Again, very firmly, I said, "Night, night!" and went off upstairs. It was 2.20 a.m.

At 8.45 a.m., the ladies arrived to get Mum up and washed, and they did not have an easy time of it.

Mum refused to let them wash her - it was the usual thing when Mum is stroppy:

"You're not trained properly!"  "Ugly Mug!" "I'll report you to Head Office...!!"

Oh, dear.

Being very experienced with Mum's foibles, using guile and persuasion, they did wash Mum, by dint of asking her, "Can I just do this arm, please, Phyllis?"

"Yes, alright, then - just that arm."

Then: "Can I just do this other arm, please, Phyllis?"

And so, in this fashion, Mum was properly washed, and dressed in clean clothes.

She was hoisted into the chair and there she sat, looking very much like Giles' Grandma - decided grumpy, and very unco-operative.

As the ladies left, they wished us good luck; and this was when our problems for the morning began.

When Mum decides not to co-operate, clearly you can't make her do something she doesn't want to do - even if it has been part of her daily routine for the past six and a half years!

We always wash her hands first and, with a bit of encouragement, she did get her hands in a bowl of hot soapy water and had a good wash, followed by a clean bowl of water to rinse in; I got her hands dry, and thought, "So far, so good!"

Next, I brought her toothbrush and toothpaste - but Mum was adamant she was not going to brush her teeth.  It really is important that she clean her teeth and mouth properly - during the night (and throughout the day), Mum produces a lot of phlegm, and needs to clear it.

Then Mum went on the tack of how did she know the brush was clean? Was it kept in the cupboard?

"It's very clean!" We reassured her. "It's your toothbrush!"

"Has it been scalded?"

Oh dear. If you have every tried to sterilise a toothbrush using boiling water, the usual result is that all the nylon bristles fall out. I use Milton to clean a new toothbrush.

So I lied: "Yes, it has been scalded."

It is so difficult when Mum is in this mood. She started landing out at us, and spitting. I told her to stop, and then we got Frank Richards' "Owl of the Remove" Billy Bunter script:

"Yarroooh! Gerroff!" along with more of the "Ugly Mug! I don't want you in here!" lines.

At this point, it made us wonder if Mum is in fact scared because she can't work out where she is - or if it is because the dementia is causing her brain to go into "attack" mode.

We managed to get her teeth and mouth half-way brushed and clean, and with the mood she was in, that was going to have to do.

I brought in her tea and cornflakes, and her pills.

I tried to be bright and positive: "Here you are, Ma! I've brought you a lovely cup of tea!"

"I don't want it!"

"Well, what about your lovely cornflakes, then? I've put full-cream milk on them?"

"I don't want them."

"But you've got to have your pills, Ma - they are the ones the Doctor prescribed for you..."

"I don't want them."

It was not going to wash.

I covered everything up and took it back to the kitchen.  I hadn't had my breakfast, so took the easy option to get something to eat and have a cup of tea.

After an hour or so, I went back in, bearing the gifts of tea, cornflakes and pills.

I thought I would play it as though the earlier tantrums hadn't happened.

"Hi, Ma!" I said, "I've brought you a lovely cup of tea - and some lovely cornflakes!"

"I don't want anything."

My heart sank.  "You've got to eat, Ma, otherwise you could end up in hospital."

"Maybe I'd prefer to be in hospital!"

"No, you wouldn't! You wouldn't get nice food like the things I make for you....."

That seemed to strike a chord.

"Will you have a few cornflakes, with your pills?" I asked.

"Alright, then - just a few."

And that was the start of better co-operation.

In the end, Mum had quite a lot of cereal - later on, she even fed herself! - took her pills and drank all her tea. I sat with her and we watched an interesting programme on the jungles of Africa, which caught her attention, followed by Bruce Forsythe hosting Play Your Cards Right. Mum remembers "Brucie" from the time when he toured South Africa and appeared at the Alhambra Theatre in Durban. He picked her out of the audience and talked to her, and to this day, she will tell people about it!

The ladies returned at 12.30, and asked me how I'd got on.

I said, "You weren't kidding, when you wished me luck!"

Mum was better with the idea of returning to bed for a snooze, although she still needed reminding that it was a good idea to have a rest - and that the cats had also had their breakfasts, and were fast asleep in the lounge.

I guess the hardest part of this morning was dealing with all the uncertainty: Will she/won't she eat/drink/take pills, etc. - I worry about her not having enough fluids and I know taking her medication is important. Whichever way you look at it, caring for someone like Mum is hard work, but it's easy and a happy task when she's chatty and helpful. It's the not knowing how things will develop that I have found difficult to cope with. If Mum misses one cup of tea, I suppose it is not a disaster, and we can make up for it with an extra cuppa later on; maybe the same applies to the dose of medicine. I will have to try to be more philosophical and accepting about it.

A Physiotherapist Comes To Call

A Physiotherapist Comes To Call

In September last year, when it had been decided Mum wasn't reliably able to bear her weight anymore, it meant she would have to be hoisted in and out of bed, and in and out of the chair, so I was keen to make sure she would retain what decent muscle tone she still had.

We have always encouraged her to "....push hard down on the arms of the chair, and lift yourself up!" and get herself comfortably positioned on the seat.

She also knows that if she sits on the edge of the bed, and pushes hard down with her hands on the bed, she can lift herself up from there as well. It's the old jet engine law - downward thrust lifts up.

Over the years that Mum has lived with us, I have introduced a little routine of exercises that at various times, we all ask Mum to do. She will never exercise if it is presented as a PE session, but throughout the day, she actually does quite a lot, and it is always purpose-focussed.

Because she would not now be getting herself up and down and in and out of bed, I also wanted to make sure that the movements I'd worked out to help her, really were doing the job. I asked the Occupational Therapist if she could please arrange a home visit from a Physiotherapist; true to her word, she did.

After a very short waiting time, a young man rang up to make an appointment to come and see Mum. It turned out we had all met before - years ago, when her GP was concerned about the way she was walking, using the stool instead of a Zimmer frame, this young man had come to see Mum, and given her some good exercises to do on a regular basis. On that occasion, Mum had realised they were actually exercises, and most of the time she refused to do them; but it was really good to have this continuity with someone who remembered her.

I showed him what we had been encouraging Mum to do. She can still lift her legs up high - for example, when she is lying on the bed, she can lift both legs in the air together; she can sit herself up and, when she is sitting in the arm chair, and I have to put cream on her legs, I put a dining chair in front of her - in seconds, one leg is up on the seat!

After we have been having a good singing session, I also ask her to raise her arms up and clap her hands above her head; when we go to the bathroom, I make sure Mum is wheeled on the glider to the bath, and encouraged to reach right over and turn the bath taps on so that she can wash her hands properly. She might need help to turn the taps off, but it's all good stretching movement and thinking exercise and whilst she can still do these things, I don't want them to fall by the wayside.

The Physiotherapist was very impressed; he had brought along four pages with illustrations of exercises, and we were delighted to learn that Mum was already doing most of them. So, we carry on keeping Mum's muscles as strong as they can be; she is still unaware that the exercises are introduced into her routine, but they are working - and working well.

Mum Harks Back To The Past

Mum Harks Back To The Past

Once again, the hours and the days have whizzed; we've had the same ups and downs, with Mum sometimes sleepy, when it's really hard to get her to eat a drink, and other times when she has been bright-eyed and bushy tailed for 72 hours.....

It is so much easier when she has had a good sleep and is rested - she is able to concentrate; follow requests to do things; she's chatty, and it's a real pleasure to sit with her at mealtimes and have a talk about the cats, or watch t.v.

However, it can be very disconcerting when her mood changes, or when she goes into a different time zone in her head. We've all had folks we know, telling us the same thing over and over again, not remembering we've already heard the story so many times before, but it's even more difficult when Mum gets on to a subject that I know is painful for her, and certainly not a comfortable topic for me to deal with either.

A couple of evenings ago, she was going on and on about my father, and how, years after the divorce, he had asked her to re-marry him.  I took it as though it was the first time I had ever heard this:

"Good heavens, Ma, I hope you didn't accept!"

"Oh, no," she said, "I told him, if you could treat me like that once, you could treat me like that again."

"That was a very wise decision," I said.

Then I tried to distract her with another subject, but Mum was having none of it, and a few minutes later, that conversation was repeated, until I lost track of the times we'd covered the same ground.

I really have no idea if my father ever tried to stage a "come back," but nothing would surprise me. If he was "between affairs," Wendy tells me that people with Narcissistic Personality Disorder will often try to return to the first partner they had, going back to their primary source of "narcissistic supply," in order to re-affirm their control of that person.

If it is true, thank goodness at that time Mum was savvy enough to say "No!"

Having done some research a few years ago into what my father did after he finally got divorced from Mum in 1964, I discovered he had remarried two years later - and two years after that, had got divorced again.

He came back to England when Wendy was about 11 years old, and we drove to see him at his brother's house. He certainly had a woman in tow then, whom I assumed was his second wife - I didn't know then, he had divorced a second time, in 1968.

So, who was she? Was she the woman he had married in 1966, and divorced in 1968? Had they remarried after Mum turned down his proposition they get together again? Or was she someone else altogether?

Like so much of my father's life, it remains a mystery!

I Have Been Busy!

I Have Been Busy!

After have a moan a week or so ago, and feeling things getting a bit on top of me, the last few days have been very busy! I really should try and get out more.

I was just thinking about what has happened during July: it has taken some organising, and lots of help with Grandma/Great Grandma sitting (by Wendy and by Al) but I have actually done quite a lot this past month.

I've been to a couple of poetry gigs, which I really enjoy, and written new work to perform at them. It's really important to feel that all the things I do to look after Mum, doesn't mean that the creative   side gets submerged in the process!

I've been to the theatre - to see The King and I at the London Palladium, with the Broadway cast of Kelli O'Hara and Ken Watanabe - and oh, my, just hearing all those songs made me feel like 22 again, when I was singing them myself on stage, or in cabaret. Great memories.

And finally, I was part of a family reunion, meeting a cousin and his wife who now live in New Zealand, and who had not been around for nearly 40 years. It was a terrific afternoon; we had a great time at The Royal Oak in Green Street Green, Orpington, and the staff could not have done more to make sure we had everything we wanted.

Anyone who knows me, knows I like only very plain food - and not too much of it, either. Sometimes, instead of a full meal, I'll have just soup and a pudding - that really is the ideal choice for me. On the day of the Royal Oak reunion, I asked the manager if by any chance there was plain and simple tomato soup on the menu? Not tomato and basil, not tomato and balsamic vinegar.... just tomato soup? The Manager smiled and said he was sure they could manage that! and presently I was served with the most delicious bowl of tomato soup, piping hot, with white bread and butter. It was only later that I discovered he had gone out to the supermarket to buy me just what I wanted; truly a case of someone going the extra mile.

I was so impressed, I had words of praise insistently going through my head; this is the sonnet I composed to thank them:

And Mum? Whilst I had been out gallivanting, she had been well looked after by Wendy and Al, eaten her dinner and supper, and been entertained by Wendy playing the piano.

It's Been A Difficult Day

It's Been A Difficult Day

There are certain days when we jog along merrily; others when things go really well; and then there are the days when you feel you have taken at least one step backwards.

When Mum couldn't manage to bear her weight on her right leg, and "twiddle" herself around to sit on the chair/glider/bed, and we realised she would have to be hoisted most of the time, was one such day; today has been equally difficult, from the point of view of Mum not understanding what she was doing.

Before I went to bed at about 2.00 a.m., I checked on Mum, and she was sleeping gently; I left her a few more tissues in a box on the table, and felt happy she was just fine.

At some point before the carers arrived, Mum managed to take down her knickers and remove two pads - there is a small No 6, that fits inside the night pad, which is much bigger, and also comes with (very) sticky tabs - two each side - to make sure everything stays in place.  She must have been very determined to take everything off, but take everything off she did, which meant the carers found her "in a bit of a pickle." They dealt with it all magnificently, and got her clean and changed; we took control of all the bedding, which had to be pre-washed, and then washed at a high temperature. As a final hurrah, as the carers were getting Mum ready to be hoisted into the chair, Mum then spent a penny, which involved another complete change of bedclothes.

There are times when I think I shall never keep up with the washing.  I know we have a machine, and it is efficient, but it is the sheer volume of it, that gets me down. Another problem is getting the sheets/blankets/plastic sheets dry. It's not too difficult in the summer time, when the weather is warm, but it's a different story in the winter. Airers and radiators end up being festooned with bedlinen. And I do get a bit despondent.

Today has been what we a call a "fiddling day" - no sooner had I made the bed, than Mum pulled the blanket off; in the end, I left the blanket off altogether, and didn't replace it until she was ready to go back to bed for a nap. If I put a table cover on the table, ready for her dinner, Mum pulled it off and started to tear it into little strips; she had a catalogue to read through, which suffered the same fate. It was one of those days when you needed eyes in the back of your head.....

And Mum couldn't understand why it was better to leave things where they were and how, if she doesn't, it means doing the same job twice, or three times, over.

I expect in another 24 hours, it will be better. Mum will be more communicative, and more helpful as we try to help her; and I shall feel more hopeful!

A Little Sketch...... Mum Is Very Perspicacious!

A Little Sketch:  Mum Is Very Perspicacious!

We all know Mum can be very slow eating her breakfast/dinner/supper; it can take a lot of encouragement, and a lot of reminding. to get her to keep going. This can be very repetitious!

This evening, I took in Mum's tea and cake and started her off, feeding her with a couple of spoonfuls of cake. (Very often, once she has got the idea, Mum will then carry on feeding herself, and make a good job of it; but, before that happens, she has to be in the "routine" of helping herself).

Having another family member to keep her company, I deemed it would be a good time to sort something out for my own dinner.

Alex:  "Now, Ma, have another spoonful of cake.....Not too much, now, and make sure you swallow that mouthful first, before you take any more...."

Pause, whilst Mum chews and swallows.

Alex:  "Now, Mother, I'm going to go and have my dinner. Alright? Now, you eat all your cake!"

Exit Alex, Stage Left

Phyllis:   (Very loudly): "She's very bossy, isn't she!"

Even though she is off stage, Alex hears this, and has to stifle her laughter.

Phyllis:  (Going off on a tangent): "The pussy cats are in.... They don't want to get wet!"

We have had no rain for some time, and the evening temperature is uncomfortably hot. The poor cats lie stretched out in front of any fan that offers respite from the heat. A little rain would be welcomed by the cats (and us)! Where does Mum get the idea it is pouring with rain?

One Amazing Afternoon!

One Amazing Afternoon!

Well, it took a lot of organising, and I am always aware of the old adage, "There's many a slip 'twixt the cup and the lip...." but our trip to take Tea at the Ritz on 14 July went without a hitch.

There are a lot of things that need to dovetail - our lovely wheelchair accessible taxi driver had to be booked; the carers were very helpful in making all the calls at a time to suit the schedule, and Mum needed to be in a good mood, and co-operative when getting ready to sit in the wheelchair. And all that is quite apart from my need to complete a "six month's dockyard job in only 40 minutes," to get myself ready on time as well!

We are still in the middle of very warm (hot) settled weather, and at least didn't have to worry about rain lashing down or bitter blasts of biting wind blowing on Mum as she was decanted into the taxi. It was also a bonus that my long hair stayed in place!

Over the past couple of days, there have been demonstrations in London and we thought these might affect our journey; we allowed extra time for that, and arrived at The Ritz quite early. We sat in the lounge and had a chat, and took photographs, until Grandson Al and his girlfriend Hannah arrived.

We were all sad to see the beautiful Ritz Fine Jewellery shop had closed, with the new Ritz Cigar Shop in its place. Wendy and I entered its portals to see how the space had changed; it now has the atmosphere of a gentlemen's club, with lots of pictures of famous cigar-smoking chaps adorning the walls. The private side room, which previously had been used for special customers of the Ritz Fine Jewellery, is now a humidor, with fine cigars stored in optimum conditions.

As two ladies, Wendy and I definitely felt a tad "out of it;" this was confirmed when the men in our party went round the shop, and were warmly welcomed as prospective customers. Clearly, no-one considered that I, too, might light up the odd £80.00 cigar when I'm sitting in the rocking chair on the back porch..... along with my corn-cob pipe!

That aside, the Manager of the Palm Court made us so welcome; in a few minutes, the ramp was in place, up and over the stairs, and Mum was wheeled to our table. It always feels as though you are among friends - so many of the staff know and remember us, and make sure we have everything we would like. They certainly go the extra mile with their attentive care.

Mum tucked into the (specially ordered, on plain white bread and butter) cucumber sandwiches; I always ask for extra butter, and a little salt, to add to them, and she also took some cheese sandwiches on tomato bread, from the main menu. I don't know if she remembered she had enjoyed those the last time we were at the Ritz, but they went down well.

Tea at the Ritz gives me a couple of hours to escape from the daily routine; the time always passes so quickly, but I can only say that all the preparations, all the effort that everyone put in to help make the day successful and enjoyable, was worth it! For two hours, I feel really energised, and can forget that everything will be back to normal tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after that.

The carriage may have turned back into a pumpkin, and the coachmen are now mice scurrying away, but....! there is another date booked for Mum's birthday. I have already decided what I shall wear...

Mum and me at The Ritz
14 July 2018

Hasn't It Been Hot!

Hasn't It Been Hot!

You'd think that after all those years of living in East Africa, I would be pretty well unfazed by any heatwave that might come our way in the UK - but I found this first week of July quite enervating.

Mum, on the other hand, never seems to think she is particularly warm. I do monitor her temperature because I suspect her "mental thermostat" might not work as well as it should - in fact, on one of the hottest days so far, she actually asked me if she could put on her cardigan! When we are all gasping and fanning ourselves, Mum can be sitting serenely in her chair, looking around for her woolly hat.

On warm summer days, we like to get Mum in her wheelchair and take her in the garden for a while, where she can sit and enjoy the flowers and watch the butterflies - and how the cats try half-heartedly to catch one - but with the fierce heat we've had recently, I haven't risked it. Once Mum is out of doors, she can be very reluctant to come back into the house, and I worry that even if she believes it isn't that hot, she will indeed get overheated. She doesn't know when she has been out long enough.

It's a bit like the times when her brain is clearly not receiving the message that her stomach is full. We've had many occasions when Mum had polished off a very large dinner, followed by a cup of tea and several After 8 chocolates, and 10 minutes later, she is asking when her dinner will be arriving?  Again, she doesn't know she has had enough to eat.

We have booked another date for Tea at the Ritz, and I'm hoping the weather will stay dry for that special day. Mum knows we are going, and is looking forward to it so much - another occasion when she will be pampered by all the staff at the Palm Court, and have two hours to enjoy the specially ordered "very plain sandwiches - just cucumber on white bread and butter.....!" And I always ask for extra butter and a pinch of salt to go with the cucumber!

It's not only Mum who is looking forward to Tea at the Ritz; it's one time I can relax and enjoy myself on an afternoon away from the usual routine. The carriage soon turns back into a pumpkin, and our finery comes off when we get back home, but in the meantime, we're still creating memories to keep. I can hardly wait!

Earth - One Amazing Day

Earth - One Amazing Day

Among the programmes Mum really enjoys watching are those about the natural world - she likes David Attenborough's Planet Earth, and there are other wild life and nature films that capture her attention too.

Sometimes I wonder if she is really following the programme, or if it is simply a series of scenes passing before her eyes, and just as quickly forgotten.

We were watching Earth - One Amazing Day, an interesting take on what was going on over 24 hours on the planet, when some footage showed a large brown bear in the forest.

The camera followed the bear's progress, and soon it came to the base of a tree, and began to climb up it.

I could see Mum was very engrossed and - as if to prove she really was paying attention - suddenly she came out with:

"I wouldn't like to meet him on a walk in the park!"

Collapse of Alex with laughter.

"Ma, you're absolutely right! We wouldn't want to meet him on a walk in the park!"

Just When I Was Feeling Despondent.....!

Just When I Was Feeling Despondent....!

When I sat down to write something on this blog on Saturday night/Sunday morning, I was feeling quite weary, and thinking how quickly the days fly past - and all I seem to do are the same things, day in, day out.  When I looked back over the week (or 9 days, as it happened!) in one sense it was good to know the wheels had kept turning; we had all been fed and watered, and Mum was and is eating well.  It's just that sense that maybe you are running to stand still, and there hasn't been time to do anything else - and it's a struggle to be creative and produce original work when you're tired.

Then I read an article in yesterday's Sunday Express, by a lady called Lynne Wallis, writing about her mother, who died three months ago, at the age of 95. Her Mum had been in five care homes over 13 years, and Lynne was lamenting the fact that her Mum had not been well taken care of.

It made me realise we are in fact fortunate to be in the position of being able to take care of my Mum at home. I know not everyone can do this, or cope with the strain of looking after a very elderly relative with dementia, but in my Mum's case, the days when she is really happy and co-operative make caring for her easy; balanced by the times when she can a nightmare, we try and remember that it's all part of the problem!

What does help is knowing that my Mum is surrounded by her family, who really take care of her - making sure she eats and drinks, encouraging her to sing, to do some exercises, to hold a pencil and draw, to watch TV and help her to follow the programmes.

If Mum was in a home, we all know it would be simply impossible for her to receive that level of loving care and attention; like Lynne Wallis, I would be constantly worried about what was going on, and how Mum was being treated.

People have suggested putting Mum in a home for a short respite period, but my gut feeling tells me, her downward spiral would be swift, and it would most likely be impossible for her to return to the level she enjoys at the moment.

There is the other side to consider, too: I think God sets us challenges, and I hope to keep finding the strength to rise to them!

Where Do The Days Go?

Where Do The Days Go?

I've just sat down to write again; I've been meaning to write another post for days.  I think I have said and written this before! but looking after Mum means the days just roll into one, and I end up asking the same old question:

WHERE DO THE DAYS GO?

I sit here - at the computer -
Thinking how the days all roll into one;
I look at the date I last logged on
Where have the past 9 days gone?

It's not that I've dallied
Or let things drift out of sight....
My days have been filled
From morning 'til night

With inexorable duties
That have to be done;
No time to relax
In the setting sun.

You might catch a glimpse
Of the evening star
But the washing and ironing
Are more important by far.

It's a strain keeping going
As the pressure mounts up;
It's hard to find moments
To eat and to sup.

But at one in the morning,
When Mum is tucked up in bed,
I can dream and write poetry,
All the lines in my head.

Uncle John Fills In Some Details

Uncle John Fills In Some Details

Because I was so young when we first landed in Dar-es-Salaam, I wondered if some of the memories from my childhood had become hazy with time, and maybe life with my father hadn't been quite as bad as I remembered. It was a relief to have Uncle John to talk to; with his very clear recollections about what had gone on when we were in East Africa, he could clarify details about our lives abroad.

I told Uncle John I always wondered if the way Mum had been mistreated by my father had contributed to her ill-temper now, and her inability to hold reasonable conversations; he said he thought it was perfectly possible. Mum had been physically abused by my father, put down on so many occasions, and not allowed to voice her opinions, so perhaps now that she was no longer intimidated by a violent husband, she felt she was going to say exactly what she liked - even if that something was completely wrong, no-one would challenge her. Sometimes, when Mum is in one of her moods, she will say dreadful things, hurtful things, that I remember my father used to say to her; it is a very strange and sad state, hearing these words coming out of my Mum's mouth.

One of my earliest childhood memories is of playing in the dry, dusty garden, and wearing a big white floppy hat, to protect me from the sun. I felt very hot, and wanted to go indoors, so I climbed up the stairs by the side of the house. When I reached the kitchen, I was surprised to see my father in a heavy clinch with our neighbour, a woman called Marigold; they were so engrossed, they didn't notice me. I would have been about three.

Uncle John filled in so many details for me. He told me, we had not been in Dar very long, before my father took off with another man's wife, Muriel, for a "naughty weekend" in Zanzibar. Quite what the woman's husband thought of it, Uncle John didn't know, except that the gossip was, he wouldn't protest or do anything about it. Many more liaisons with other women followed; for Mum, who was still not 30, it must have been so humiliating. She was young and pretty and, confirmed by Uncle John, loved socialising and dancing; yet here was her husband, ready to enjoy extra-marital affairs with no thought of being discrete about it.

There was no-one to turn to, and no escape. Mum was in a foreign land, with a young child; she was there with her husband, and as such, was the "Engineer's wife."  It couldn't have been easy.

Mum and Uncle John Get To Know Each Other Again

Mum and Uncle John Get To Know Each Other Again.

When we got back home from Heathrow with Uncle John, Mum was very happy to see him. He was a bit tired from the long flight, but didn't suffer from jet lag; he was soon he was in fine fettle and adjusted to English time.

Mum was more mobile in 2009, and they would sit at the table together and have breakfast. In the mornings, he liked his cornflakes and All Bran; Mum would have a bowl of cornflakes, and they would be quite companionable.

I had warned Uncle John that Mum could have a few "funny five minutes;" having mentioned it to him, I just hoped everything would go gently, and we would all have a happy family time.

To begin with, Mum was very much in "Older Sister" mode, directing most of the conversations, reminiscing about what they had done when they were children, and the different places they had lived in, but trouble began to brew when Mum recalled an event in their past, that clearly didn't tally with how Uncle John remembered it.

"No, Phyllis," he would say, "our Mam didn't do that/go there/say that...." Uncle John would then explain how he remembered the occasion, and Mum would be adamant it had happened the way she remembered it. He was a bit surprised that Mum seemed unable to have a sensible discussion, to see if they could establish what had eally happened; instead, Mum would go stomping off to her bedroom and become incommunicado for hours, whilst Uncle John was left shaking his head, perplexed at Mum's confusion.

We explained Mum was having these turns, but not to pay too much attention to them; being pragmatic, Uncle John accepted her as she was, although occasionally, if her assertions were really extreme and untrue, he would say outright that he disagreed with her.

We had a few long conversations about Mum.

I asked him, "Was Mum ever a bit strange when she was young?"

His response was immediate: "No! She was fine - she was a lovely sister - perfectly normal."

An Escape To Poet Paradise

An Escape to Poet Paradise

Looking after Mum means I don't have much chance to pursue the things I really love to do, such as performing poetry I've written, so it was a real treat to be out of the house for the afternoon on 7 June, travel up to London and spend a happy hour at the Poetry @3 session, organised by The Poetry Society's Paul McGrane.

This is a regular monthly meeting, held on the first Thursday of the month, and compered by Paul, who makes sure everyone gets a fair share of the time available. It's always well-attended, with many enthusiastic poets, and can be a truly international gathering!

Because I am always under a time constraint and need to get back home in good time for Mum, I was very grateful to Paul for organising my turn on the bill at an early point in the proceedings - and here's hoping I'll be a regular participant in future.

This month, the theme was Film and T.V., and it was a wonderful feeling to perform and share a couple of poems I'd written, with a generous audience. This is what I came up with:

FIFTEEN MINUTES OF FAME

Take me, make me into a star

Mould me, enfold me, wherever you are.

I'm ready and eager, for fame must be nice -

Whatever the cost is, I'll pay the price.

Who cares if the talent is lacking in me?

With a bit of pizazz, I know I can be

All that men dream of; and much better by far,

With a soupçon of spin, I'll be a big star.

Turning dross into gold isn't easy, I know

But with a touch of the airbrush, see how far I can go!

Don't care if this sounds like a desperate plea

Just work all your magic, and soon you will see

A glittering icon, with falsified glow;

But my goodness, I'll sparkle, and light up the show!

LEAVE OUR CLASSIC FILMS ALONE!

Please don't make a re-make of the classic Casablanca -
For who could fill the Bergman/Bogart roles?
With that smouldering, on-screen chemistry
Their eyes windows to their souls.

Just think of Alec Guinness, Peter Sellers, Herbert Lom
And Katie Johnson's genteel tour de force -
Outwitting all those Ladykillers
As Mrs. Wilberforce!

And what about The Italian Job?
And Alfie, with Michael Caine -
The re-makes just don't cut it
They're simply not the same.

And whilst we're on the subject
Recall The African Queen
Again, old Humphrey was the star
With Hepburn on the screen.

There was something extra special
About those films - their style and grace
Controlled by classic actors
With skilful use of pace.

The modern films don't have it
They're too much in your face
The special effects and too much noise
Have taken pride of place.

It's the perfect films from long ago
That always stand the test;
Impressions left upon us
That we had seen the best.

And so, if you're still thinking
Of re-making films well-known:
Don't meddle with their magic -
Leave our classic films alone!

Mum Still Has A Name For Every Mouthful Of Tea....... Or, Mother's Glugging Game

Mum Still Has A Name For Every Mouthful Of Tea....... Or, Mother's Glugging Game

I've recently written about Mum's pattern of eating, and how she is very slow at mealtimes, but that with patience, she will clear her plate.

After eating her dinner, she also likes some chocolate with her tea - After 8s are a favourite, which I cut in to quarters for her, and she can feed herself with the little square pieces.

I then do "rounds" of tea with her - usually six spoonfuls per round, all accompanied by the name of one of the pussy cats, or one of us.

We have "One for Blackie; one for Pushkin; one for Tiddlywinks; one for Artemis; one for Al's pussy cat, Apollo, and one for Marmaduke: .... The cat who lives down the road."  Mum joins in with this "glugging game", finishing off the sentences as we go through the list.

Then it's on to members of the family: "One for Wendy; one for Al; one for you, one for me....." etc.
and, in between rounds, we have a little pause, whilst I rub her back to get rid of any air Mum's swallowed. This usually results in a good burp - I tell her, "Better out than in!" and Mum says, "That's better!"

Helping Mum to drink a cup of tea now takes 12 or 13 "rounds" - 72 - 78 spoonfuls - and with all the rests in between, it can take nearly an hour for her to finish. However, if we use this time to ring up someone Mum knows and have a chat on the phone, the spoonfuls tend to go down more quickly, and we've had the pleasure of touching base with a friend. We also comb and do her hair, which she really enjoys.

We still have people who don't know Mum's routine all that well, suggesting we use straws, or put the tea in a baby's feeding mug; but we have already tried those ideas, with very little success.

The strangest thing is that when we go for Tea at the Ritz, Mum tends to "rise to the occasion," and, with help, will drink her tea from a Palm Court tea cup. They don't hold as much as the pussy cat mugs we have at home, and we have to steady her hand round the cup for every sip, but I think the elegance of her surroundings does have an effect on her. It's a shame I can't replicate it at home!

The important thing is for Mum to keep up a good fluid level; she hardly ever says she feels thirsty, so it's up to us to ensure she drinks (and eats) properly.

Have You Ever Tried Your Mother On Complan?!

Have You Ever Tried Your Mother On Complan?!

Ever since I can remember, Mum has been a finicky eater; she has always had a pretty good appetite, but likes everything placed on her plate separately - the fish or meat on one side, the potatoes on another, and veg set apart from the rest of the food - and no gravy. She likes to see what she's getting for dinner.

She has also always been a slow eater - just like me, she cannot rush her food, but takes time to chew every mouthful properly. (My Grandma used to say, "Chew each mouthful 32 times - once for each tooth!")

After she broke her ankle in November 2011, which was the start of a 4 1/2 month stay in hospital, I took all Mum's food in to her every day; she had more teeth in her head then, and I didn't need to mash things up - she was certainly quicker in those days.

Fast forward to 2018: six years on, and Mum has slowed down considerably; with the dementia, she doesn't really concentrate on eating, and is easily distracted. Of course, there are times when she will feed herself, but at most mealtimes, she needs a lot of help.

Feeding Mum with her dinner can take over two hours; breakfast takes longer than that. Mum loves cornflakes and I do not stint on the amount I put in the bowl, along with a pint of full cream milk - she can still taste the difference between full cream and semi-skimmed - and she has to take her pills.  Supper is also quite lengthy, even if it is only tea and cake. At every meal time, apart from making sure Mum eats the food, we have to make sure she drinks her tea. She will pick up the cup, but then may only take a sip, or wet her lips in the tea; this means she usually needs feeding with that, too.

If all this sounds gloomy and time-consuming - we spend on average about 7 1/2 hours a day concentrating on Mum's nutrition - I try to view mealtimes not so much as tiresome tasks (although they certainly can be!), but more like social occasions. We watch t.v., talk about the cats, and I often ring up friends both here and overseas. Mum likes to talk to these friends as well - if she has known them for a long time, she remembers things from their shared past and experiences, and it all helps to stimulate her, and make the time pass pleasantly. If she is not rushed, Mum will eat every morsel of the food on her plate - and there is a lot of it!

When they found out how much time I spend (for example) on giving Mum her dinner, some carers could hardly believe Mum would take that long over it, and made comments like, "When we feed clients, it only takes half an hour....!"

My reaction was, "Well, then, please come and try to give Mum her dinner in that time."  I also reminded them that when we go with Mum for Tea at the Ritz, we get 2 hours to enjoy it - perfect timing for Mum.

One carer asked me, "Have you ever tried your mother on Complan?"

Mum has never liked any sort of milkshake. Although putting all the elements of her dinner separately on her plate no longer works, and I do have to mash everything up, it is not blended or pureed; it is a proper dinner. In addition to whatever meat or fish we may be having, every day Mum has peas, carrots, swede, parsnips, turnips, cauliflower and spinach, as well as some boiled potato.   I think we satisfy the "Five a Day" criterion, and if Mum is eating and enjoying proper food, why on earth would I want to take that away from her, and put her on meal supplements?

One day, just after I had dished up Mum's dinner on a 10" plate, complete with a good seasoning of pepper and butter, I took a photo of it. The picture will never make the pages of a cookery magazine, but when I showed it to the carer, she was very surprised.

"Can Phyllis eat all that?" She sounded amazed.

"She certainly can," I said. "If you allow her the time, and have the patience to feed her, slowly and steadily, she will eat the lot!"

Mum's delicious dinner

Uncle John Makes The News

Uncle John Makes The News

It was Uncle John's first visit back to England in 40 years, and I thought the local press might be interested in hearing how he felt about what he was seeing in modern Britain.  I got in touch with Suzi, a dear friend and journalist I have known for some years, and she was very keen to meet and interview him for her paper.

We arranged a date, and she came along with Roy, a photographer - it was a beautifully warm day and Uncle John sat in the garden in his shirtsleeves for the photo.

Uncle John's "pic in the paper"

He was thrilled that someone would take such an interest in his life, and what he had been doing whilst he was in Australia; equally, my friend found him fascinating to talk to, and felt she had a really good human-interest story for the paper. This is part of the article she wrote about him, under a big "Welcome Back John" headline:

"I am absolutely staggered by the changing face and pace of this country. When I left Britain, you never saw both sides of the road used for parking; it seems every household has a least one car now."  He added, "I'm also amazed at how supermarkets have changed so much in the UK, compared to the 1960s. The choice and range of fruit, vegetables and other produce is phenomenal. I suppose when you are living here you take it for granted, but the supermarkets certainly aren't as vast in Australia. The aisles are so beautifully wide - they certainly weren't like that when I left England."

Uncle John also talked about the weather, saying he was very appreciative of Britain's ever-changing weather. He said, "Sunshine all the time actually gets a bit boring, month after month."

In Brisbane, Uncle John admitted that he rarely goes out until after 4.00 p.m. - it is simply too hot, but everyone has air conditioning. He also said he was enjoying being able to take a shower for more than just a few minutes: "In Australia, no-one is allowed to take a shower for more than four minutes, because of water shortages."

One of the most striking differences, apart from the pace of life, was the layout of the two countries. "In England, most of the land is occupied, and there aren't really any no-go areas. In Australia, most of the towns and cities are dotted along the coastline; there are very few in the middle of the country, it's simply too hot being that far away from the sea."

During the month that Uncle John stayed with us, my point was proved time and time again; yes, England isn't as warm (or as very hot!) as Brisbane, but with modern central heating systems, it is easy to keep nice and warm here, even if the weather outside isn't!

Another positive aspect that impressed Uncle John, was the friendliness of all our neighbours.

I think because Australia is a young country (in more than one sense), the culture is more in favour of arranging to meet up with people for a "Barbie on the Beach," rather than throwing a party in your home. I suppose because houses in England are generally built rather more closely together than they are in Australia, and we live in closer proximity to "the folk next door," we have a chance to get to know them more easily. It is certainly true in our area, and Uncle John loved meeting everyone and enjoying their company; some of our neighbours are as well-travelled as he is, and they had many interesting experiences to share with him.

Uncle John's first trip home in 40 years was proving to be a great success.