'S' is for ... Simba

Some of you may not have been acquainted with the yellow, hairy member of our family. No, not the husband. Our yellow Labrador, Simba.

Twelve years ago, and after much deliberation we decided we would like to get a black female Labrador. A friend of a friend told us about a farmer friend of theirs whose gorgeous Labrador had just had pups. The next day we went to see them. Somehow the fattest pup, a yellow male 'found' my son. They have been inseparable ever since.

We named the puppy Simba, after the Lion King Disney film (son's favourite film at the time.) Simba is Swahili for Lion and it seemed rather appropriate.

When he was five months old, Simba nearly died after eating slug pellets in the garden. A few months later, he went terribly lame. Despite his pedigree certificate, low hip score and none of his brothers or sisters having it, after expensive investigations, we found he was riddled with arthritis - hip dysplasia, both hips and elbow dysplasia, both elbows.

The vet told us he wouldn't reach three years old and I sometimes wonder with my health problems, whether it was 'meant to be' that Simba ended with us. I know all about the pain of arthritis and living with chronic pain. He's been on medication ever since. We have to limit his food and exercise, he now has cataracts and can only see shadows. He's deaf and can only hear claps and follow hand signals. His breathing alternates between shallow and raspy and deep and laboured - sometimes I think he's having a heart attack
as he can't catch his breath. Yet despite the prognosis, Simba is still with us, even though every winter we say, 'I don't think he'll last another year'...

He has to twist and distort his body to lie comfortably, as you can see.

These days, he spends most of his time asleep. As I type this, he's laying at my feet, snoring like a trombone, his body twitching as he dreams of the rabbits he used to chase...

There you have my 'S' word - 'S' is for Simba, our very special, faithful, wonderful family member.

Until another day
Bye for now
xx

'Q' is for ... Quiet.

Shhh-h-h...

Can you hear that?
Listen, carefully.
Aside from the twittering radio interference garble of swallows, and two buzzards circling, mewing high in the sky...

...Amidst the frantic bleating of a lamb that momentarily loses sight of its mother, and above the deep hum of two tractors a few fields away as they plant potatoes, I can hear…

Oh, no, now there’s no chance…

Hubby’s car roars up the lane amid a cloud of dust. I wait for the crunch of gravel, for him to turn into our courtyard, and the thump, thump sound of music vibrating from the car radio. He slams the front door behind as he comes in and dumps his bags on the hall floor. Black brogues clip clop over the steps, and onto the slate tiles of the kitchen floor. Before he’s even kissed me, he flicks the radio in the kitchen on, plugs it into the extension lead, and brings it outside.

'It’s like a morgue in here. I don’t know how you can stand it this quiet.’

He plants a wet kiss on my cheek and goes through into the living room, grabbing the TV control as he passes the coffee table, and presses the green button to watch the news. I know it’s only a matter of time before tinny 80’s music will blast out of the Ipod speakers in the study.

Hearing him, the boys rush out from the bedroom. The sound of guns shooting and a Sergeant Major barking orders emanate from the X-Box they’ve left on. Before I can tell them to go back and turn it off, they yell to greet their dad and charge outside to bounce on the trampoline. Springs creak, fabric stretches, squeals of laughter peal out, and my young bucks vie for top dog position, wrestling in between their ‘I can bounce highest’ competitions.

Next door’s toddler pokes her pretty, strawberry blond head under the fence. ‘Hiya! Hiya. Hellooo.’ She’s impossible to resist. Her elder brother - who’s only five - bounces his football loudly, hoping to attract the attention of my boys so they'll give him some attention and play.

In the field across the lane, the farmer on his quad bike and his dogs send the ewes and lambs into automatic frantic mode. They give chase, baaing and bleating for the feed and supplements. The neighbours horses and donkeys decide to join the mayhem and hare across the field in pursuit of each other. By the time they have run a few feet, they lose track of who’s chasing who.

My youngest gets bored on the trampoline, finds the football and starts kicking and kneeing ‘keepy uppies.’ Without his younger brother to torment, the eldest loses interest too, and tennis racket in hand starts batting a ball against the house and on the decking. Next doors puppy yaps at our cat and gives chase. On the drive over the other side of the barn, I hear the neighbours pull their bins across the gravel, ready for the morning bin collection.

Hubby comes outside with a beer and sits down. The dog lollops towards him, panting and sneezing in excitement.

‘So how’s your day been?’ Hubby asks.

‘Quiet,' I say, and groan inwardly.

I do love them all. But sometimes, just sometimes, I wish they would all go away and leave me in peace.

Am I the only one who feels like this?

Quietness is not only a lack of noise, but it’s a state of mind. No agitation, excitement; with quietness comes calmness and tranquillity, a peaceful contemplation.

Quietness is underestimated and undervalued. Except by me.

For now, I shall have to wait until next week, when the Easter holidays are over. Then I might snatch some quiet time again.

Until another day
Bye for now
xx

Christmas Blessings

In a weeks time it will all be over. That’s what Nan would say if she was still here.

Well, I don’t want it all to be over. In fact, I don’t mind if Christmas Day doesn’t come at all. Suspend this day, and the other days that lead up to December 25th because for me, it’s the build up, the anticipation which fills me with the joy of Christmas; decorating the house, bringing the food in, meeting up with friends, hearing from people who we only hear from at this time of year.

On this run up to Christmas, I always find it’s the one time of the year when people give a little more, act a little nicer and for some, be the people they want to be all year round. A while back I read somewhere, "I wish we could put up some of the Christmas spirit in jars and open a jar of it every month." It made me smile although this year despite (or maybe because of) the extreme weather, I find there's a great spirit everywhere. It's as I’d imagine the Dunkirk spirit; people being stoical and cheery despite the circumstances, helping each other, being extra thoughtful and looking out for those vulnerable people like the sick and elderly.

Listen to me and my ‘God Bless us, everyone.’ Perhaps I’m getting older but I often find myself melancholy and reflective around this time. When I hear of people killed in car accidents, think of our men and women in the Armed Forces, learn of someone who’s having a tough time, I always feel a little more for them if it's close to Christmas, aware that from now on, instead of Christmas being a time of joy and happiness, it will always be a little bit worse.

My Granddad died just before Christmas the year before I was born and it was also his birthday in December. When I was a child, I remember asking Nan why she had sad eyes one Christmas. Now I understand why. Christmas is a sad time for many people. Spare a thought for some of my friends;
Kate Hardy has just lost her dear Dad. B, my lovely neighbour, started chemotherapy on Friday knowing she has secondary cancer. Despite numerous scans and tests they can’t find the primary source. J, one of my dearest, longest standing friends will once again spend Christmas without her husband. He’s only sixty-five but has Alzheimer’s and has been in a care home for the last few Christmas's. J will have her family around this Christmas and her friends will all be there for her, yet I understand how there may be times when she'll be in a roomful of people, yet still feel like the loneliest person in the world. Then there’s Mr Woozle. They say time’s a great healer but I bet as he faces the first anniversary of his beautiful wife’s passing, it doesn’t feel much like that.

Bless those of you who have troubles and worries in your life and know that I am thinking of you. If I could grant you one wish it is that I could take your troubles away. Of course I can’t do that so I hope instead of being sad for the whole Christmas you might spend some of the time re-living happy memories and smiling.

As I recover from my surgery there is a lot to be thankful for. Who would have thought I’d be able to eat my Christmas dinner, chomp on nuts and sing carols. Despite all the grief and worry he’s caused us, Idle Jack has a job when many don’t. And I'm thankful too that hubby is still in work. A year ago we didn’t know what might happen when his company were taken over. Spending the week in London is a small price to pay. Quiet Mousie has health worries (he’s showing signs of developing my Behcets disease) but with a wonderful Professor of Rheumatology at Birmingham Children’s hospital looking after him and a Mum who understands the disease, we can help him manage it. And let’s be especially thankful, he’s not going to die from it. Some children won’t be so fortunate this Christmas...

As mine rip open their presents on Christmas morning, I shall be reminding them that it’s not about what you get. It’s about what you give too; friendship, love and support to those who need it most.

I have everything I want for Christmas; a full fridge, the log burner exuding warmth, my lovely family and the best friends in the world, and for now, I’m grateful that my health is holding up - health is everything. So yes, I’ll be counting my Christmas blessings this year more than ever, surgery behind me and with much to look forward to.

On that subject, can I take this opportunity to thank you all for your support and kind messages throughout the year.

I wish you all the joys of Christmas and happiness throughout 2011.

Until another day

God bless us, everyone.
xx