Skewed with Blurry Bits and God's Grandeur

The professor of all things respiratory says Robin could have injections into his salivary glands to dry up the excess saliva which runs down the back of his throat a lot of the time.  The side effect is a dry mouth. He can also have something -  a pice of equipment  - to help ideal with the coughing choking episodes which the OT will prescribe. I can't remember exactly what it was as I was concentrating so  hard on what he was saying in order to translate it for Robin that I've forgotten it now.

The last thing he said was that Robin could have a breathing mask to wear at night but he doesn't need it just yet.  It is the same kind of mask he might need to wear all the time if his ability to breathe  gets worse. And to come back in 2 months time. Meanwhile he will arrange with Dr H for Robin to have the injections.

Afterwards we go shopping  in Aldi and then drive round lots of winding county lanes with the music  turned up very loud so it isn't the right time to explain it all Robin. It seems that it's breathing problems or chest infections which do for you in MND.

And now I've lost my glasses. Or rather mis-placed them as I was taught to say when I learnt The Silva Mind Control Method many moons ago. Meaning it's only a temporary loss. Whatever you call it I can't find them.  I often take my glasses off when I'm cooking and leave them in the fruit bowl or by the phone or on the windowsill - I usually don't remember where but always locate them in the end.

Not so tonight. I've dug out an old pair with slightly different prescription lenses and a pair of reading glasses but everything is a bit skewed with blurry bits. Possibly a metaphor for my life at the moment.

Except a dear friend reminded me this morning that in spite of it all I'm still finding beauty in the world with  my camera. She send me this lovely fragment from Gerard Manley Hopkins poem, God's Grandeur which has stayed with me all day.

               And for all this, nature is never spent; 

          There lives the dearest freshness deep down things; 

          And though the last lights off the black West went 

         Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs —