Author Archives: Z

Getting old, unexpectedly

I’m fine with the age I am. I don’t pretend to be younger, I’m only moderately vain (wouldn’t stick my stomach out if I knew you were going to photograph me, but otherwise, reality is okay). I don’t colour my hair because I’m both lazy and a bit obsessive – I’d hate roots and would have to deal with them straight away, so it’s easier not. If I were completely grey, I’d have a plan, but I’m not. Anyway, this isn’t about any of this, it’s the unexpected stuff. The Who Knews?

Finger muscles. When you’re young, you don’t really register your finger muscles. It’s only when they start to fail. Can’t take off lids, lose your grip.

Eyebrows. Now, that’s really unexpected. My eyebrows have both diminished in volume and faded in colour. Only a few years ago, I had to tweak out hairs to keep them in shape and now, honestly, even though there are unwanted bits and pieces, they’re palely invisible. But you lose the shape of your upper face without eyebrows. As time has gone by, my use of makeup has changed. In my teens, it was all about mascara (this was the ’60s and early ’70s, it’s how it was). Later, generally eyes, then my skin needed some evening out, then lips were a thing, generally I aimed for a balance but, if pushed – only two minutes to put your face on, what do you do? – there was a choice. Now, it’s eyebrows.

Bladder. Sorry. Mostly, I still have a bladder of Absolute Steel. I can go for hours, I’m fine. I hardly ever need to get up in the night. But a tickly cough (not a chesty one, just the tickly sort) and I have to cross my legs hastily. I feel the cough coming and I brace myself.

Eyesight – this is less unexpected in some ways, but I’m absolutely blessed with my eyesight and extremely grateful for it. Being slightly shortsighted, I can read easily with no aids, even the bottom line of the card the optician gives me, even silver hallmarks in a good light. And distance is equally fine with a contact lens. So one lens and I have the very best of both. It’s the luckiest I could be and I’m thankful. But colour differentiation and seeing graduations of colour in poor light, that’s another matter. I’m doing this needlepoint tapestry, it’s going well but there are bits I have to get to grips with during the day, or I will make mistakes. At least, I’m fine with driving at night and I don’t find oncoming traffic a problem.

Likewise, taste. I know I don’t have the subtlety of taste that I used to have, and I miss that. But probably not entirely unexpected. Hearing, I’m okay, I don’t know when I last heard a bat but this is something that’s natural as you get older. Eyebrows and fingers, they’re the things that I didn’t anticipate.

Early to bed, late to rise…..

I have few strict rules in my life, I do whatever seems best at the time. But one I always follow is, not to fall asleep in front of the tv in the evening. I don’t normally turn on the tv (I don’t even have one in here, I only use the computer) but, if I do, it’s to watch it, not to nap by it. But sometimes, I’m exhausted by the evening – too tired to do anything but sleep, so the only thing to do is to go to bed. Then, of course, I sleep for a few hours and I’m awake before midnight. It’s a nuisance.

Before you lovely people start to worry about me, I am pretty sure I’m not ill. Because I feel fine earlier in the day and also because, if I’m going out in the evening, I’m full of beans. It’s just a quiet evening at home alone that completely scuppers me.

Weeza and co came over for lunch yesterday. We had cheese soufflé, by special request (Augustus, 13 year old grandson, texted me specially). He and his sister Zerlina have a particularly fond memory of eating cheese soufflé in the garden, looking up and seeing a very young black calf walking down the drive. It’s remained in their minds as a happy meal to have with Granny. I roasted vegetables and potatoes and cooked some broccoli to go with the soufflé, following it with rhubarb and apple crumble. I rarely make any sort of pudding nowadays, but I came over cheerful and hospitable – though actually, whilst I’d prepared the fruit, Weeza kindly made up the crumble mix while I was making the soufflé.

I impressed her, by chance, with my abstemiousness, when I offered her a glass of wine (I also offered kombucha, which she accepted). I waved at the opened bottle of red, which had clearly only had one glass poured from it (and that was a couple of nights earlier, as it happens). I’m being a most sensible and non-boozy Zoë, largely because I go to bed too early to drink much, nowadays.

Tomorrow, I’ve got a hygienist appointment in Norwich at 9, a swimming lesson in Yagnub at 10.30, then I’m picking up someone to drive to near Saxmundham, 40 minutes away, by 12 noon. I’ll have earned my early bedtime after that. Must get my swimming bag ready and set an alarm. Going to bed early does not mean I’m ready to get up betimes.

Z reminisces

A comment from Blue Witch reminded me of something from the 1960s. So, random memory.

Back then, we used to visit London often. Wink and I might go too for a day trip, but not usually for longer visits. I think they favoured the Dorchester to stay at, but I never joined them, so I may be wrong.

Anyway, they did like to eat at the Trocadero, which was fabulous at that time. I was taken there for lunch once and wrote excitedly to my sister about it, she being at college at the time. For some time, I wrote to her daily, just a line or two. Then I stopped – I guess I didn’t miss her so much, once I got used to it. She never said anything and I don’t remember that she ever wrote to me, so perhaps she didn’t miss me either – or maybe she was disappointed and has never said anything in nearly 60 years. Anyway, apart from the stupendous meringue that the meal finished with and that I wasn’t able to finish anything, delicious as it was, I don’t remember the meal itself. I do remember the bit I didn’t taste, though.

There was a Turkish waiter, whose job was to serve the coffee and, of course, Turkish coffee was the speciality. He’d come and make it on a trolley and then sprinkle your cupped hands with rosewater, wishing you health, long life and happiness, then pour your coffee. I was about 12 and not deemed old enough for the very strong coffee, but he did give me the rosewater and the blessing. I remember my inadvertently loud sniff as I smelled it, which made my parents chuckle and slightly embarrassed me, but not too much to spoil the mood (I was very self-conscious, it didn’t take much).

I know he was Turkish because they told me so, but also because he wore a fez.

Zwell (spell and pronounce my initial in the English way)

Yes, this hotel. It focusses on sleep, apparently, but doesn’t really provide anything to help you do anything else. It’s got incredibly small rooms, about 9 foot by 12 (I’d say 3 metres by 4, but I don’t think they’re that big) and there’s a platform the length of the room and most of the width, with a mattress on. There is no furniture. A narrow shelf behind the bed, so you can put your phone on to charge on there. The bathroom has a shower cubicle, a lavatory and a shallow basin with a shelf underneath. The tap splashes onto the basin surround, so it’s not ideal to put anything on it. There’s a mirror.

No glass or beaker to use as a tooth mug, no tv, no kettle, three hooks in the bedroom, except they’re not actually hooks, they’re big discs and my coat wouldn’t hook onto them, so it joined the rest of my clothes on the floor. The mattress was comfortable and the linen good quality. No outside wall, so no window. It was quiet, I didn’t hear anyone else and don’t know how busy the hotel was.

On the second evening, because we’d been out for lunch, we decided just to get something light to eat in our room. Wink had asked for a paper cup for water to take her meds in the morning, I thought we’d like some wine but had nothing to drink out of. So I bought a tub of melon chunks, we ate those and then I used the tub as my wine glass.

Wink had, I think unwisely, opted for the side of the bed near the wall, so she had to crawl to the end of the bed and scramble over the platform, every time she wanted to get out. It was reasonably priced for Piccadilly, but a bit more basic than is reasonable to expect. Really, a couple of plastic beakers in the bathroom? Surely most people want a drink of water at some time?

1st February

I think about blogging most days, but I don’t follow up on it very often. Yet I appreciate this blog, as well as the friends I’ve made here and I want to write more than I do.

Some years ago, I found it hard to retain my blogging mojo, as we used to call it. So, I decided to blog every day and I kept that up for ages. Years. I remember being nearly asleep as midnight approached and hastily writing a post on my phone. So, eventually, it occurred to me that this was a bit obsessive, so I decided to step back. Also, some people said they only blogged when they really had something to say. Hmm, I thought, I always seem to find something to say. I talk too much. Of course, once I’d let go of the mental discipline of daily blogging, it slipped down the list of things to do. It doesn’t help that I go to bed earlier than I used to and I’m too tired to stare at the computer at night.

I spend much less time on my computer than I used to and, when I use it, I’m working. So I’m not as good at reading blogs as I used to be either. I don’t have much time for other media – I’ve got several accounts, but I only use Facebook regularly and that isn’t all that much. I use my phone quite a lot. Okay, I use my phone a lot. And everything that isn’t work, blogging or reading blogs is easy to do on that.

Anyway, here I am again. My sister is in India until the second week in March. She started in Chennai, which is her base as usual, because that’s where her great friend Kamala lives. But she’s been at the Jaipur literary festival this week. She’s evidently been as sociable as usual, she’s told me about conversations she’s had with various authors.

I’ve reverted to my usual less sociable self, though I was out yesterday. First, to a society where we have a lecture on antiques, in a broad sense, every week. Then I went and picked up Rose and we went out to lunch. This turned out to be more effort than expected. We went to the pub near where she used to live, but they were (very unusually) fully booked, so we went a few miles down the road to a garden centre with a good café. They were open, but had a problem with their electricity, so had a very limited menu and no hot drinks, nor light in the restaurant. They were coping as well as they could and were really lovely, so we stayed for cheese scones and cold drinks.

By the time I got home, I was tired from being sociable. It’s odd. If I’m out in the evening, I perk up and I’m not tired, but otherwise I’m sorely tempted to be in bed by 8 o’clock. I resisted until 9.30 or so and then was bewildered when the clock struck, I assumed at about 3am, but it just went on and on striking. It was 11 and, of course, I was awake for ages. I have no patience with myself.

It’s been a week of bad news, in regard to my friends. One has just been diagnosed with cancer, another has to have tests, though it seems more precautionary and we hope for reassurance. My gardener Wince called round, very shocked, to tell me that his partner has died. She was only 64. Her health wasn’t great, but it was a back and a blood problem and she died of a stroke, very unexpectedly. They didn’t live together, but had been together for years.

Wink and I spent last week – three days of it, anyway – in London. We had a lunch first, then the next day she was meeting friends for lunch and the theatre. On Thursday, she was heading to the airport. In theory, I had Wednesday and Thursday morning to myself, but it didn’t work out. She asked if I’d like to join them for lunch, at a bistro just off Shaftesbury Avenue. We arrived early, having finished our bit of shopping and started with Prosecco and smoked almonds while we waited for the friends. Who were very late and we’d given up and ordered (as there was a time constraint) before they arrived. They’d walked the wrong way for ages and finally had to get a taxi! But there was just time for lunch – except it was all cutting fine and I’m twitchy about that sort of thing. The theatre would start at 2.30 and they’d have to wait until there was a break before they could go in. So I shooed them out, saying I’d sort out the bill and let them know. Which I did, then walked to Oxford Street for some more shopping for our Indian friends, then took my heavy bag back to the hotel, then headed out to the Royal Academy, because I was determined to do something while I was in London.

The hotel room was tiny. Teeny, darlings. I must stop for lunch, but I’ll tell you about it.

n-n-n-n-nineteen. Nineteen

My first blogpost:

Where’s winter?

The whole of England was threatened with dreadful weather this winter. So when snow fell a few weeks back, I was not too bothered by having no time to build a snowman, I thought there would be plenty of opportunity to come. Our drive has a field on one side and a bank with a hedge the other, so if the snow is blown across the field it hits the barrier and drops, several feet deep and we have to dig our way out, all 100 yards or so. In the meantime we walk the couple of kilometres into town for food. It’s the best thing about living at the edge of a countryish village, you’re not remote enough to be really cut off but, with fields in each direction round the garden, you feel as if you are.

Well, it’s not the end of January yet, so there’s still time I suppose. But weeks of ice and blizzards are increasingly unlikely. Lucky I didn’t get around to hauling the sledge out from the back of the shed. But the year doesn’t feel right if I haven’t made a snowman. 

I’m reading ‘The Apologist’ by Jay Rayner. Only up to Chapter 6 but seems promising. Narrator is a restaurant critic, victim of harsh review kills himself by turning on the bread oven and shutting himself in – he goes to apologise to the widow and gets hooked on the headiness of absolution.”

All those years ago, wanting to start a blog but having little idea what to write about, I thought I’d talk about the books, music, films etc that I’d come into contact with. Changed within a day.

Happy blogversary to me.

Old Zs forget?

I went to clear up the kitchen and suddenly I badly wanted a cup of coffee. I hardly ever drink more than one cup a day, that being in the morning. I like it strong and black and the quantity depends on the strength – a double measure, whether espresso sized or a small mug. I don’t think it would keep me awake if drunk later, but I’ll soon find out, it now being after 9 at night.

I didn’t set the alarm last night, though I thought I had. I luckily woke up half an hour before I was due to leave, which gave me just enough time. Except that I couldn’t find my handbag with the car keys in. I searched and I used the Tile app and that said it was out of range. Which was enough of a clue to make me wonder if I’d left the bag in the unlocked car overnight. And I had. I don’t seem to get any less daft. I’ve always thought, if ever I get dementia, no one will notice for a while. I haven’t, by the way, as yet.

Anyway, I still had enough time, even with defrosting the car. And I’ve absolutely set the alarm for tomorrow. Ecat has her annual checkup and vaccination – not until 10 o’clock, but I haven’t brought in her cat carrier from the shed and it’ll need to be warmed up before the little girl can be put in it. It’s cold out there again. The barn cats have made it clear that they’d like to winter in the house, but there’s no chance of that.

At lunch today, we were talking about memories and that, so often, our parents and grandparents don’t tell us things that, later, we wish we had asked. I wish, for myself, that I’d started by putting labels on some of my blog posts, but it’s too late now. No one, including myself, will ever bother to look all the way back for something interesting, though I did write down what I remembered about things my mum told me about family history and so on, as well as my own early memories. I should try to resurrect some of it, perhaps.

Having pressed publish, it occurred to me that I will want Eloise’s vaccination card, so I’ve put it in my bag, which isn’t in the car, ready for the morning. I really haven’t lost my marbles quite yet, darlings, I assure you.

So Sew

I want something to do that takes concentration but not brainwork, so I’m going to try needlepoint again. I haven’t done it for years, because I like counting thread work and the graduations of colour became too difficult for my eyes in the evening. But I’ll have a go and, if it means I have to take time to do it in the day, that’s a bonus nowadays. I’ve no idea what happened to my frame, so I’ve ordered a new one.

I’ve done some of the work, but not all, that I meant to do today. It was the cat, I say plaintively. Without Wink here, she wants to sit on me. It isn’t enough to just be with me, she wants my full attention, including eye contact. She can be quite needy, or manipulative or something. She’s not exactly starved of affection, it’s just her way.

I’ve got to be out of the house in good time tomorrow, so I’ve set an alarm. Usually, I’m awake quite early, but I can’t trust myself completely – if I don’t sleep much in the night, I might drop off around 6.30, when I should be waking up. I go to bed disgracefully early, usually – I still think of myself as starting to bloom at 9pm, but I’m quite often asleep by then nowadays and I feel I’m letting the side down and being old and dull. This isn’t to suggest that other people who go to bed early are old and dull, it’s just not my self-image.

I don’t know what eCat is doing at present, but it involves scratching on my antique rug. I should investigate.

Z & ECat are quiet

ECat and I are alone for the next week. I’ve just dropped Wink off at the station to catch trains down to Gatwick, because she’s going to Spain for the next week – a practice run for her 6-week sojourn in India. ECat gave me a long cuddle when I got home. She spends a good deal of time on Wink’s lap. As soon as Wink sits down, along comes the cat for some love. She’ll be huffy when she discovers that Wink is hardly here between now and mid-March.

I’ve got a lot of typing to do today and tomorrow. Most of it is emails, though there’s work as well. I’ve got responses to Christmas news – that is, not about Christmas itself, but contained in cards. And thank-yous and so on. And I’ve got the last of the decorations to put away, too.

As I’m living in the dining room at present, the room is cluttered. It already had quite a lot of furniture in it, but I’ve added two small tables and three armchairs. There was no room for a tree. I decorated the inglenook surround with swags of ivy and put the crib and some wooden choir figures in the two alcoves at the sides of the woodburner. It took up no room space and looked good, though the ivy dried out quite quickly with the heat of the stove.

I sit at the dining table, mostly, rather than in the armchairs, unless I’m at the computer. It’s quite comfortable and a good place to read, do jigsaws or whatever. Of course, the table gets cluttered too and I have to clear up frequently. I don’t think I’m destined ever to be tidy.

I was supposed to pick up two elderly friends and take them out to lunch near Norwich today, but neither of them is feeling quite well enough to go out in the bleak weather. Having seen the local news just now in the paper, I’m glad not to have been going that way. A traffic accident on a junction I’d have used has closed the road – the cars involved have been cleared and I don’t know how serious it was in terms of injuries, but traffic lights have been damaged and are out of use, so there are diversions. All nearby roads will be in a proper mess. I’ve lit the fire and I’m staying put for the rest of the day – apart from a healthy walk, of course, once I’ve done my typing. Unless it’s raining by then (which it is now). According to my phone, it’s 3ºC out but feels like -8ºC, with a gusty wind. Due to be cold for the whole week, with frosts every night. Can’t complain about a frost in January, of course.

In haste…

I did the outside chores, but they needed to be done again this morning. I’d stocked up for Wink, without realising that I’d used nearly the last of my coal. But I didn’t realise until I got back from blood donor’s and, after fainting a couple of years ago, I do nothing for the rest of the day. Wink kindly fed the outside cats and checked on the chickens and she cooked my dinner. I was, although I’d taken it very easy all afternoon, in bed by 8pm. And, though I was awake for a while in the night, I must have slept for a good 9 hours, maybe 10. Fabulous.

I also checked when I’d be able to donate again after a visit to Mexico. There’s nothing long-term to worry about, so just 28 days, in case I pick up any tropical fever. Though advice is to check again when I’m back, in case there’s been any change in the advice. While I was about it, I went online to the GP website to fill in the vaccination check form. It asks what vaccines I’ve had – not all, but includes flu, polio, diphtheria, tetanus – and the dates. A bit bemused, because I was inoculated against polio and vaccinated against diphtheria as a small child and have no idea of the dates. The rest, the surgery has on my records anyway. Still, it’s evidently read by a real person, so I answered as well as I could and they should get back to me next week. They asked about yellow fever too, I’ve a feeling I was vaccinated before my honeymoon, but that was in 1973, so I’m well out of date. And malaria tablets, which I was able to answer.

Mel gave the chickens fresh water this morning as there had been a frost and I’ve just filled log baskets. I’ve also brought some pouches of cat food indoors, so that the barn cats don’t have to eat cold food this evening. And now, out for lunch.