Sunday Best

Recently, I was looking for an envelope, an everyday sort of no-nonsense envelope, when I discovered I was out of them.  In the relevant  drawer were only some rather elegant, thick white ones usually saved for letters of some significance, congratulations, condolences and beggings for forgiveness for example.  Wearily, I added common or garden envelopes to my 'must do' list and accepted my letter would have to wait until I had had time and energy to climb the hill of local shopping, Then, as I lay down to recover from the hassle, it came to me there could be another solution: use the 'posh' ones.

Dear Reader, I leapt off the bed, re-inspired, and put my letter in to the envelope that was rather too far above its station. It then came to me that this was a phenonmenon capable of massive extension.  With a terminal illness I should have no more need of 'keeping for best'. I could look in my underwear drawer and enjoy the frills and laces that had been kept for special occasions. (Don't ask) .Likewise socks, tights and stockings.  These days I mostly wear socks which will do nicely under trousers and stockings require something on which to attach them to keep them up. I therefore extracted a suspender belt, also frills and lace but, here's the rub, my waist was no lomger the size it had been when this item was purchaased. The next obvious step was to review my wardrobe.  Nowadays I do live rather an indoor life so there wouldn't me much scope for dresses and silk blouses and the like. However, my remembered forty-year old self had enjoyed the feeling of silk against my skin so I added those blouses to the 'what-are-you-keeping-them-for pile. Further down the house is the china cupboard.  Here rest several china tea sets the heritage of Mother and Mother-in-law and one that had been a seriously indulgant purchase of a don't- want- to- live -without- it set of my own. You have guessed correctly: I now take my hot drinks in exquisite fine bone china.  The cups take about a half of the capacity of the ubiquitous mug, But who cares, I can aleays refill. ( Though I do remember and have noticed again, that the second cup is never as lovely as the first.} If this trend continues I shall have to wear some exquisite night attire that has been closetted since a way of life  ended a couple of decades ago.  My bed is now covered by a glorious, antique, embroidered linen counterpane which has been masquerading as a picture folded over a brass pole at the end of the bed ever since I moved in. I even  manage to risk the Honourable Cat having a go at it - not so far .Fortunately, the  concept of Sunday Best no longer bears the tediousness of having to sit still, eat carefully and not play games which  it bore in its origins.  Bore da

Fragmentation

It would be comforting to think you may have missed me because I havent 'posted' for too long.  I confess that energy levels vary from ok through okish to what energy? via you-are-joking-aren't you.  As it happens, though, if I push past the reluctance the energy will spring in and I am good to go

. I find myself the victim of a strange phenomenon. Bits of me are being broken off and dealt with by varying others and varying organisations.  For instance, I have  had to assign a piece of me to an Occupational Therapist. She needs the part that lies on the bed and is in apparent danger of pressure sores, and worse.  As it happens, I do not lie that long and that still but   O.T. good practice requires me to have a special pressure-proof mattress which has the effect of lifting the bed an extra six inches and precludes the use of a fitted bottom sheet. As you may have noticed, I am not one of life's most eager compliers so a certain amount of tension was created while I negotiated the O.T. down to a promise on my cat's life that I would ring the instant I found I actually needed such an extra mattress. She also has the bit of me that uses a grab-rail two thirds of the way down the bed and helps when I pull myself up off the bed,which food and nature require I do from tiome to time. There is a portion with the District Nurse who has taken over the sore bits of me both left over by the Podiatrist who now just has me as a name on a 'was'list and various other cuts and blemishes about which YOU NEVER KNOW. There is a palliative care doctor who takes that part of me that does need her services and also arranges delightful massage-type treats for a happily consigned back and legs,  I do find all this a challenge, particularly when I feel bossed in to doing something I wouldn't dream of doing if I were still a wholly holistic me.  I would not, by instinct, stuff an extra pillow under one leg - which one did she say? - in order to prevent whatever it is I am supposed to be preventing.  How does anyone sleep soundly if worrying about displacing a pillow whose purpose one hasn't grasped in the first place and whose presence threatens a cramp which disturbs  all the shoulds and musts and shouldn'ts and oughts whatever the initial good intention. Myself, I end up dreaming of an egg falling off  a wall whose survival was beyond all the King's horses and all the King's men from before the start of time and without benefit of Health and Safety . Prynhawn da