Just in case your hearts have been wrung by thoughts of MasterB confined first in the car in his travel basket, then on das Boot, then back in the car again, I trust these pictures will offer reassurance.Continue reading
When I started blogging it was about getting back into writing. I had just acquired das Boot, and fondly imagined my blog would be a mainly nautical one. But of course there was Cat, and there was Mother, both of whom had contributed to my decision to buy a boat in the first place. Fairly quickly they became my main subjects, and I slowly realised that I was writing a diary. That the blog had become a thinking place, a place where I tried to make sense of things that were going on, and to rant and rage about the things that frustrated and incensed me. There were laughs too. But with Mother, what I have now is a record of her decline, of Aunt’s and my attempts to support her, of our head banging against the brick walls of hospital administration, ignorance about dementia, understaffed schemes, lazy attitudes. Continue reading
It was a late late lunch. My friends had initially planned to be here for half past eleven, but it was a good two hours later when they arrived. I had vacuumed das Boot and was catching up on yesterday’s Guardian. Giles Fraser’s Loose Canon column hit a particular chord. I have been thinking about Mother’s last months and days, the way she has had to accept care. She was a very independent woman and the helplessness she experienced would have been the opposite of everything she would have desired. Yet in a strange way, I believe it healed something in her. As I mentioned before, her own mother died when Mother was just seven. It was a tough, insecure childhood. She and her siblings were a close gang, but their trust in adults was small. Experience taught them young that adults were unreliable. They looked after themselves and each other. So finding herself cared for by people who were kind to her, who looked after her when she could not care for herself, who wanted her comfort and happiness, may have done something to help the damaged child inside. I hope so.
I love my Crocs. I have two pairs: pale blue and bright green. I prefer comfort to elegance, and although for proper support and cooler days my lace up Fitflops are my first choice, barefeet and Crocs are natural partners. Mine are getting old and smooth. I wasn’t actually sure they still made them, but I saw some in a shop window today.
Blue Crocs and Bare Feet[/caption]
Anyway, I wasn’t really thinking when I slipped them on yesterday afternoon. My mind was more on my new bike pannier which was about to have its first outing. It was only when I had unlocked the bike, got my helmet and gloves on and the pannier attached, that I realised what I was wearing.
Lots of people cycle in Crocs. I’ve seen them. But I never have. I prefer a snugger fit when my feet are on the pedals. Still, my journey was a short one, and I didn’t want to have to go back indoors, so I set off. Continue reading
Is there anything that defines comfort more than a happy, sleeping cat?