Holidays

September 28th, 2015
It is quite well-known that when you are retired, the distinction between holidays and working days is blurred and holidays become nothing special as every day tends to be yet another rest day. Life as a continuous holiday is not necessarily a boon as some, as yet unretired, might imagine. It has some distinct drawbacks, not least of which is the state of oblivion it induces in which the individual is completely unaware of the many real world holidays such as Bank Holidays and school vacations which form an integral part of normal working life. Just how easy it is to succumb to this peculiar affliction became apparent to me only last week when I went on a shopping trip to Morrison's accompanied by our great-granddaughter Chenelle. Chenelle had been baby-sitting for her little nephew and niece, so they came along as well. Naturally with youngsters in tow, our first stop was not the store's groceries' section, rather its cafeteria. Two youngsters on school holidays, descending on a counter full of scrumptious goodies, can cause a mayhem that some individuals of a certain age can scarcely cope with. I was never good at controlling grandchildren. My late wife would never entrust me with them, on my own that is, without her presence to keep them in order. It was entirely predictable therefore that I should rapidly be beset, as I was on this occasion, with helpless bewilderment, - not knowing what the children had ordered, nor indeed what I had agreed they could order. As I came up to the cash desk, the man at the till noticed my obvious harassment and said sympathetically, "Well, they should be back at school tomorrow, shouldn't they ?". It took me a little while to comprehend the relevance of his comment. It had completely slipped my mind that schools had been on holidays for the past four weeks. I could only reply sheepishly that I had no idea when the kids were going back to school. "They are our grandchildren you see", I offered by way of an explanation. He laughed, "I have seen more kids in here with their grandparents in the last four weeks, than with their parents", he said, "it seems to be the thing to do". It didn't really surprise me that more kids had been there with their grandparents than their parents. And I had no doubt at all that their grandparents had derived immense pleasure from taking them there and giving them a "treat", as indeed I had. But I did wonder how many of these grandparents had had the awareness to realise that what was for them a normal day, was in fact a day in their schools' holidays for the kids. I like to think that I am not the only, uniquely sad, person who had lost his ability through old age, to distinguish between holidays and normal working days.

Birthdays

September 27th, 2015
Remembering birthdays has always caused me some difficulties, and on occasion my indifferent memory has inevitably been the cause of some acute embarrassment and even guilt-ridden shame. My late wife Doris fortunately always kept a book in which she carefully listed all the birthdays. Every grandchild, son, family relation and close friend appeared in that book. Indeed the book has proved to be just the idiot's guide that I needed for remembering birthdays. So much so that I have been able to put it to good use over the past year and gain much kudos through it as someone who does not forget birthdays. Family members and friends have been genuinely pleased at of my thoughtfulness in remembering their birthdays and I have been basking inwardly in the feeling of warm glow that their expressions of appreciation have engendered. Yet last week, despite all the help available from the "birthday book" , I nearly slipped up with the date of our great-grand-daughter Jessica's birthday. Having got Jessica's birthday card ready, I phoned our grand-daughter Shelby last Thursday to announce that I was going to take the card over to them, adding smugly that I knew Jessica's birthday was on the Friday and I did not want to miss it. To which Shelby informed me, rather deflatingly for my ego, that Jessica's birthday was actually that Thursday rather than the Friday. Squirming with embarrassment, I blurted out that I had got the date from Nan's birthday book and never imagined it would be wrong , but Shelby knew exactly why I had got it wrong. Apparently, she had had a conversation every year with Nan about the date of Jessica's birthday and every year she had had to remind her that it was the 25th of August and not the 26th. Quite clearly Shelby's reminders had gone unheeded and Nan's birthday book had remained steadfastly unaltered as far as Jessica's birthday was concerned. It was of course all my own fault. I should have expected something that, - after all these are the endearing ways of grandmothers that make them so lovable.

Thoughts

September 26th, 2015
It has been just over a year since my wife Doris passed away and I cannot really say that I have coped with bereavement as easily as I had hoped I would have done, - being as I am, an adult of 71 years. Of course, my family have been the greatest comfort to me in getting through my sad times. I hate even to think how difficult it might have been otherwise, had I not had their support and their concern for my well being. At the time of the funeral, the vicar had said to me that it takes something like 18 months to get over a bereavement. I had been disbelieving of that, - imagining that whilst that may be true of the grandchildren, who would undoubtedly miss their nan, I as an adult of 71 years would do better than that. I now realise that the vicar was right. Each one of us copes with his bereavement in his own way. For me bereavement, amidst its sorrow, has also been about an intense feeling of missing someone constantly. Friends and family often ask me solicitously if I am lonely. I am not in the least bit lonely but I have this intense feeling of missing Doris at every turn, whether it is in the morning when I am making myself a cup of coffee, or hoovering the front room or even shopping at Morrisons. The feeling that someone, who was always by my side and whose presence in my vicinity I had always taken for granted, should no longer be there, is a feeling of sad bewilderment and even helplessness that is difficult to describe. Certainly I had not experienced it before, either with the death of my mother or my father, both of whom passed away some years ago. I harbour every hope that I will in time get over my bereavement, not least because I have always believed in the old maxim of "picking yourself up and carrying on". Perhaps my memories of Doris and those of our years together, ever increasing in preciousness to me, and which often give me a feeling of both happiness and elation, will give me the strength to "carry on", as they say.