2008 — 29 Jan: Tuesday, and still cold?
Another placeholder until I've got the energy to write anything else. I've a lunch date setting off from the IBM Clubhouse; I gather the destination is a pub in Braishfield. That will be another "thirst" for me.
And, although it may be cold out there (09:23) at least the sun is shining at the moment. Brekkie beckons. For some reason, I have a copy of the Torygraph on my door mat this morning. Some neighbour has, I assume, been lucky enough to have been deprived of their copy. I may (or may not) tell you that one of their lead stories is about the trend in doing away with UK dining rooms(!)1 and the main one is about the high rate of phone tapping, email, and postal intercepts going on in the Benighted Kingdom, but frankly I'd rather listen to Bach, arr. North: Partita in F, BWV1006 with Nigel North doing his lute thing. That's after dropping round an item of misdirected2 mail, and (belatedly) wheeling out the green bin — not that it was / is even at the 25% mark.
Quartet of lady Mounces
As I've had occasion to mention dear Mama from time to time, I thought it only fair to post a picture of her. I took this one — a quartet of Mounce females — despite the fact that she wasn't at all keen on the idea on 2nd April 2006. We'd given Lis a lift up to the Midlands, and her number three daughter Claire rendezvoused with us up there. I sent a copy of the photo over to Big Bro almost as soon as we got back and he observed that everyone seemed to be having a good time. Who said the camera never lies?
That concludes...
... today's bit of banking business (at 11:30 or thereabouts, and a very neat piece of bay parking if I say so myself) so now it's off to take the high road in search of a Dog, a Crook, and a Stainforth, not necessarily in that order. Hope he's remembered to bring his purse! (I'm a poor pensioner, you know.)
Back safely at 14:00 or so, now storing some roast turkey and trimmings inside me (thanks for the drink and the enjoyable chat, John, and congratulations on your promotion!), and the afternoon now stretches out in front of me. It's clouding over, though, in a way that doesn't really entice me to go out again. So, time for a bit more paperwork, I guess. <Sigh> The Gluck that I could have sworn was Gluck in Radio 3's lunchtime concert has turned out to be Mozart, which is a bit surprising. Never mind.
Even more surprising is the emotional impact on me of just popping my head inside each of the two garden sheds. It occurred to me that, with Spring apparently all set to get things in the garden3 off to a racing start, I should at least satisfy myself that I know roughly what sort of garden "stuff" Christa kept in these sheds. I barely made it back to the kitchen before I was howling like some wounded animal for a minute or so! Tears may well be cathartic, but they leave me quite churned up at times. So, being an environmentally aware sort of chap (an ex-Guardian reader, remember) I decided on the appropriate therapy: go and hit another financial institution. But instead of getting the car back out of its nest, simply walk down to the building society agent to try to undo the mess I described here. And while I'm passing, why not confirm with the Post Office ladies that Special Delivery is OK for sending Christa's original will off to the solicitor in the Midlands? ("Oh yes, sir. We use couriers. They don't touch the normal postal delivery system at all.") That must be alright, then.
Mary was out walking Toby, saw me, and commented on the lack of wheels! Meanwhile, our lady doctor neighbour has invited me to pop round for a chat some evening soon, doubtless to see how I'm getting on. (She was just off to see a magistrate to explain why she'd been driving Zahid's car while not insured — oops!) Oh, and Mr Fishy Co stopped me to ask "How's your wife?" Since I clearly recall (better than he does, evidently) the fact that I'd told him of her death I was tempted to reply "Still dead!" but one of my internal social censor circuits obviously managed to deflect this reply en route to the vocal chords4 before the damage was done... But two and a half bits of progress in one day. How cool is that?
And time for tea
While drinking my evening peppermint tea (22:48) and listening to a wonderful podcast from NPR of some of the best CDs from 2007, I sent a note to my son (who, I figure, is hurting just like me) saying, in part:
How are you doing, dear boy? I'm off to a musical in the Theatre Royal tomorrow evening... Although I am deliberately trying to keep busy I cannot claim to be a happy bunny! I miss Christa very much, as I know you do. I am going to have to force myself to make more progress with all the f*****g paperwork so that I can clear the decks for a trip to NZ, though the prospect seems pretty joyless without you-know-who to go there with me.
It blows my mind to realise that it's now three and a half months since she was in the house with me. I still find my mood swings can catch me out, but I think an objective observer would say I am making some positive progress. If I couldn't drive I would be stark staring mad, that's for sure. I am experimenting with fresh vegetables (which I can safely say I hate) and fish and loads of fruit. I'm going on at least one walking expedition per week, and sometimes two. I get out of the house at least once per day. I talk to Christa from time to time. I still cry.
I'm listening to a lot of music, but watching almost nothing on TV and hardly any DVDs. I'm not reading much, but I think a lot and, as far as I can tell, my thoughts are basically healthy (or, at least, natural). In other words, unhappiness rather than depression.
How about you, son?