Happy Birthday

Yesterday would have been Muv’s 59th birthday. We would have likely gone for a Doris in the afternoon, seeing as it was Sunday, had afternoon tea at her favourite garden centre before taking the dog for a walk.

I had afternoon tea in my garden and I did some gardening. I didn’t take my dog for a walk, she was too busy eating a chicken bit she’d dug up from the freshly turned veggie patch. Muv would have approved.

I think about Muv a lot on her birthday. It’s only natural I guess. It was the one day of the year that she truly loved and looked forward to. She didn’t like the rapidly approaching six ohh number, but she was realistic about it, and being the vibrant person she was, she laughed it off. Often I’d just tell her how old I would be next birthday, she’d roll her eyes and say, ‘stop it’. Sometimes she'd share how she felt turning that age. I remember when she turned 40.

For the last few years, since her death I have purchased sunflowers on her birthday and, using her urn as a vase, remembered her and celebrated her life with the flowers she held so dear. This year due to job and financial status, the flowers will have to wait, hopefully just a couple of weeks, but she’ll get her sunflowers. Their smiling faces looking out at me as I work and potter in the kitchen. I think I’ll plant some in the garden next spring.

What would she have though about being 59? She’d have hated it, but she’d have embraced it. Had fun with it and maybe had an extra G’n’T, becasue it was her birthday :-)

Happy Birthday Muv.

In Goolwa SA - August 2002

Happy Birthday

Today would have been Muv’s 58th birthday. It would have killed her to be so close to 60, if she wasn’t already dead.

While she loved birthdays, she hated the idea of aging and due to her woeful grasp on mathematics the kids had her convinced for about three years that she was still in her early 20s when she was really creeping rapidly towards 30. She laughed about when she realised, but was secretly devastated.

She always acknowledged she was crap at maths and spelling, but she excelled at anything homely: gardening, cooking, sewing, being a mother, a friend and generally making a house a home. She even took evening classes in upholstery so she could redo the Chesterfield. I remember the horse hair going through the washing machine in pillow cases and stepping on a tack.

Every year she would make us a cake on our birthday. The year H had her appendix out, she got a cake in the shape of a bed with a little marzipan mouse tucked under the blackest. Peeling the icing blanket back revealed a tiny scar on the mouse’s belly. G had cakes made in the shape of a carp. S had ‘Big Sal used to make me coffee cake on my birthday... She knew it was my fav...’ L remembers ‘the clock cakes in yellow and red’.

She’d make the cakes after we’d gone to bed, she’d hide the cake in the high cupboards, which was an achievement because she was only 5’3, she’d design and ice while we were at school. We knew we’d get something special, but we’d never cheat and look. At least I wouldn’t, I can’t speak for the others.

I remember the year of the Rubik’s Cube vividly, Rachel and Laura had come around for dinner, so I was about eight or nine years old, still at St. Thomas’ of Canterbury in Merrow. I had been asking for a Rubik’s Cube for my birthday and I had been slightly disappointed that I didn’t get one. But the cake came out and it was a cube with nine squares on each side, iced in blue, red, green, orange, yellow and white, black liquorice laces divided the coloured squares. I was ecstatic. You can imagine my surprise and delight when the knife wouldn’t cut all the way through, my heart pounded, Laura and Rachel squealed, there was a hard mass in the centre of the cake. I had to cut around the lump. The cake slid apart to reveal at the centre a cube wrapped shiny tin foil. It was a Rubix’s Cube!



Happy Birthday Muv; wherever you may be.

A Breath of Fresh Air

Written 15th June 2009

I’ve been driving around NSW for a couple of weeks now. Mostly I’ve been stuck in the car, foot to the floor and an eye on the speedo. I’ll confess to having strayed over the limit, but I pull it back pretty quick.

Last week I drove nearly 1400km in four days. My back aches and my concentration levels are dropping by the minute. I need to step back, Doris a bit and let some of the local air into my lungs. I was able to do just that yesterday.

I left home at 1030 to drive to Bega, the heart of cheese country. It took me six hours to complete the drive with a couple of stops to rest, stuff my face with fish and chips and take pictures. One such photo opportunity came as I was driving past the lakes about half an hour outside Bega. I was shooting along a winding road, rolling round corners and letting my eye drift over the lovely scenery around me. Around one such bend was a sight that caused me to do a quick rear view mirror check and then a hard slam on the breaks.

I knew his was a once in the life time chance to get this photo. The scene before me would never be the same again. The clouds would be different; the sun would be a tone lighter or darker. Every thing about it would change.

The car came to a halt with a small slide as I hit the gravel of the lay-by. I slammed the gear stick into P, grabbed the camera of the passenger seat and jumped out the car. The air surrounded me with a soothing chill, the scent of eucalyptus and cold soil filled my nose. I was sent back to my teens. I wasn’t sure why so I shook it off and took my photos.

I stood next to the Princes Highway, camera in hand, starring at nature displaying itself in all its glory. It was open, raw and stunning. I knew that no matter how many pictures I took, I would never be able to show the beauty of it. A car whoosing past reminded me where I was.



As I walked back to the car, I realised why the smell had triggered a memory trip. The cold air and smell reminded me of walking the dog with my Muv. During the winter months in the UK, Muv perpetually had a hankie with Olbus Oil on it.

I climbed back into the car with a smile on my face. I like that I can now think about Muv without it brining tears to my eyes.

Mothers Day

I didn’t get out of bed until 2pm. I had a bit of a bad morning, thinking about my Muv, reading and giving the cats big cuddles.

My cats, are, after all my kids.

Of course, they were completely unaware of the significance of the day and failed to give me a card or present, unless you count O-Ren sneezing on me.

In the afternoon I got up, pulled on some tracksuit bottoms and a pair of boots, went to the shed and got out the garden tools. I felt like digging. So I turned the soil, added blood and bone and Dynamic Lifter, then turned it all in.

The veggie patch a planted a few weeks ago now has;

Carrots
Cabbage
Cauliflower
Beetroot
Leeks
Rocket
Muslain lettuce
Peas
Radish
And some herbs waiting to go into pots.

Harvesting can start around the end of June, if the neighbour cat doesn’t dig it all up.

What it really needs though, is barb-a-rube.

Personal Effects

My Muv’s stuff arrived from Spain the other day. It was delivered late in the afternoon but a man that was none to gentle with the boxes. After I’d signed and closed the door, I stood next to the two boxes for about twenty minutes, just looking at them. I knew I was supposed to open them, but I just couldn’t bring myself to.

Eventually I did open them.

There was a jacket. Not the jacket I had asked for. I had never seen this jacket before, so now I have a strange funky smelling blue and red jacket hanging in the spare room door. The blue and black tartan jacket I requested has either been given to someone or thrown out. Don’t even get me started!

There was a pair of yellow quilts that I made in 2001. They smelled of stale smoke. The two matching cushion covers were nowhere to be seen.

There was a lamp base that was always around when I was a child. It currently has no wire, so it can’t be used and it’s missing a lampshade. A classic crème silk shade will restore it to the lamp I remember from day of old.

A 1923 copy of Mrs. Beeton’s Book of Household Management. It had been packed in such a way that the back cover had been pushed up. This meant that as soon as I took it from the box, the back cover detached itself from the rest of the book. I took a deep breath and placed it to the side with a mental note to try and find someone who could fix it later. I couldn’t resist having a little trip down memory lane when I flicked it open the butchering of a mutton and thinking about Dad bring home a dead deer, and Muv using her Mrs. Beeton’s as a guide before placing the pieces in the freezer.

One of the boxes was filled with small ornamental shoes.

And finally her jewellery box. Filled with various pieces. Some I recall from my childhood, like the silver locket containing a lock of her hair and on the opposite side a picture and twist of my dad’s hair. Thinking about that item, I remember wearing it on a long silver chain to my first job interview. Also hidden in there was the small plastic hospital band that I would have worn in my first days on this earth.

This Womans Work

Had my iPod set to Shuffle today and after about 300 od songs Kate Bush's This Womans Work came on. It's the first time I've listened to it since this. I made it to 'Give me these moments back' before the eyes started to sting and moisture sprung forth.

As luck would have it, Neville appeared to ask me about booking a meeting room in Outlook.

Button Meltdown

This is getting out of hand now. Today I went to see a choir sing a few Christmas dittys on the ground floor of the building I work in. I was standing there while they sang 'The Holly and The Ivy' thinking I really love this song and feeling quite uplifted and happy. Then they sang I didn't know or recognise. Then they started to sing 'Hark the Herald Angels'.

My mind went straight back to when I was about 7, I was in the school choir and we were performing at a summer concert at Guildford Civic Hall (UK). I was sat in the back of the car singing 'Scarborough Fair' to myself and playing with my little ice creamed shaped metal and enamel buttons on my blue and white gingham school dress when Muv leaned back and said, 'You're supposed to be wearing your winter uniform.' I ended up, standing at the back of the choir singing my little heart out, still playing with my ice cream buttons.

Muv had a button jar. When she was sewing I would tip it out on the floor and sort through the buttons. The ice-cream buttons had been in the jar and I was always asking her to put them on something for me. She never did until that summer when she made me a couple of new summer school dresses. I didn't know she had put them on until one morning when I put my uniform on.

I had to stop watching this morning and leave. I have no idea why 'Hark the Herald Angels' should set me off by triggering that memory, but it did and now my eyes won't stop leaking.

Another Moment

I had to do my Give Time yesterday. Three hours of standing on a shop floor being an information point for customers who don't know where they are going. I was dressed in the obligatory all black, comfortable shoes, armed with my name badge and big 'i' and a booklet full of hints and tips about which product lives where.

The first demand.

'Where's the Sorbolene?'

The second question, this time with a polite end.

'Where are the toilets, please?'

For three hours this went on. I was asked for brand name after brand name, where Santa was, the toilets and mens sunglasses. I was even asked where the competition (as in main rival) was. The time passed quite quickly, but I had a few minutes where I had to control my emotions and suck the tears back.

A woman walked past me as I was talking to someone about an hour into my shift. She had her red striped back to me and was walking with another woman. But the smell was unmistakable. Chanel No. 5 and cigarettes. The prick of tears stung the back of my eyeballs.

Then as I stood there, I saw her again. She was standing next to the Chanel counter. The other woman was younger and they were laughing about something. I looked at what she was wearing. A red and white striped t-shirt with jeans and dockside slip on shoes. I looked at her hair, it was just above her shoulders, blond and highlighted. She was slim and not that tall. The other woman was wearing a shirt and jeans and sandals. A thought came to me.

I will never go shopping with my Muv, ever again. Ever.

The tear sprung forward and I tried to fight them back. But I couldn't prevent them from spilling over just a little. I was saved by a lady taking a tumble as she stepped off the escalator.

A little later, I saw this pair again. They were standing and talking on the desending escalator. Once again my eyes burned, water welled but I managed to breath through it. I was really thankful they seemed to know where there were going and didn't feel the need to talk to me.

Conspiracy

In recent days I have been watching a lot of telly. My house is spotless, my linen cupboard has neat piles of towels and bedsheets and I have no ironing to do. I’m not working and having issues filling my time. Telly is my comfort.

Or it should be.

There seems to be an inordinate amount of movies and telly programs about the loss of a loved one or movies that remind me of my childhood.

In No Reservation a young girls loses her mum in a car accident, goes to stay with Auntie Catherine Zeta Jones and worries that she’ll forget her mum.

Carousel always made me cry, especially the bit at the end when Billy Bigalow’s daughter and wife sing ‘You Never Walk Alone’. I really shouldn’t have watched that one.

The Nanny, an old favourite, happened to show the episode were Maggie (eldest daughter) has an issue with Fran and Mr. Sheffield relationship because she thinks they were having an affair when her mother was still alive.

It seems I’m being forced to think about my Muv at every turn. I even had a dream about her last night. I had the worst nights sleep for an age mainly because the dream showed me that she was really alive and had watched the whole funeral process with her arms crossed and shaking of her head.

I need to come up with something other than cleaning to occupy my mind. I’m thinking too much (and leaky eyes) and quite frankly if I don’t get a job soon to keep my mind off the last few months I’m going to turn into a gibbering wreak.

I may be going to the polo at the weekend. That will be nice.

A Moment

After a rather rotten day of visiting Recruitment agents being told my CV was too long, I was too experienced or not experienced enough for the role I applied for, I was too expensive or too cheap I got on the train home. I was listening to my iPod when I had a Muv moment. It may have been the music I was listening too that set it off, but I figure this is one in a long line of moments were water spontaneously leaks from my eyes and strangers avoid eye contact.

This memory was one from when I about 7. We were walking up Guildford high street and I said to her ‘you can never do anything to embarrass me.’

She promptly stuck her finger up her nose and I melted into a embarrassed pile that was begging her to stop.

The moment passed and I changed my tunes to something more upbeat…something in the form of The Offspring.

My eyes...

... keep leaking and I'm having trouble getting out of bed.

A Scattering of Ashes

Last Saturday a select few, myself included dragged our arses to the top of Kingley Vale to scatter the last of my Mum’s ashes. It’s complicated, so here goes.

On the Friday after the Crematorium service (14th and 18th July respectively) my mums husband wanted a quiet scattering of ashes, as she had requested on the top on Kingley Vale in West Sussex. Only he’s 72 and not really capable of walking to the top, in fact he didn’t even make it to the base from the car park until his legs started playing up. We got to the first copse where I scattered and he watched in silence.

I really wanted to do a more fitting tribute, so I keep a few ashes back (roughly her feet) and arranged a seconding scattering at the summit.

So, on the 16th at 1pm, my sister Helen, her husband Chris, Marky my first love/very good friend and I met I the car park just north of West Stoke and commenced the climb to the top. I know you are thinking this all sounds very mountain climber speak when really it’s just a leisurely stroll up a hill. It is a leisurely stroll, if you go the right way. However, if the only person who’s done it more than a dozen times is in a green plastic tub, the second most familiar person hasn’t done it for nearly twelve years and the other three didn’t even know where Kingley Vale was until two days before, it’s very easy to go the hard way. And we went the hard way. For fifty minutes with clambered up the side of the hill at a 35degree angle, slipped in mud and nearly lost footing. But to the top we got, huffin' and puffin' except Marky who's related to the Enegiser Bunny!

At the top we were rewarded with 360 degree views of Chichester Harbour and the South Downs. After getting our breath back, we found a stick to act as a dibber and we planted sunflower seeds, had a gin and tonic, a laugh and a rolly. Then we scattered the remainder of my mum’s ashes. Helen held the tub with me and we all marvelled at the surreal nature of the whole day that had started with Big Mac’s for lunch (My mum loved Maccas, and no one ever really got it, except me). We even left a G’n’T in the bushes for later.

The path down was much easier.

Just this morning my sister said again that it doesn’t feel like she’s really gone, and I have to agree. Maybe it was because we lived in different continents, maybe it was because we would go without talking on the phone until we actually had something to say to each other (2 – 3 weeks), maybe because we’re both still in denial. Whatever the truth of this, I still think I have the realisation to come and when it does…it’ll hit hard.

Happenings – Part Three

A funeral is never funforall. On the 14th July I was present at the cremation of my Mum. I read a eulogy that I had written and caused problem by using a certain word even though it was my Mum favourite saying. I also wore red. At her request I might add. She loved red!

Anyway, my Grandmother still isn’t speaking to me and I’m not completely sure what to do. Leave it, after all once I return to Aus it’s unlikely I’ll have much to do with her or write her the letter I have roughly composed in my head?

Ohh yeah...and what was with putting purple and lilac flowers on her coffin, my Muv figging hated purple and lilac?

Anyway, thought you might like to see the eulogy…feel free to ask question about bits that you don’t get.

Sally was known to many people by many different names, the old boiler, Big Sal, Daughter, Sister, Auntie and sometimes the cow. But to me she was simply Muv. Although there was nothing simple about her except maybe her talent for Maths and spelling. She cooked up a storm, sewed items of clothing that Vera Wang would be impressed by and tendered a garden Geoff Hamilton would be proud of. When it came to all things domestic, she rocked!

Her love for animals was legendary, she tendered injured pigeons and rabbits, but often dreamed of doing injury to the chickens as they dug up her veggies. But she with be most remembered for her love of cats and dogs, her furry children. First there was Lady, Jodie and Sorrell, later came Ben, Percy, Harry and little Freddie. No amount of love, time or attention was spared especially for walkies.

When it came to helping others she was always there, if it required salmon and sweetcorn quiche, pate, springrolls or death by chocolate all the better. I often asked her if I could have her reciepe for her amazing bread and butter stodge cake, but she also said, ‘Nope, I’m taking that to the grave.’ And she did.

We’ll always remember Muv for the mark she left on us. It may be her cooking skills, her caring nature, her ability to doris, her flirting, her dry and often sarcastic or perverse wit or maybe it was simply that she was too young to die.

I’ll always remember her for her amazing fashion (on a budget), her sage words, often about boys, her harsh truths and her ability to completely let her hair down even when she’d lost it all to Chemo. But most of all I’ll remember her as Muv.

The woman who gave me birth to me
The woman who gave me three dads
The woman who made me laugh and cry
And the woman who died just as she was starting to have some fun.

Muv – May you rest in peace and don’t let the bastards grind you down.

One Month

A month has past since my mother passed away. I now feel I can give you all an update on what's been happening in my life over the last few weeks. I just need to write it.

My Mum

My Mother passed away last night at 1.30am UK time. She died peacefully in her sleep in her Mothers arms.

The Thousand Word Picture

Outing

Muv, Her Hubby and an Old friend and I went out for lunch today (she tested Mother/Daughter bond by nicking my last piece of Scampi) followed by a spot of shopping. Muv was keen to get out and about, but after three hours she was knackered and ready for home.

When we finally got there she was ready for a sleep and it was time for me to leave.

I told her I love her and asked her not to do anything stoopid while I was gone.

She told me to live my life doing the things I want to do, then told me to leave because she was getting upset.

I kissed her, said goodbye to my Gran (who ignored me) and drove away.

I had the first tears to Kate Bush.

First Cry

This Woman's Work by Kate Bush

Pray God you can cope
I stand outside
This woman's work
This woman's world
Oooh, it's hard on the man
Now his part is over
Now starts the craft of the father
(chorus)
I know you have a little life in you yet
I know you have a lot of strength left
(repeat 1X)(hook)
I should be crying
But I just can't let it show
I should be hoping
But I can't stop thinking
All the things I should've said
That I never said
All the things we should of done
That we never did
All the things I should've given
But I didn't
Oh darling make it go
Make it go away
Give me these moments back
Give them back to me
Give that little kiss
Give me your hand
(chorus)(hook)

Forest Drive

A bright sunny day saw me in my new little car (more about that tomorrow) through the New Forest following an ambulance. In the back of the ambulance was my Mum on an outting home for a couple of days.

Once there, she sent my Nan and her Hubby out for BigMac, fries and vanilla milkshakes. I finished the pedicure I started yesterday and painted her toenails.

When I left at seven she was in good spirits, but that may have the knowledge that a bottle of Bombay Sapphire, tonic and a lemon were sitting on the side in the kitchen should the mood take her.

Pedicure

This morning my Mum was perky again. She was up and bathing at 11, ordering lunch and sitting in the arm chair looking out the window by noon. It's the first time she's been out of bed (apart from loo trips) since I arrived Thursday. After her bath I gave her a pedicure and foot massage. She asked me to buy her some nail varish so I can paint her toes tomorrow.

The Doc was very pleased and announced she would surprise us all, but when asked by my Mum if she could have more Chemo, he replied, 'there's no point in that if it's going to kill you.' He also mentioned to her that I was worried about leaving her to go to America despite her saying it was Ok. He response, 'she's got to go.' So despite my gran never speaking to me again, I'm going to go to the States as planned and send her pictures as she has requested.

This is the hardest thing I have ever done, because when I leave that hospice on Tuesday, it may be the last time I ever see my Mum.

She took a slight down turn after lunch and had to get back into bed for a kip.

I'd spent some time in the hospice garden early in the morning (I was up again at 6.30) and took a couple of photos with my phone.

[1. the back of the hospice where all rooms have double doors opening out onto the garden. 2. the bird feeding area and fish pond]

Update 2157 22/6/08 : Just spoke to the hospice, after a kip after lunch she was the brightest the hospice nurses had seen her. She went to sleep around 9pm.