Not much to say about snails, except they are quite engaging creatures with their little 'horns' and beautifully patterned shells. Except when they are eating my lettuces and primulas. I spotted a couple wending their way across the path this morning in the rain, along with a slug or two. Slugs are not engaging creatures in my view. Anyway, I picked them all up using my slugging tongs and deposited them in the council garden waste collection bin. The ones I had dumped in there a day or so ago had all laboriously climbed to the top of the bin and then I heard them drop back to the bottom when the lid fell closed wit a rumble-thump. I did feel a little bit mean...
There's a lesson there, in the way the snails persist in their determination to reach the top of the bin. Persistence is the name of the game with this month's cross stitch; for some reason I keep forming rows of cross-crisses instead of criss-crosses, and have to embark upon unpicking and redoing stretches, sometimes twice over. What is the matter with me?
I have solved this problem for the moment by doing an entire row of crisses, and then going back with crosses over the top. Hallelujah! It worked! I completed a section in about 15 minutes, having spent an hour getting the previous section right. With this tactic I might make some serious progress.
At the moment I am enjoying delicious 'medicines'. Seriously. Recent blood tests, in preparation for an annual infusion of - wait for it - zolendronic acid - (I love saying that, sounds as though I should get a super power or at least glow in the dark, but it's just for osteoporosis which is a consequence of taking steroids) flagged up low levels of potassium, so I have been advised to have a banana and a glass of tomato juice every day. Good job I like them both!
(That's the new tray cloth). Then there is a handful mixed of nuts, I forget why it is supposed to be a good idea.
Finally there's the small bowl of four soaked prunes with half a portion of live yogurt and a generous sprinkle of whole grain cereal. That's because I have altered my breakfast from muesli and milk to white toast and honey to accommodate the idiosyncrasies of the iron tablets I have to take twice a day, which clash with dairy, whole grains and calcium supplements. I'm reliably informed by Best Beloved that pictures of prunes are not a thing anyone wants to look at. Can't think why.
Anything else? Well, Dr Tim Spector would probably advise adding kombucha (not keen on the sound of that) or kefir (I've tried it; I'm not enthusiastic unless it is strained and used as a soft cheese spread) or kimchi (Tried that too, even made my own, and that's a NO) or sauerkraut (I do like that) That's to combat the effect of the prophylactic antibiotics I have to take all the time (to protect me from the consequences of taking immune suppressants.).
Somewhere in all this lot I have fit in time to actually eat a meal... oddly enough, I don't seem to be very hungry at the moment...
Hey ho. We shall see what the repeat blood tests show next week.
We went to London yesterday. We left at 6.15am, to be sure of getting to the hospital in time for my first appointment which was an echocardiogram (routine checkup), bearing in mind the journey time to the hospital can be anything up to 3 hours, and then one has to allow for parking, and the time it takes me to get from the entrance to the cardiology department towards the back.
This time we managed both the Hanger Lane roundabout AND the Hendon Flyover without any undue excitement.
We finished the scan, appointment with the consultant, 6 min walk test (258m this time; not my best but not my worst) and emerged into the fresh air at about noon reassured that there's no change to how I am getting on.
Beautiful wildflower planting outside the hospital entrance
There's an M&S next to the hospital where we bought a picnic lunch and walked back towards where the car was stashed, in one of those 'rent-my-drive' spaces.
We ate our lunch at the edge of Hampstead Heath, sitting on a large log in the shade of some trees, watching the people enjoying the space.
Then home... a couple of tricky moments at the Hendon Flyover, and even an more tense time at Hanger Lane, but all's well that ends well and we made it into the correct lane without being hooted at!
Comparing travelling to London by train and car; car is exhausting, and no quicker than train. Both ways involve an early start and a long day.
However, car is considerably cheaper even taking petrol and parking into account. We usually have to buy full price day return train tickets because of the early start. This time there was a sting in the tail, however; the parking space was deceptively small
That's the back of our car, millimetres from the gatepost
and as you can see, there's a hidden drop at one side. Errrk! In positioning the car so that one doesn't step out of the door and instantly fall down some steep steps, we ended up clipping the wing mirror. So this time round, the repair will more than cancel the saving!
Average miles per hour; 17 on the way up, and 20 on the way home. Journey times; about 2hrs 45 mins outward and approximately 2 hrs 15 mins home. Roughly what it takes by train and bus and tube.
So, why do we drive up now? Ah well. We are still taking every precaution to avoid catching covid, due to the state of my lungs and also the immunosuppressants I take. If we were travelling by public transport I'd need to wear a 'proper' FFP2 mask. Unfortunately wearing any mask makes it harder for me to walk, and as for bustling or running for a train.... no, not going to happen!
I'm pleased that most people feel happy to throw off the restrictions of previous years, but people like me (around 500,000 or so) are still, well, stuck in a kind of groundhog day existence.
The driving is incredibly tiring at the moment, but all that, hopefully will be changing when we finally take delivery of our next car, ordered last September and due end of July or early August. It has a hybrid petrol/electric, and is an AUTOMATIC!!!
Quite often I find myself mentally quoting Captain Jean-Luc Picard in one of the many Star Trek epispodes;
This is especially true when I am working at thinking of reasons to be cheerful
although I don't remember any of the words except 'reasons to be cheerful, 1 2 3'
So, this is the first day of Year 4; I mean the fourth year since the official 'Lockdown' began
I started my own lock down about a week beforehand, having become increasingly uneasy about the news;
Taken at a National Trust garden on 15th March, 2020
... the end is not really in sight for me, and therefore my husband, and many, many others who are vulnerable to the consequences of catching covid in a way that we weren't as at risk from flu, colds etc.
There are people bemoaning the fact that lockdown happened at all - I am not even going there. The rate at which the infections were spreading and killing people was horrifying at the time, and drastic measures were necessary, in my view. The effects were traumatising and soul-destroying, I don't disagree, but I guess we have to trust that the people who actually knew what they were talking about gave the best advice that they could in the circumstances.
What the politicians made of that scientific advice as the months went by is entirely another issue - and again there are strong opinions and anger and all kinds of emotions going on and I really don't want to get into discussions.
Anyway, in my case I had to isolate, and I continue to be semi-isolated, because I take drugs that suppress my immune system, and I have severe lung fibrosis. I have had all the vaccinations that I have been offered, but it is unclear how effective they are for people in my situation.
I am very close to needing oxygen support all the time - currently I use oxygen at night, and if we are walking any distance outside.
I could go out and about, to exhibitions, museums, shops etc wearing an FFP2 mask, but unfortunately I find it difficult to walk at any faster than a snail's pace when I wear one, and after a few steps I can feel the lack of oxygen seriously affecting me. I rate the stages as follows;
stage 1 I get out of breath (this is a normal state of affairs for me, caused by getting up to make a cup of tea, or similarly 'strenuous' activities)
stage 2 I am getting very out of breath, grumpy and miserable and can't talk in sentences - this happens if I don't remember to go up stairs slowly, or when I am getting dressed if I don't take frequent pauses, etc
stage 3 is becoming tearful and I can't talk at all
stage 4 is ripping off the mask and gasping for breath like a fish,
stage 5, seriously to be avoided at all costs, is feeling that I am going to die, being overcome by fear and desperation, struggling and failing to organise my breathing. If I am wearing an FFP2 mask I can go straight to stage 5 in seconds if I am not very, very careful.
One part of my mind knows that I WILL recover if I can just keep myself together for a couple of minutes, but anoter part of my mind is in a total state of terror. I can tell you this is very unpleasant while it lasts.
(I have considered using the portable oxygen concentrator while wearing a mask, but the inlet to the machine wouldn't have a mask.... minor point, but there we are.)
It WILL be a Happy New Year, because I will Make It So; there are plenty of Reasons To Be Cheerful every day, and once the weather improves and we can enjoy walks in local gardens and countryside spots, and meet up with friends in outside cafes more often, it will be even easier to be happy and cheerful.
So this is a serious blog post - sorry - not in my usual style - but even with all this at the back of every day, We, husband and I will have a good 2023, a far as possible.
Every so often I have a 'not sleeping' night. Last night was one of them. I listened to various random programmes on BBC sounds until I eventually managed to drop off.
There is a suitable series called 'The Boring Talks'. I am slightly concerned because I find some of them quite interesting. And there is always the 'Slow Radio' series where nothing much happens.
We had posh 'second breakfast' which improved the first half of the morning.
Then an excellent zoom chat-and-piano lesson before lunch.
I had a zoom routine rheumatology clinic appointment in the afternoon. These zoom appointments work really well for me; if I have to go in person then that's a whole day of travelling and hanging around. Today I just logged in at home. It was one of those appointments where you almost feel you are wasting their time because everything is stable and nothing needs doing, but it is always worthwhile knowing that othing has changed.
One more lesson, supper, and now I am swathed in one blanket and knitting another;
This is the current mitre square blanket I have at hand for when I want to do something but don't have enough brain to do anything.
I had a lung clinic appointment this morning over zoom. How lovely not to be driving to London through the early hours of the morning, and plodding through the cold, grey, rainy streets, and then doing the whole ring in reverse. Instead, we sat in the warm at the dining table I was also lucky enough to see one of the consultants that I feel most comfortable with.
It seems I'm am still reasonably stable, so as long as I stay clear of respiratory illnesses I should be able to carry on much as I am. That's good news.
I wasn't expecting anything different, but I still get tense beforehand and then feel a bit washed out afterwards.
We also had a boiler service "our engineer will be with you between 12 noon and 6". What do we do about lunch? We have our main meal at lunchtime, and only a light meal at around 6pm. Otherwise I get reflux - another consequence of this auto-immune condition.
Lunch was lamb rumpsteaks... and the engineer was bound to turn up at just the wrong moment. In the end I produced cheese and biscuits and some salad bits at 12, and the engineer came at about 3, and we had 'lunch' at 5.30pm.
So what with one thing and another I'm taking it easy now!
The little tree is decorated. This must be the earliest we have ever completely decorated the Christmas tree in years,
And the better of the 5ft Christmas trees that seemed to be breeding in the loft has been collected. I added a carrier bag of baubles which are surplus to requirements and also too large for the new tree. I have kept the woolworths baubles which have come out every year since we married.
Back then we were living on an extremely tight budget, so those six baubles, three pieces of tinsel and a small artificial tree was all that we could afford. The tree and tinsel disintegrated decades ago, but the baubles live on as a memory of that first Christmas.
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We spent the day in London, another routine appointment. Cardiology this time. Everything went well, the driving, finding ourway to a different part of the labyrinthine hospital buildings, and the consultation. In other words, no marked change, carry on as before. The consultant approves of marching on the spot as an alternative to outdoor exercise when it is too cold or wet so I will continue to get my steps in that way,
Traffic is what we spent a large part of today stuck in.
Normally, back in the olden days, we would use trains, tubes and buses to travel up to London. It would be a pleasant day out; I used to have clinic appointments and associated tests up to 6 times a year and we'd make it a pleasant day out.
I'm a member of the V and A Museum so when we were in that part of London we would have lunch there and go to an exhibition, or visit a favourite part. And the shop!
Other appointments were at a hospital on the other side of London, and the bus went along Charing Cross Road (Foyles bookshop and music shops and walking distance to Covent Garden), and through Trafalgar Square (galleries, St Martin's in the Fields).
Excellent. A splendid day out.
Now, in these modern times, we slog through rush hour traffic in the car, eyes on stalks and alert for every road sign and junction, arrive, after several wrong turns and 'Now Get Out Of That' situations and find the dark underground car park where we pre booked a space. Then a 45 minute walk (at my pace) shivering through back streets to avoid crowds to the hospital. No more lunches at the Vand A... just a sandwich at the hospital cafeteria, get through the lung function tests, and a CT scan this time, walk back and retrace our steps.
Am I complaining? Well, yes, actually. I think I am. I miss our excusions.
But, there are always silver linings. I've got 5600 steps today; most days I'm only getting around 1500 at the moment. A sandwich from the snack bar for lunch, and a kit kat and a yorkie bar to keep us going on the way home, is infinitely cheaper than coffee and croissants at Pain Quotidien, followed by lunch in the member's room of the V and A.
And just think of the money I saved from not going to the shops!
Hooray - I'm back! The last two months have been aptly summed up by this poem
It turns out that my total lack of 'oomph' was entirely due to the reduction in the dose of steroids I take, and now that I am back at the original dose everything has changed. I'm walking faster and further, have more energy and am 'sitting up and taking an interest' as my Northern Irish relatives would say.
The one thing to take away from the whole experience is that I can be sure I am on the optimal dose for me!
So, what has been happening to me in the past fortnight?
The Queen - ah yes, the Queen. We watched the funeral on television, so moving, so beautifully done. My heart went out to the Royal Family - it has been such a strain on them. It would have been for anyone - but most of us do our grieving with friends and family, not with the whole world watching and commenting and analyzing our every move, gesture, item of clothing, angle of hat or veil... I hope they have managed to find some time and space to kick their shoes off and have some peace and quiet.
One of the families I teach went to London; they arrived at The Mall early in the morning to find that the closest they could get was already six rows back. Everyone was very pleasant, and someone let the three children go to the front. However it took them several hours afterwards to walk back to Victoria Station; the crowds were so huge that there were police and security shepherding them all, holding lines of people back to let other columns cross and so on.
Sewing
I have at last finished the August (!) embroidery postcard. I'm not posting a picture here as I will wait until Ang has received the parcel first. It took longer than I thought (as usual) and this coupled with energy depletion made it take a lot longer than usual.
I have to admit to being unfaithful to the embroidery for a few hours;
I bought a very cheap version of a speedy weave loom
It is for mending holes in textiles - cloth or knitwear - and apparently had their heyday in the 1940s
No textiles are safe in our house at the moment - luckily we have a lot of tattered tea towels for me to practice on.
My loom and accessories was only about £10 - and I can see why. The loom itself is tin plate, roughly finished where it was cut from the sheet of tin. But it is good enough to do the job.
Visible mending is enjoying a resurgence at the moment. The loom method is a bit fiddly to get started, but very soothing once you've got it going.
Family
The actual day of the Queen's death, as I said in the last post, were overshadowed by our own family drama when my father had an accident and cut his head. I am glad to report that he has had the stitches out and it seems to be healing well. He is having it checked over in the next few days.
We (best beloved and I) met up with the offsprings last weekend at out favourite Farm Shop Cafe. The weather was great - bright and sunny - if a bit cold. Getting together is very weather-dependent now that we are properly into Autumn
My cousin is due over from France next weekend. She will be able to stay in the guest accommodation at my father's flats, and plans have been made for us to have supper outside on a couple of evenings. BUT, these plans were made back in August! I have a feeling that supper in the garden is NOT going to be such a good idea at the beginning of October! We shall have to think again.
Drawings
I'm keeping up with the 'sketch-a-day' book. The current photograph is a bit fuzzy, so I will post the drawings anther time.
Yesterday, we took 5 hours to travel 62 miles; 60 miles in the car, and 2 miles on foot.
We drove up to London (now I really understand why the train is so much easier, but we are still not venturing on public transport at the moment), parked in a pre-booked space in Sloane Square car park, and walked across to the Royal Brompton Hospital a scant mile, for my routine lung function appointment. My average walking speed is around one mile per hour these days, especially is it is even slightly uphill. Wearing any kind of mask also slows me down. That accounts for two of the miles, and two of the hours.
But I did enjoy the walk. It is such a pretty part of London, and as it was the day before the opening of the Chelsea Flower show, there was plenty to see. Many of the shops, even in the back streets, had exuberant floral decorations spilling out onto the pavement.
I shall find out more about the results when I speak to someone at the clinic (over zoom) next week, but the lovely man who was operating the machine talked me through the figures in outline, and they were pretty reassuring. I'm always such a doom-merchant as the time for the tests draws near, and usually discover that I have been worrying over nothing.
The drive is only 30 miles each way, but once you get anywhere close to London the the speed of travel slows dramatically!
Both of us were pretty well zombified by the day - it is the most public outing we have been on since March 2020, even including the two trips to the Royal Free Hospital last year, once for routine tests, once for a 'right heart catheter', a procedure like an angiogram, but on the other side, to measure internal blood pressures in the heart. I find myself having these every five years or so, to see how things are progressing ( so far the results have been stable, which is good).
Today I did my experimental sewing for the postcard project. I've bought some stuff called 'magic paper'. According to the information, you can draw on the paper (what kind of pen, I would like to know??), cut out your design, peel it off the backing and stick it on the fabric. Then embroider, using stranded cotton or perle embroidery cotton. Finally you dissolve the magic paper with cool water.
So I did all that today;
I used a frixion pen to draw the picture. The magic paper sticks nicely to the linen, giving it a satisfactory stiffness which makes it easier to sew. I used some black perle cotton.
The finished embroidery - as usual things changed as I went along...
And when I dunked the sewing in a bowl of cool water, the paper turned into a sticky goo within seconds. I shall know tomorrow when the fabric has dried whether all the goo has come off.
I'm very pleased with how simple it was to use.
So now you know the theme for my picture this month...
I don't know where he time went - things just kept happening. Nothing majorly major.
Every so often, about once in two years, I get distracted when sorting out 'morning pills' and 'evening pills'. If I'm lucky (!) all that happens is that I miss a complete set. But just occasionally, I take the wrong set. Like on Monday night. I woke up at about 2am thinking 'there was one of those shiny blue capsules in that handful I took at bedtime, which means I used the 'morning box' instead of the 'evening box'. So I spent the rest of the night waking up from time to time and trying to work out if that is what happened, and what to do about it... if I had actually taken the wrong ones...
The worst consequence was only a disturbed night's sleep - I came to the conclusion that as long as I didn't take the morning pills AGAIN, everything would probably be fine. And it was.
But Tuesday was another disturbed night - too hot.
I find that a couple of 'non-sleeping nights' can really slow me down the next day. It would have been okay, but several piano pupils have changed their lesson times this week and that always throws me as well.
Sitting and knitting might have been restful, but I had ripped out the Adult Surprise Jacket I had started, as I was feeling very doubtful about the measurements I had concocted. I went on the Schoolhouse Press website and bought the digital pattern, downloaded it, read through, recalculated and cast on again. I was right in that my previous attempt was wrong.
In my befuddled state it took several attempts to write up the figures for the size I am making, cast on 268 stitches and mark the decrease points, and then get the first couple of rows done but eventually (several hours later!) all was well.
Do you know about knitting bowls?
It is a wonderful accessory. The surface is highly polished, and the rim curves inwards just a little, enough to persuade the ball of wool to stay inside. The curly whirly slit comes into its own when the ball becomes too light to stay inside of its own accord. I used a small wooden bowl until I was given the real article as a birthday present. The bowl was OK, but nowhere near as good as the real thing.
I have been going through the bookshelves and CD stacks and music (piano music) piles to see if I can sell them to ziffit.com. The reject pile was twice the size of the accept pile, but I still had enough books to be able to arrange collection by courier. Here's hoping they will still be happy to accept them once they have seen them. Meanwhile that's about two feet of bookshelf space cleared.
I'll try the rejects again when we go through the next set of shelves. Maybe they will take them then. Otherwise - there's a fete happening soon on our local common and a flyer came through the door for contributions for the bookstall. They are about to get lucky! Or unlucky...
We have been sleeping much better since we changed the duvet from the all-season one to the summer one on Wednesday night - even Wednesday's thunderstorms didn't keep us awake. Hopefully a couple of night's sleep will clear the brain fog...
I've been on the new tablets for about three weeks now, and the difference is staggering. It's not just that I can walk further when I do the 6 minute walk test, but it's the whole experience of steeping out along the pavement. At the end of 6 minutes I have walked nearly half as far again, and although I am breathing hard - too hard to talk - I'm not gasping like a fish out of water, struggling to get the air into my lungs.
I can now walk fast enough to keep warm! There's a novelty! I used to make sure I was wearing enough layers in order not to get cold.
The new blood pressure tablets are also doing their job - too efficiently, it seems. Gone are the puffy ankles that I was getting in the afternoon - hurrah! - but I am constantly feeling just a little bit woozy - as though I was in a boat, gently rocking on a calm pond. Luckily I take another blood pressure medicine as well, so, following a quick telephone consultation with the clinic I am experimenting with reducing it over the next couple of days.
It is an extraordinary feeling, this sudden return to walking freely, no longer preparing for changes in gradients along the almost flat roads around where we live. Going for 'a walk around the block' takes thirty minutes instead of nearer fifty minutes. If I sound excited, it's because I am!
Anyway, enough on that topic - what else?
I have hopefully averted a minor domestic crisis - running out of yoghurt - by making a batch of home-made. Reading the Tracing Rainbows blog today reminded me (that apple loaf recipe looks good too!).
Here's the recipe I use followed by a couple of recipes.
I now have a food vacuum flask full of the cooled milk and yogurt mixture hopefully doing what it is supposed to do; I shall look inside tomorrow morning. Another excellent topping for yoghurt is brown sugar, the darker the better in my view.
These pages come from a book called 'The Crafty Cook', written by Michael Barry. I have just googled his name, and discovered that he died in 2011; reading his obituary I find that also had a career as one of the founding members of Classic FM - well I never did. We always watched 'The Crafty Cook' on television. It is where we first encountered Jilly Goolden and her enthusiasm for wine.
The state of the dining room table has been a recurrent theme in this blog; on Monday it became truly spectacular when we woke up to discover the boiler in the kitchen had been leaking overnight, and the work surfaces and floor and under the washing machine were all properly wet. Everything was decanted to the dining room all in a hurry and the engineer called out. Meanwhile the carbon monoxide detector started its plaintive beep - I'm sure that was just a coincidence.
He appeared later that day, took one look, stuck a 'danger, do not turn on appliance' notice on the boiler and started ordering parts. He came back the next day and spent the morning dismantling the boiler, fitting great complicated contraptions and then testing everything. Success - all done and he left by lunchtime taking his notice with him. We couldn't persuade the detector to stop beeping so banished it to the shed, pending the arrival of the replacement.
While the engineer was roaming around between the loft and the kitchen and everywhere in between, I stayed out of the way in the dining room, turned my back on the chaos and did some messing about with the paints.
If all works out these will be greetings cards, once I have sorted out the splodges of colours using pen and ink. I'm hoping I will have a seascape, flowers, and autumn leaves, but I won't know until I have finished whether I like them. That's kind of annoying, freeing, and interesting, all in one go.
I'm still doing the 100 day dress challenge... today is day 28. I've put on an extra layer because it's Autumn - just enough to not need a fleecy jacket.
It certainly makes getting up in the morning simple; fresh underwear, current 'legs' and the dress. I have ordered some tights from Snag tights to make a change. I can't tell when they will arrive because I suspect I mistyped my email address on the order form. I very nearly succumbed to the idea of the 'care bear collection' and also to the 'duo collection' where the legs are wildly different colours...
I have survived the PCR test, and the trip to London for routine clinic appointments and tests. A friend drove us in her campervan, so that social distancing and avoiding public transport could all happen without any stress - so appreciated. At the hospital 'proper' mask wearing was almost universal - obviously more relaxed near the coffee shops (how else can you drink your coffee and chomp on a sandwich?) and it felt - safe.
Attempting a 6 minute walk test (where you walk as many times as you can up and down a measured length of corridor in 6 minutes) should never be done while wearing a FFP3 mask. Trust me. This could be why the result of that test was lower than expected, and generally oxygen readings were lower. I did peel off that mask and replace it with an ordinary one, the same as everyone else, after that experience.
The results were all slightly lower than last time, which was back in 2019, and could be down to any, or all of, wearing the FFP3 mask which is significantly harder to breathe through than the ordinary one, , change in heart or lung function, or just generally becoming unfit from having stopped work and being sat sitting around in a state of sloth for 18 months. The cardiologist relaxed somewhat when I showed him the walk tests and so forth that I had been doing at home, and prescribed '5000 steps a day, but work up to it, not all at once'. Ah. That is quite a lot of walking for me...
Talking of masks, I have made this;
a short crochet strap with a button at each end. You fix the over-ear loops of the mask over the buttons instead of round your ear, which massively simplifies things when one already has hearing aids and spectacles hooked over your ears. The tab in the middle is because this is the prototype and was a little too long. I shall make another in due course. (I'm not the one with hearing aids!)
The walking and paying attention to regaining fitness is continuing, with a blip when I had to isolate for a few days between PCR test and going up to London, and another blip yesterday when I decided to have a day off. Although I have discovered a pulmonary rehab exercise video made by NHS Scotland, which is very good.
I have finished the slipover I have been working on for ages. The yarn is much thinner than anything I have every used before, and progress seemed very slow. I'm pleased with the result, and, as you can see, I am persevering with the 100day dress challenge. The dress if brilliant, so far, in hot weather and in cool.
I know it is the second half of Summer when these yellow flowers appear. They are humming, buzzing with bees.
I was given some cucamelon seeds for Christmas, and the other day I discovered that the vine is covered in them. I tasted one, and was not impressed; rather sour, I thought. Perhaps it wasn't ripe.
Nope. This is the size they should be, and it turns out they are meant to taste sour, so I have been looking information on what you are supposed to do with them. Apparently they are a 'superfood' and 'packed with anti-oxidants'. So I will have another go at eating them. Somehow.
I'm definitely going to have to learn Italian. We are watching all the episodes of Montalbano, and Young Montalbano, from the beginning - how have we missed these until now? We ration ourselves to one at lunchtime, and maybe another in the late afternoon or early evening if we NEEEEEED a distraction because it is too hot, or too wet, or we are just too bleah to consider any other activity.
Picture from www.sicilytourguides.net
Picture from discoveringscicily.com
We watch it for the stories, the characters, and above all, the scenery. The dialogue is all in Italian, with English subtitles, and the sound of the language, especially when Commissar Salvo Montalbano gets worked up about something is wonderful to hear.
After watching an episode I have to resist the urge to reply 'Certo' in the same tone of voice, instead of 'sure' or 'okay' or 'fine'.
This past week I have been reining myself in from giving way to full-throttled frustrazione e furia as I battled my way through labyrinthine switchboards and websites to deal with problems with the supply of an essential medication (sorted - a prescription had got 'lost' somehow, and stayed 'lost' in spite of arranging for it to be redelivered). Also a complete farce with appointments at one of the London hospitals which decided I MUST come in for routine face-2-face tests and appointments, no, I didn't need to, yes I did after all, and could I come up three days in advance for a PCR test... Oh my word. I think this is sorted, forse; one more phone call to check whether the letter cancelling a 12 o'clock appointment or the one booking me in for a 12 o'clock appointment (what happened to the 11.10 appointment then?) is the real one. And I am now the local expert on where and how and when you can get PCR test appointments locally, rather than visiting the hospital three days in advance.
Going up to London seems such a big thing - I have been quite distracted by the idea - not in the least because I had a blood test recently so check on my Covid antibodies level. Result; 'non detected'.
A friend has offered to drive us in her camper van! Providing us with somewhere to eat, a personal loo, and a rescue from travelling up by train and bus/two tubes or taxi. A friend indeed - it's at least a two-hour journey by car, with no certainty of where to park when you get there. Driving back after Lung Function tests, a Rheumatology consultation and a Cardiology consultation - all tiring in their own way - would have been really exhausting. Che grande amica!
Has this been all my life since last Friday? Well, pretty much so. I have come completely unravelled a couple of times (there was also an appointment on Friday 20th at a local hospital to investigate what, if any, portable oxygen supply I need for walking around, but more on that another time). Somehow, at each crucial moment, something has happened to stave off total collapse - a friend and colleague turning up with a pot of flowers;
The first blooms on a dark blue buddleia that I asked another friend to get for me
and these utterly charming metal birds appearing on the top of the fence between us and our neighbours
This prayer thing. Seems to work pretty well, I've found. Even when my prayer seems to come out all 'AAAAAARRRGGGHHHH' skipping out all the Thee, Thine, Thy and Thou bits and getting straight to the point.
I don't normally go off on a rant, at least, not on this blog, but our latest Health Minister, Sajid Javid, tweeted this yesterday evening;
I have been tipped over the edge by the use of the word 'cower'.
I can only assume that in his euphoria about recovering so quickly (in a week - wow!) he has forgotten about all the people - 'his people' - in the sense that he is the one who is supposed to be working to ensure provision of health facilities for everyone - who are still remaining at home for very good reasons.
It is not fear that stops me from socialising, going on holiday or to cafes, shops, theatres. It is the knowledge that I, and many, many others, will almost certainly not be able to 'live' with the virus.
I bitterly resent the idea that I am 'cowering' from this virus. Like others taking immune suppressant medicines, I am aware that the 'amazing vaccines' probably won't be effective. Like the many, many others with respiratory conditions, I am fairly certain that I do not have the capacity to survive a virus which has such a devastating effect one's ability to breathe.
To describe people who cannot 'live with' this virus as cowards is thoughtless in the extreme.
Ok. Deep breath and see if I can raise my oxygen sats to about 92% - they always drop to about 86% when I get into a strop (normal for healthy people is about 97% or more).
Let's just put this tweet down to careless choice of words, and he's trying to be encouraging and a bit robust - wanting everyone to get out there and back to 'normal' and start rebuilding the economy.
Sure, but when you have risen to the dizzy heights of the most senior positions in the government of what's left of this country, you should know that you have to think carefully about your choice of words before tweeting to the world. Maybe he still has some Covid brain-fog.
Or, maybe, just maybe, he really did think long and hard and then deliberately chose to tweet those words.
I've just added a new tag to the list - 'furious'.
Today was a bit of a red-letter day - we went out for a walk!
You are starting at me, wondering what is going on here.
A couple of days ago I had a conversation with a respiratory nurse regarding an appointment for oxygen assessment. In view of the amount of covid that is around, we have deferred the appointment until April or May.
However, this appointment was to assess whether using oxygen would help me when I am going for a walk. The problem is that I already have quite severe pulmonary fibrosis, meaning that the oxygen can't get through the membrane of my lungs into my bloodstream. Because tests showed that my levels dip below what is sensible when I am asleep, I have to use an oxygen concentrator overnight.
Any exertion such as going upstairs, or getting dressed in a hurry because I've forgotten about a piano lesson, or walking up a slight incline, leaves me gasping like a landed fish.
Getting low on oxygen is quite unpleasant; it makes me feel grumpy, and anxious. If I have really pushed myself too far, I start panicking and have to 'speak firmly' to myself to keep control. I don't think these are 'mental' issues; I think it is part of the physical side of low oxygen, because as soon as I have recovered my breath - three - five minutes - I feel completely normal again. My oxygen saturation levels will dip to below 70%, but will recover to around 90% if I just wait. And gasp.
As a result of talking to the nurse, we decided to take my portable oxygen concentrator, the one we use when we are going away overnight, for a walk. It is 'portable' as in having a carrying strap and weighing 'only' ten pounds...
We set off to test how this would go. Himself acted as porter, we set the machine going and I would the nasal canula around my ears. We also held hands (how sweet!), partly because we always do except when I get grumpy, and partly so that we would remember that we were attached by the canula.
Well wow.
Not only did I do the full loop around the block (a whole kilometre!) but I added an extra length down what I consider to be a hill and back up again (200m) and kept going at a slightly faster snail's pace than normal. I didn't need to stop and catch my breath (although the machine complained a few times that I was breathing too hard) and I didn't get anxious or grumpy or feel I was forcing myself onwards (as far as that drive, as far as that lamp post, as far as that car)
This is excellent news; we had set the machine to deliver 2 litres per minute 'pulse' rather than 'continuous stream', in other words the oxygen is supplied when the machine senses my breathing in. The reason for choosing this setting is that there are a number of smaller, lighter machines around, weighing in at about 2.5 pounds but will can only deliver up to this amount of oxygen, and only on a pulse setting.
The nurse was of the opinion that I would need to use an oxygen bottle delivering 4 litres continuous, and I don't doubt that this is what I would need if I wanted to go cycling or be more active. But for ambling along a promenade, walking along the path through the woods, or
...... joining excursions when having a River Cruise Holiday in France or Brussels or along the Rhine.....
it looks as though the smaller little portable machine might keep me going for a year or two! I could carry the machine and Himself can load the spare batteries into his back pack. I would be able to go off on my own! We need not hold hands! (Although we probably would!)
We shall experiment further over the next day or so, before I try and persuade the nurse to give us the form we would need to buy, or even be prescribed, the lightweight machine.
But I am so encouraged my today's walk - 1.2 km - who would have thought it possible!
Today's chocolate was eaten at lunchtime - it was that kind of morning.
When we opened the curtains it was still black night; all I could see was the streetlight outside the bedroom window, with occasional streaks of gold when raindrops fell from the lamp to the ground leaving a trail like a shooting star.
Rain is what it did, all day, and I don't think I have felt properly warm until now; this computer is right by a radiator!
Today's tea;
Matcha green tea - okay - with cranberry and lime - less okay. I didn't notice the manganese making much contribution to my energy, metabolism or well-being, but I guess a rainy November day is a tough challenge for any cup of tea.
Still, tea is in many ways a symbol more than a drink - a glass teapot with a fancy tea and a glass mug on a tray with a tray cloth mean 'taking time for me'. So, as an experience, it was still good.
I had another routine hospital cardiology appointment over zoom today. I enjoy meeting the consultants - they are a cheerful, amusing and straight talking bunch. We came to the conclusion that I'm still alive - no, I should be serious! I'm pretty much unchanged from the beginning of this year, or indeed from last year. He was pondering what to say in the letter that gets sent to the other clinics and the GP - I suggested he just change the dates and send the same one, but he thought that might be unprofessional.
I then phoned the hospital to see how my father is doing, and to garner news for an email out to friends and family; so far, so good. He's very cheerful, instructed me to inform everyone that he was going to go back to his flat next week for palliative care. With cancer, and at his age, it is anyone's guess how long things can carry on, but we are thinking in terms of months, not years.
The astonishing, and wonderful, and comforting about this whole state of affairs is how positive he is at the moment; while accepting the diagnosis and likely prognosis, he is managing to stay upbeat rather than sink into doom and gloom. At least when he is on the phone to me.
Today's pictures; - if I do two or three a day I should slowly catch up on the half dozen blank pages in my sketch book;
I've been prepping some pages by swooshing paint over them like this;
and then seeing what kind of pictures emerge; (the backgrounds are not the same as the ones above)
like the animal head
or a memory of the yellow flowers that shone in the border back in Jull and August
or the ships sailing up and down the waves in a wild sunset; I member my grandmother saying, on the subject of bringing up your children, 'when you build your ships you must let them sail'
Today's Advent poem; Suddenly by RS Thomas
As I had always known he would come, unannounced, remarkable merely for the absence of clamour. So truth must appear to the thinker; so, at a stage of the experiment, the answer must quietly emerge. I looked at him, not with the eye only, but with the whole of my being, overflowing with him as a chalice would with the sea. Yet was he no more there than before, his area occupied by the unhaloed presences. You could put your hand in him without consciousness of his wounds. The gamblers at the foot of the unnoticed cross went on with their dicing; yet the invisible garment for which they played was no longer at stake, but worn by him in this risen existence.
Oddly enough, I have copied this from a web page which in which this poem was used as an Easter reflection. The last seven lines, of course. It is less obviously an Advent poem, but the these of this week's reflections is 'waiting'.
This is what I posted on the Reading Group facebook page;
There are times when, for apparently no reason at all, with no warning, I suddenly feel completely happy, joyful, content.
Is it because of something I've just seen, or heard, or done, or made?
No, it comes unannounced, not because of anything, but as a gift, and affirmation, and as soon as I have realised what is happening, it seems to smile and move on (to the next person?) leaving me with the smile, and feeling gently completed.
There are times when, for apparently no reason at all, with no warning, I suddenly feel completely happy, joyful, content.
Is it because of something I've just seen, or heard, or done, or made?
No, it comes unannounced, not because of anything, but as a gift, and affirmation, and as soon as I have realised what is happening, it seems to smile and move on (to the next person?) leaving me with the smile, and feeling gently completed.
Today is one of the dates in the year which marks the ending of a season and the beginning of another.
Meteorological Autumn starts today and end on 30th November
Astronomical Autumn starts from the DSeptember equinox, which I had always thought was on the 21st, but apparently it wanders between the 21st and the 24th, and is on the 22nd this year. Winter will start, astronomically speaking, on 21st December (how come that hasn't wandered off course by a day? No, don't tell me, I'm not absolutely burning with curiousoity at the moment. Maybe I'll look into this another day.)
Autumn term for the local schools starts on 3rd September around here. I am so, so glad that I have retired from teaching in schools - there is absolutely no mithering about whether I should or should not go in. And I am planning to zoom teach this term. I'll tell you one thing, though, I haven't had a single chest infection since February - normally I would reckon to have had several, and be due another three weeks after the start of term. Now there's something to consider.
We have allowed the first stranger into our house since March - the engineer came to service the oxygen machine that I hitch myself up to at night. Himself watched as the engineer did his stuff, making mental notes of everything that was touched in the process so it could all be gone over with anti-bac spray afterwards.
It was also the day of the last hospital appointment for the year as far as I know. Zoom again, and another new consultant. No change - carry on being Very Careful and do everything I can to avoid catching The Virus as the consequences would be 'problematical' - my word, not hers, but we both knew what I meant. So I will be staying in my gilded cage, apart from carefully considered excursions, for some time yet.
I'm carrying on with my artistic efforts. I started a new sketch book with proper water-colour paper in it today. Here's Hanuman, one of two Balinese figures that my parents had for - well, I don't know how many years. Forty-five, perhaps? They are in our garden now, having lived on front door steps, balconies and various gardens over the years.
Other pictures; (working backwards)
I'm also getting stuck into piano playing again. It's been a while - I think that I had been doing so much piano teaching for so long that I had got rather 'piano-ed out', but it's coming back again.
