Cheese Straws? What are They?

1st May 2012 Tuesday

‘ You were not meant to suffer and to die’.

I read these words this morning and they help me to remember what really matters - practising loving kindness for a start. And so I begin to climb out of yesterday’s dark tunnel where led I myself- all by myself - imagining the worst. Smiling at my husband is the first thing to do even while he’s still drowsy on the pillow.

The second thing to do is to take a deep breath with no resentment, and describe to him where Moretonhampstead is on Dartmoor, where we are going later today. We have found a tag for this word to help him locate it by saying,  ‘it’s that little town where we buy those cheese straws in the delicatessen in the main street.’

But now he says, ‘Cheese straws, cheese straws - what are they?’

 I take another deep breath.

He does recall them though when we arrive outside the shop and then walk down the street with a greasy bag of high baked, cheesy, pastry sticks, the sun like a blessing on our backs.

He also remembers the walk up to Bellever Tor which we took last year and even the group of school children we met and which route led us back to the car.  He leads us again, through planted pines and up waterlogged tussocky paths, climbing to the top outcrop of rocks, stopping to give directions to two Dutch tourists on the way.

On the way down he slips on the lethal mud and falls backwards into a brackish bog. He’s wet but not wounded. I wonder if we should use that as the tag to remember Bellever Tor. For the next time we come.

Back home I take the advice of the lovely woman who talked to us at Age UK  this morning. I pick up the phone and register myself as a carer.