Simply a Moment in May

As soon as I walk through the front door I can hear the familiar theme tune coming from the lounge.  "Did no one tell you life was gonna be this way? ..." I take off my coat and shoes, put my keys in the dish on the table and know that when I go in there Joey will be doing that cheeky smile: 'How you doin'?' Chandler will be emphasising certain words: 'Could that BE any more annoying?' and Rachel will have some impeccable hairstyle that everyone wants to copy.

Re-runs of Friends.  How many times have we seen each episode? Literally dozens, yet it is one of those shows that can be watched, over and over again.  It's been an integral part of recovery around here.  Something amusing, something comfortable that doesn't need any effort to enjoy.  I wonder if, in some way, knowing what is coming next is half of the appeal.

The patient is laying in her usual place, cushions plumped up behind her, quilt across her lap, magazines, phone and glass of water in easy reach on the coffee table.  I see that the painkillers are still in the same place I left them.  A good sign; when she was first discharged from hospital she was taking the maximum dose at the most frequent intervals.  She's like me, we do not take painkillers unless we absolutely have to and so the fact that they have been untouched means that things are bearable today.

When she arrived in this world 27 years ago as a 5lb 10oz baby she was so tiny and so fragile; I felt an overwhelming urge to take care of her and protect her as best I could. She's taller than me and a grown woman now, yet I still feel those strong maternal feelings of needing to put right anything that hurts her.

She turns to look over her shoulder 'Oh hi Mum.  How was work?' 'Well, really busy but not too bad.' I reply. She doesn't need to know that I was begrudging every minute I spent there,  checking my phone regularly, anxious to get home to check up on her. 'Cup of coffee?' She smiles and nods and I go into the kitchen, back into protective Mum mode.  Secretary in a school office may be the job I'm paid to do, but my real vocation is here at home.

Linking up with Alexa to share Simply a Moment.   



Simply a moment in March

Even though it is only 8pm, I am already in bed.  Not actually 'in' bed, but sitting on the bed watching TV - with my trusty canine pal in her favourite place nestled into cushions on the floor.  It's a real girls' night in and the reason we are upstairs so early is because my daughter has a group of friends round for dinner and we have come upstairs to give them some space and privacy.  I quite like snuggling down to watch TV upstairs so it really is no hardship.

My bedroom is the width of the house and so is above the kitchen and the dining room.  Although I can't hear actual conversations, I am aware of the chattering and laughing going on downstairs.  The opening and closing of the oven door and the clink of cutlery on crockery is a clue that the cooking part of the evening is over and they have moved into the dining room to eat. 

As I listen to the rise and falls of their voices I smile and give thanks that she has such a close group of friends.  They have shared her happy times and given strength and sympathy in the bad.  How she would have got through the year before last without them I do not know.  Parents can give support and love, but there are some things that need to be discussed and advised through your own peer group.  I am thankful that at this point, they are there to see and hear about how things are so much better now.  To share in happy times again.  They have all had a role in helping her turn her life around.

This particular group of friends include girls who she met when she was 11 and have shared 16 years of growing up; some are more recent additions to the group.  Some have already embarked on starting families, some are seeking new jobs, some trying to decide if the time is right to settle down, one is about to move house.  They all have their parts to play in the dynamic of the group. 

The overall hubbub of the conversation is interspersed with the occasional gasp - 'NO!' 'Oh my life!' 'He didn't!' What?' 'Seriously?' and I wonder what tale is being told. No doubt she will share any funny stories tomorrow over breakfast.

The volume of their chatter diminishes, I can hear the dishwasher being opened.  The evening is drawing to a close.  'Bye Babe' 'Thanks a lot, Hon' 'That was great Rach' 'See you soon' and the front door closes.  The dog senses that it is safe to return downstairs and rushes down to see if any leftovers are available for supper.

 

This is written as part of Alexa's idea to share Simply a Moment each month.  

Simply a Moment in February

The noise from the rain hitting the glass roof of the conservatory is almost deafening, and whilst I am warm and dry inside I am already dreading my turn at walking the dog later this afternoon.

I am surrounded by the Saturday papers; tales of floods and devastation on the coast cover the front pages.  In comparison to many we have been extremely fortunate, one cannot imagine the heartbreak that some are facing with their homes and possessions many feet under flood water.

A couple of weeks ago our town became an island, with all country road routes in and out flooded; today we are being held hostage by fallen trees forming natural barricades across the roads. Old trees with their roots ripped from the earth by the force of the wind last night. 

I realise that whilst reading, the strength of the wind and rain has diminished and I hear my husband upstairs calling down to me "just come and look at this!". I rush upstairs, the dog scampering just behind me, not wanting to miss out on whatever 'this' may be.

A double rainbow. In the midst of cruel, harsh weather, Mother Nature has thrown in some beauty.

Simply a Moment is organised by Alexa Please pop over there to see what other moments in time are being recorded this month.

Simply a Moment in August

On the 15th of the month, Alexa suggests that we take a pause and capture Simply a Moment.  My moment this month was captured last week - I hope that's allowed!

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I have come to the end of the book I am reading on my Kindle and I turn it off, remove my glasses and close my eyes contemplating the final twist in the plot.  Even though I am laying beneath a parasol, I can feel the rays of the sun filtering through the canvas and warming my skin.  There is a gentle breeze blowing and the temperature is just perfect.  

The waves are lapping on the rocks below the balcony on which I am relaxing.  The rigging on the sails of the boat which is moored close to the shoreline is rhythmically swinging from side to side as the boat moves with the tide and I can hear the sound of rope on metal.  

I open my eyes.  A bright yellow pedalo passes by, being pedalled by a group of young children.  Some are sitting on the seats and some sitting with their legs hanging over the edge but one young girl is standing at the top of the ladder, about to go down the slide into the water.  Over and over, she is singing 'We all live on a yellow submarine' with a Spanish accent.  It makes me smile, she is far too young to know that song, what has prompted her to sing that?

I see, before I hear, the ferry from Ibiza Town coming into the bay.  Ploughing through the sea with the people on deck at the back being gently splashed by the waves as it approaches the jetty.  A blow of a horn; the metallic sound of a gangplank being lowered onto the wood of the small pier and the gentle throb of the engine as it slows to a stop.  The captain bellows 'Cala Llonga!  Cala Llonga!' so that those who have booked tickets to the next resort along know that this is not their destination.  The people waiting to board are carrying lilos, sun umbrellas and towels.  They will be joining the boat for the next part of its journey to Santa Eulalia. 

Ibiza - a perfectly relaxing place to share a moment in the sun.
  

Simply a Moment in June

The wind is rustling through the trees and the sound it makes reminds me of a rough sea breaking on the coastline.  The clouds are getting darker and there is a chill in the air.  I walk along the gravel pathway, and I think about the footsteps of the people who have trodden the same path for more than a quarter of a century.  I turn left at the end of the path and continue through the churchyard.  As the path continues the grass becomes slightly longer and as I walk I notice gravestones of local families, parents and grandparents of friends I went to school with,until I reach my destination.

For this weekend marks two special dates for me, Sunday is not only Father's Day but would have been my mum's birthday too.  I set about tidying away the old flowers and cut the grass around the graveside. Replacing the flowers with two new posies. 

It would be very easy to dwell on my loss at times like this, but the wording on the plaque catches my eye.  It begins 'Treasured Memories' and that is what I try to do.  Celebrate the love and memories that I had and be thankful that I had them in my life for as long as I did.  I am totally on my own here, but if anyone were to walk past, they would see a woman talking to herself. I like to use this quiet time 'chatting' to Mum & Dad, telling them our news, asking them to watch over us and sharing any worries that I have.  There is an intense feeling of peace in this place and as I continue with my tidying, the sun breaks through the clouds and a shaft of sunlight falls upon the roses.  It's as if it were a sign that my words have been heard.  It is a simple moment of peace and I straighten up, say my last farewells, tell them I love them one more time and give silent thanks that I was blessed in having two such wonderful people in my life.

This post is written in conjunction with a series of posts by Alexa.  Time to share a simple moment in our busy lives.  Be sure to pop by there and see who else is joining in.

Simply a Moment - March

The temperature is minus 7. I know this because before we went in through the security doors, the doorman told us. And yet, I'm not cold. The metallic blue cape sits comfortably around my body, the fur of the hood is snug against my head. My hands are protected by the thermal gloves that are attached to the side of the cape.

We are in a compact room in which the walls are made entirely of ice. The bar is made of ice, the seats are made of ice, the tables are made of ice and there are ice sculptures.  There is an electric blue tinge to the lighting and there is upbeat music coming from the speakers. Loud enough to add a funky atmosphere but not too loud to affect conversations. We are part of a small group of people allowed in. Only 30 at a time. There are constant small flashes of lights as people take photos of themselves in such an unusual location.

My hands are holding a rectangular block of ice which has had its inner core drilled out to make a drinking receptacle. It contains a Galactic Frontier. A mix of blueberry infused Tanquaray gin with cranberry, pomegranate and lychee. It is delicious! The edge of the block has a slight indentation in it where the warmth of my lips has slightly melted the corner as I have sipped my drink.

I can slightly feel the cold of the floor through the soles of my boots. This being a surprise visit as part of my daughter's birthday gift to me, I had been unaware that I would be spending time in sub-zero temperatures! Had I known, maybe I would have chosen differently! But it's just a slight feeling of chilliness, not uncomfortable or unpleasant. My daughter is handing her phone over to a couple of girls who are standing near us at edge of the room. She asks them if they will take our picture and in return she will do the same for them.

We stand a little closer together, mother and daughter sharing a fun and unusual experience. Only she would think of taking me to a place like this. Truly a unique, loving moment - literally frozen in time.

 

Simply a moment

I pull into the side of the road, switch on my hazard warning lights and settle down to wait.  I turn off the lights on the car - as do the other people in the queue of traffic ahead of me.  The gentle rhythm of the indicators is hypnotic and I find my mind drifting to what I need to do to finish dinner on my return home.  

There is a fine drizzle coming down and every now and again I flick the windscreen wipers on to clear the view.  Not that there is much to see.  It's dark and there is nothing but other vehicles in front and behind me. A group of taxi drivers are huddled together in their shelter about 200 metres away.  They are ready and waiting for their passengers, all of whom will be in a hurry to get home.  

After a short while I can hear a distant hum which becomes increasingly louder.  You can sense every other driver in the queue sitting up a little straighter and anxious to be on their way.  Behind the fence I can hear a voice coming over a tannoy 'The train arriving at platform one will be the 1757 from London Liverpool Street, next stop Stansted Airport'.  The hum gives way to a swoosh as the train pulls into the station.  Electronic doors open and you can see the glow of the interior of the train through the slats of the fencing.  The pavements are still empty though, and then suddenly the double glass doors of the station open and people come flooding out.  Pulling up hoods on coats, putting up umbrellas, looking carefully to see where the car picking them up is parked.  The taxi rank is busy now, doors of cabs slamming and drivers starting up their engines.  The commuters are in a hurry to be home.

The cars in front of me are gradually moving away, their passengers safe and warm inside and I edge down the ramp.  Where is my passenger?  The crowd has thinned right down now, stragglers pushing open the doors and making their way to the car park or bus stop.  Has she fallen asleep on the train again?  The warmth of the carriage after a busy day working in London easily lulls her to sleep and on more than one occasion she has woken up in Cambridge or Stansted Airport having slept through her stop.  Then a familiar silhouette comes through the doors, head down, cradling her phone to her ear, chatting and laughing to a friend.  She's in no hurry to finish her conversation and is still talking as she opens the car door and sits down in the passenger seat.  The end of a working day.

Simply a moment

As I open my drawer to pick up my identity card, I can hear the excited chatter of dozens of teenage girls queueing up outside in the corridor.  I hang the card around my neck, pick up the keys to the other office, check my in-tray and turn on my computer.  As I wait for it to whirr into action, I can hear the Head of Year 11 outside the office calling for 'hush'.  She is now reciting names in alphabetical order and the girls are walking silently, one by one, along the corridor to the 'Old Hall'.  All becomes quiet after the last girl is called.  Younger girls arriving for school will be diverted to their lessons by other routes this month, this corridor is now officially 'out of bounds' except for members of staff and exam candidates.

I check my emails and then get up to leave the main office to go to the exams office where I spend 7 hours of my working week.  I open the door and walk down the now silent corridor. Aware of every noise that I make as I walk as quietly as I can.  The noise of squeaky shoes is always amplified during the exams period.  I squeeze past the 8ft screen which bears the school logo and declares 'Silence.  Exams in progress'.  Past the signs reminding students that they must not take mobile phones or any other electronic equipment into the hall with them .  It is so quiet in this area of the school, you can hear every tick of the clock, every creak of a floorboard.  As I pass the doors to the hall I can hear the invigilator saying 'The time is now 9 o'clock, the exam will last one and a half hours.  You may now turn over your papers.'  

And somewhere deep down inside, in the pit of my stomach, I can imagine how those students are feeling.  And I wouldn't swap places with them for the world!