Garden roses - such a joy.
I stood on a ladder this morning at the end of the garden where the roses are high and wild, reached up into the sky with my secateurs and cut a branch full of blooms and buds and brought them into the kitchen where their perfume even masks the smell of burnt toast.
Putting Robin's wallet into his back pocket this morning I notice it is thinner and lighter than usual. Several of his bank cards are missing. He doesn't remember taking them out. Neither do I. I look in places they could be but no sign of them. I'm not even sure which ones he has.
As I have banking chores to do in town we go in together and cancel the cards and close one of the accounts. As he can't sign or use the cards in an ATM any more there doesn't seem much point in re-ordering them. One more loss.
To compensate we spend his birthday token from my big sister on treats in M&S and buy chocolate mousse and custard, fresh strawberries and meringue nests and a tub of humous and baby mozzarella balls. All soft and mash-able. His speech and language therapist would approve.
This afternoon while he is out in the care of two dear friends my lovely P A and I tackle the endless questions on the monstrous PIP forms. The answer to most of them is
NO, he can't prepare a simple meal.
NO he can't put on his shoes.
NO he can't wipe himself clean.
NO he can't read and understand a simple sentence.
NO he can't pay the bills.
But NO isn't enough. You have to go into great detail as to why and how and what happens if. Along with gathering medical reports and letters from anyone who knows him or can vouch for his incapacity. Both his incapacities.
Tonight I watch a programme about the secrets of growing old. Apparently our capacity to love increases and strengthens as we age. Much more important than trying to increase our muscle tone - although weight bearing exercise is one of the secrets....and also having someone or something to look after.... a husband, a chicken, a garden.
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