Sitting at my desk yesterday, I was suddenly conscious that I was rocking on my chair. It’s a habit I have had since being a youngster and one that I can lay firmly on my Granma’s lap, for it was she who bought me that old wooden rocking chair that instigated this particular habit. Not only that, she was also instrumental in causing my life time love of liquorice via ample supplies of liquorice Pontefract Cakes.
The chair was wooden with a circular hole in the seat where you could presumably place a potty of some description. I was probably safely tied into it via a scarf or some other method to ensure that I didn’t fall out. I can’t remember sitting in it of course, but my mother kept it until her demise. It would have been worth some money if it had not been cracked all the way down the back. I have been able to find a picture on the internet of one which is very similar the the one I had.
The Pontefract Cakes might have been bought in a tin, I am not quite sure whether Bassett’s were around in those days so it’s not certain who made them, but I still enjoy eating liquorice to this day. My Granma is a very hazy memory for me, as she died when I was only about three or four from breast cancer. She spoiled me something rotten or so my mother used to tell me, and I just wish my memories were more clear of her. She was probably already unwell by the time I was born, and my mother and I lived with her during my early years. My father was away serving in the Army during that time, so I suppose it made sense for us to remain at home with Granma and Granddad. This was just after the war had ended of course, when things were really tight. I don’t remember much about Granma’s house either, only the basic layout of it and the back room which we all used most of the time. The front room was never used unless there were guests. It was always kept for ‘best’.
t’s just a good job I have never worked in an close office environment, I would have driven everyone batty with my constant rocking and the trouble is, it’s not until someone remarks on it that I realise I am doing it, so by that time everyone would be heartily sick of seeing me out of the corner of their eye rocking to and fro as I enjoyed my liquorice Pontefract Cakes.
I had a strange birthday yesterday. Spent having yet another new experience sat in a very comfortable chair, being stabbed with needles four times in total on the back of my hands resulting in some lovely blue bruises, (I shall be taken soon for an alien as I will no doubt end up blue all over) and receiving lot’s of different inputs ranging from Steroids, anti-sickness stuff to my two separate chemo’s. K sat diligently at my side, noseying as she always does at everything going on around her.
It weighs a ton weight. It’s stopping me from exercising. It’s twice the size of the other one. It refuses to bend at the knee. I can’t tie my shoes. I can’t lift it high enough to put my trousers on. I can’t put my socks on. It’s driving me insane. Go a short walk and I’m beggared and no wonder. It weighs a ton.
I have actually lost weight everywhere else. Without my huge leg I would probably be down to 9 stone but my leg weighs about two ton. Whilst the hospital and I argue over what exactly is wrong with my leg, I am getting no exercises and no stocking to wear and so no treatment. Tomorrow I have yet another scan to endure to see if there is a blood clot causing the swollen leg. I am beginning to loose count of all of the scans I have had. I must have laid under every type of scanner there is by now. The hospital must have pictures of every single organ, vein, and internal supply of my body you can think of. Well, apart from my brain and I don’t really blame them for missing that part out. There would be very little to see.
It’s worse first thing after being laid down. K and I discussed whether I could go to sleep with my leg propped up against the wall. We both decided that what I really needed was one of those hoists above the bed that hospitals use to keep your leg straight after a breakage when its in plaster. I could lay down and K would have to adjust the pulley to raise my leg into the air. I just hope that tomorrow I get some answers and therefore some treatment to bring my big fat leg back down to size.
This blog will now remain stable. There will be no more changes to confuse my two readers, it will now remain as you see it today. No more endlessly typing in a search bar with such mundane terms such as ‘dippy’ ‘geeky’ ‘mysterious’ I have found myself at last! The header above depicts many things about me and my life. The road stretched out in front encouraging you to continue on just to see what lies around the corner, the trees at either side, casting such wonderful patterns over the road and displaying a mired of colours. It’s all there.
Where does the road lead? What lies beyond the bend? Life is a road we all travel along, with many crossroads where decisions have to be made as we go. Which way, left or right, straight on or turn around and go back? But we cannot turn around. We cannot go back. Did we take the right road back there when we decided to go left? Should we have gone right instead? Where will the road take us? Will it ever end? Or will we be forever journeying along it, never reaching our destination?
Life is a road that we all must journey along. The turnings we make as we travel that road may be right, they may be wrong. During my journey along life’s road, I have made many wrong turnings. Turned right when I should have turned left. Gone straight ahead when I should have turned right. But the road I now travel is the one I must take, for I cannot turn back. I wonder what lies round the bend?
Every year without fail I make a new year’s resolution to diet. I it did again this year as I did last year. How successful was I? Well I am now nearly a stone heavier at the beginning of this year compared to last. I try really hard honest! But I am up against it. Eating influences come wafting my way every minute of the day. I should be stronger in will. Firmer in resolution. Go shopping alone. Wear headphones or earplugs. Not be swayed by those pleading eyes, and persuasive tone of voice. Will I manage it this year? What do you think? Sigh………
I recently ventured out in the cold clothed in several layers consisting of a short sleeved t-shirt, a long sleeved t-shirt, a sweatshirt, a fleece and finally my fleece lined outer coat. On my feet I had two pairs of socks and some warm fleece line boots. On my head, in order to help contain any heat therein , my knitted hat. On my hands a pair of gloves. Despite the multitude of layers I still ended up shivering. The cold was biting into my cheeks and face and was slowly seeping through all those layers to my skin, and then my bones.
TG (Reminder to self. Miss the whole thing out next year by hibernating around October and not emerging until March.)