Mental Pictures by the Pool Bar

So guys our holiday is over. 

Have I enjoyed it? Of course I have.

Would I do it again? I’m not sure. 

Does Dad know that? I’m not sure!

Should I tell him this could be a first and last. Definitely not!

Instead we enjoy our last day at the pool bar people watching.

I think most of us people watch but there are some people who people watch that have a certain look in their eyes. Those people may have a terminal illness or maybe they are realising they are getting old!

It’s a look that I first noticed in mum when she was diagnosed with stage 4 cancer. When she thought I wasn’t looking I used to see her smiling as the kids played and I knew she was taking those mental pictures she would need in her darkest days.

Now Dad is not terminal but he is definitely showing signs of age.

After a week of pushing him around in a cheap foldable wheelchair and checking out all the accessible toilets in the resort I am almost positive this could be his last trip abroad.

I am so keen to make sure he takes those mental pictures so that we can enjoy talking about our Fuertaventura holiday when we are in Flamborough or some other seaside resort in England! 

The thing is Dad doesn’t have that look. He doesn’t seem to think he needs to remember this holiday because he thinks we will do this again next year.

 I’m not sure if I should tell him that this could be his last trip abroad. I keep dropping hints about the wonderful hotels in Blackpool but he soon changes the subject.

I sit with him by the pool bar and encourage him to store the people we have been watching in his memory.

There’s the big Irish guy whose had too much sun.

The 20 stone guy from Birmingham who sits at the pool bar all day making the most of the all inclusive snacks and drinks.

The cockney couple who are so much in love they share a sunbed.

The family from Liverpool who join in all those dodgy poolside games.

Not forgetting the little girl who smiles at Dad every time she goes for an ice cream.

In the future we will remember these people and I am making sure I take those mental pictures so that we can share memories together...... somewhere in England that’s not a long car journey and with a bloody disabled toilet that doesn’t need a Radar key!!!!

Meanwhile we will look forward to Christmas and I’ll keep my eyes open for that look that tells me he’s taking those mental pictures.

But I have a feeling that by time I see that look in dad’s eyes I will probably be the one in the wheelchair!

People Watching and Flying Pigs

As we near the end of our holiday here in Fuertaventura I have been chatting to Dad about our adventures. 

I actually think he’s been on a different holiday to me!

He seems to have forgotten the time I was pushing him along the Promenade and the African guy selling fake purses and handbags had to catch him as we hit a ridge in pavement.

Neither can he remember getting stuck between two sun beds as he was trying to lift himself from sunbed to wheelchair. The wheelchair slipped and Dad went flying onto the neighbouring bed which had just been vacated by a big German guy.

I laugh as I talk about my agility with a wheelchair. I know exactly when to turn him around and pull him up kerbs and within days I had sussed which way to go to avoid those steep inclines.

Dad has no recollection of any of this. 

However he can tell me which bar serves the best beer and which bar maid has the nicest legs.

He remembers the name of the lass with bright pink hair who offered to wheel him to the Irish Bar and sing Danny Boy as a duet.

He asks me every day what day it is and when I go to wake him and tell him it’s 9 o clock he always asks

“Is that morning or night?”

There has to be a certain satisfaction at not knowing or caring whether it’s day or night and to have no concept of time.

Having said that Dad seems to know exactly when it’s 11.30am because that’s the time he has started drinking every day!

I get him a beer go for a dip in the pool then return to the pool bar and people watch with Dad.

He hasn’t brought his hearing aid so when he loudly points out the size of one guys belly I know it’s time to move on. 

Moving on entails getting back into his wheelchair. He doesn’t like sitting in his wheelchair so wherever we go he moves from wheelchair to comfy chair! 

He is blissfully unaware of how long this takes him. He always stops half way to admire the view and take a sneaky look around for any new single ladies in the vicinity.

Its also accompanied by various grunts, groans and expletives as he tells his 80 year old body that it’s acting like a 95 year old geriatric.

If I’ve learned anything this holiday it’s that patience and routine are the key as well as a sense of humour. 

Dad is already planning our next holiday abroad and every time he mentions it I point out that pink pig with wings that’s flying in the sky!

So far I’ve spotted 6 pink pigs and Dad has missed everyone of them.

Beauty Queens and Little Black Books.

Dad has travelled the world. He loves to experience different cultures even if he does refer to Asians as “Dirty Buggers” and Mexicans as “Money Grabbers!” 

The last time he holidayed alone it was to Benidorm in 2014 and he returned with a little book of phone numbers and a story to tell about the woman he met who used to be a pole dancer in a bar in Greece! (That’s for another blog!)

Since 2014 Dads mobility has deteriorated, but he still wants to travel and add more phone numbers to his little book! 

So here we are in Furtaventura  in 2018 and Dad is still collecting numbers but it seems I am cramping his style.

He keeps sending me to the bar so that he can try and catch the attention of the two ladies on the next table( one who is also in a wheelchair) 

I returned with a glass of wine just in time to hear his chat up line of

“So how long have you been using a wheelchair!!

I just can’t help but chuckle as well as admire his determination to impress the ladies with his tales.

We spend an hour a day at the local dive centre where my hubby Mark is working with the finalists of Miss Scuba Uk. We arrive just as the boat is returning from the dive site.

The girls come out of the water and peel off their wet suit in the dive centre bar where we are having a beer. 

These girls are extremely fit and they are wearing very small bikinis. As they come across to talk to us they shake off the excess water from their long hair and I wonder if Dad wishes he had his little book of phone numbers.

I get ready to apologise in case he offers his knee to one if not all of them.

Then just before they arrive at our table an aeroplane flies overhead and he looks up and identifies the exact make and model of the said aeroplane and spends the next 10 minutes talking about the Dreamliner to these scantily clad Miss Scubas. They tried to appear interested and smiled sweetly at him before excusing themselves to  sit with a group of young German divers. I’m not sure If Dad was aware of their complete disinterest or maybe he’s realised that he has more chance with Mary in the wheelchair back at the pool bar!

Dad is providing me with so much material I can’t write it quick enough!

Get ready for the one when we hit a bump in the road and Dad had to helped back in the wheelchair!

I’m off to get another beer as it’s the only thing that’s keeping me sane.

My Moana Months

Living with a Toddler Through the Eyes of a Grandparent

My notice board if full of fridge magnets that make me smile. My favourite has got to be

"We child proofed the house but they still keep getting in!"

Well in August last year I was just coming to terms with having an empty nest.

I finally had a guest room! We had even bought bunk beds for the occasional sleepover. 

Then one day a tepee, complete with cushions, a book called “Oi Frog” and a Moana DVD  arrived in our living room.

That was the day I knew my empty nest days were over and my Moana Months had begun.

So it was that from August 2017 to March 2018 I had the privilege of watching a toddler grow and learn, but this time through the eyes of a grandmother.

Now don't get me wrong my daughter was around and was in charge of Oliver, but for me it was lovely to just watch and mentally record all those things that as a parent of 3 young children and a full time working teacher I had been too busy to enjoy.

My Moana months have taught me things about being a parent that I wish I had known before I became a grandparent. More than anything they have made me realise how important it is to enjoy, remember and share the magical moments that a toddler can provide. They have given me an acute awareness of time and how quickly it can pass.

Seven months as a parent seemed like an age, whereas my seven  ‘Moana Months’ as a retired grandparent have passed in the blink of an eye.

I have spent time actually watching childrens TV, reading books  and playing Moana on repeat. These became much more enjoyable than washing, ironing and cleaning.

I have loved my early morning cuddles and the smell of talcum powder after a bubble bath.

For some reason it didn't matter that my carpet was full of yogurt and strawberries and my windows were smeared with the remains of a cheese sandwich. The strings on granddad's guitar have taken a bashing and I have learned to enjoy a G&T minus the ice and the lemon!

During My Moana Months I seem to have gained a patience and a tolerance that I definitely lacked as a young mum and simple things have made me smile.

I have danced to the sound of the doorbell and gasped in delight as the microwave pinged.  I have taught  Alexa to play Old Macdonald has a farm and  sung  along to the soundtrack of Moana whilst  giggling at a chicken called Heihei and a guy covered in tattoos!!

I have learned to sign with Mr Tumble, travelled the world with Andy and laughed out loud at the Twirley Woos!

It seems that in my seven  "Moana months" I have also subconsciously recreated those good old days that I remember as a child.

We have made bubbles with fairy liquid and built a den with a clothes horse and some sheets. We made music with a bottle filled with pebbles, and had hours of fun with a bowl full of water and some pegs.

Oliver is 2 years old this week. My Moana Months are now over and its been a blast. Oliver and Emma have moved on. The tepee has disappeared and my guest room is restored. I was beginning to feel a little sad then I remembered the terrible twos and toilet training so now I will look forward to regular visits and the occasional sleepover safe in the knowledge that the tepee will not be returning anytime soon

Help I'm turning into my Mum!

How many of us have seen this phrase and smiled?

I'm not sure, that for me, that this is such a bad thing.

I have recently been looking through some albums with Lauren and Emma to find some resemblance of them in their children. 

Each one of the photos brought back a memory for them, which was really sweet. My photographs are my memories and I hope that I am capturing  memories for my own grandchildren. Looking through the albums made me think and reflect.

Today is mums birthday and I struggle because I have no photographs of  my mum with my grandchildren who so much resemble her own grandchildren.

The thing is as we were looking through the photographs, I was not really looking at the children I was looking at my mum and I saw so much of her in me.

The joy is so obvious in her face as she holds her grandchildren for the first time. I can hear her laugh as she danced with them at parties. Mum just loved to be around her family.

Its only now that I fully understand why she preferred staying at home rather than travelling the world.

Looking at my photographs I see me in my garden and in my home with my grandchildren and I realise that not only am I blessed but I am definitely turning into my mother!!!!

These few photos show how Mum didn't need to take her grandchildren to theme parks or on expensive holidays. She was happy to spend time with them in her own garden or at a local park.

So today on mums birthday I am not posting my favourite photo of mum, who smiles at me from every room in the house.

 I am posting a few photos of mum with her grandchildren to thank her because…

I am everything I am because she loved me.

Happy Birthday Mum

25 06 2018.

Losing a Loved One

Harry's Day 2018

I’m sure we’ve all used the phrase

“Sorry for your loss” when meeting someone who has just suffered the death of a loved one.

Well I’ve just finished reading a book called “The Keeper of Lost Things”

It’s really made me think about this phrase.

The book is basically about a guy who collects and labels things he has found in the hope that one day he will be able to return them to whoever lost them. Of course there is a message here as he has “lost” his wife and he is looking for ways to find her.

It made me think about the idea of losing a loved one. When I lose something, I can spend days looking for it. Going over my steps and replaying the days from when I last saw whatever it is I am looking for. I realised that that’s what I do with those special people who are now lost to me. I know they are not coming back but I still look for them particularly at certain times of the year.

Bluebells on Harry's Day 2018

I find those I have lost in my memories and in my photo albums. I find them in a song or a special place.

Well today is Harry’s Day.  I never got the chance to make memories with Harry and there are only a few precious photographs of him. So where do I find him? Well I believe that Harry is in heaven so I look to the clouds, to the birds, and the trees. I see him in the wonders of nature and each year I try to capture an image that will remind me of him and I place it in a special box.

Each year I write him a poem and that goes in the box. I am collecting memories to help me find my way through the loss that I suffered together with my family.

Birthday Card Sept 2017

After 5 years the box is getting full. Every year on my birthday and Christmas I receive a card from Ella Mae and it always has a little heart in it with the letter H inside. Those cards are in my box.

In the weeks before Harry’s Day I have found myself in a park with my other grandchildren and I look for other 5 year olds. I watch them climb and play football, I listen to them argue with their siblings.  I watch their parents protect them from falls and celebrate their small achievements. I imagine Harry as a five year old and hope that he has his sister’s giggle and his mother’s smile. I wonder whether he’d be a footballer or a dancer. Then I wonder if he’s a five year old at all or still that babe in arms that we met at 4.32am on Wednesday 15^th May 2013.

 

I try not to feel sad that Harry isn’t here and instead I look to Lilly Bet and to Bradley and know that they are here because Harry is not. One thing is for certain. Harry is not lost to us. Harry is in our hearts.

God Bless Little Man

Fly High!

Sylvia and St George

As St George’s day approaches I have been looking for signs of celebrating our National Saint, but once again there is little evidence in shops or local pubs. However as usual our family will be remembering St George and no doubt raising a glass or two.

It was St George’s Day 1964 that my mum buried her husband George, my birth father.  We were too young to attend the funeral and had no concept of dates or time but every year we were encouraged to remember and celebrate our very own St George on St George’s Day! Mum was always confident that the sun would shine and it would be a good day.

She was just 26 years old with 3 children under 5 when her husband died, yet somehow she managed to make the day she buried her husband into a celebration every year, even though she must have been feeling so sad.

I do often wonder why I don't remember seeing mum sad. Even when we went to the local church to visit his grave I remember it being a happy experience. It was where I learned to appreciate the sound of the birds and the shape of the trees. As an adult I have often thought about how this was possible.

Then last night I was watching Britain’s Got Talent and it all made sense!

Amanda Holden commented on an inspirational performance….

“Some people let tragedy define them,” she said

“Whereas others allow it to shape them”

There it was! That was my mum! She had not allowed her tragedy to define who she was, she had used it to shape and forge a future full of good things all the time remembering who had made these good things possible!

I remembered the extract from her journal from St George’s Day 2004 when she describes talking to George and tells him how their love has shaped our future.

“Well George I don’t think we could ever have envisaged our daughters being so successful. Pamela whose name you tricked me into giving her. Well she is in America a marketing manager and still keeps the Sanders name. Sharon, the easy going placid one who went everywhere on your shoulders, is a teacher and Wendy is a wonderful homemaker living in Belgium. I am at peace here with you and I feel you are with them all the time. Yes George, I am shedding a tear but because of our love there are three very special girls who have enriched so many people’s lives. There are grandchildren to carry on the family feeling and through the sadness there is also happiness”

I feel blessed to have been surrounded by so much love all my life.  I feel fortunate never to have suffered a tragedy at such a young age. Some may say that losing a father at 3 years old is a tragedy but I never remember feeling sad. Mum shaped my life by constantly reminding me of the beauty of small pleasures rather than allowing the loss of my father to define me.

The sun was always shining on St George’s Day when I was a girl and hopefully it will be shining this year.  If by any chance there is some rain I shall be looking for the rainbow and counting my blessings!

Happy St George's Day

April 23rd 2018