Jam and Tennis

27th June 2012 Wednesday

Today I didn’t leave the house. I got tired of the drama in my head.  I took deep breaths. I prayed. I cried. I made lots of phone calls to the CAB, to the secretary of our neurologist, to Age UK, to my sisters. I roasted beetroots and red onions for lunch.

Then I made jam. From last year’s fruit in the freezer. Six jars of strawberry and redcurrant -  dark ruby red. Ten jars of Victoria plum  - a strange murky brown - could be mistaken for chutney but sweetly fragrant -  catapulting me back to last summer -  the tree at the allotment its branches dripping with heavy rose blushed plums. 

Because I was stirring  jam I couldn’t watch the tennis. But I had the TV on in the sitting room so I could hear the cracking sound of balls on racquets and the crowds cheering.....taking me back and back to all those Wimbledons I’ve absorbed since I was twelve years old. 

A comforting summer ritual that never changes - when everything else is wobbly, shifting, uncertain...... 

Mopping up Tribunal Ink

26th June 2012 - Tuesday

The letter arrives with the date for my husband’s tribunal. Much sooner than I expected. Our appointement for advice from the specialist at the CAB will be too late. Specific and named fear seeps into my world like knocking a bottle of black ink across white blotting paper.

The table is covered with sheaves of papers going back to July 2010. My husband and I argue about what to do. We disagree about the advice we have already been given and what it means. I want to pull out of it. He wants to go ahead - asks me to get more ‘evidence’ from the GP and his neurologist. I know I’m sitting on a volcano of anger.

Neil Gaiman in his  commencement speech to graduates at the University of the Arts  in New York said when times are tough you should  ‘make good art’. In my world that translates as ‘make good food’. So this is tonight’s recipe to mop up ink and flying red sparks....

Chop broccoli, courgette, carrot, red onion, curly kale and mushroom.

Saute with fresh ginger and garlic and a handful of curry leaves in a dollop of coconut oil. 

Add a little vegetable bouillion dissolved in water.

When still bright and tender stir in soy sauce, a chunk of creamed coconut block, toasted sesame oil and a squeeze of lime juice.

Serve with garlicky tahini sauce and a thick sprinkle of pumpkin seeds or cashew nuts.

And a  deep side dish of forgiveness.

You can see Neil Gaiman’s inspirational speech at http://youtu.be/ikAb-NYkse

Fair Trade

25th June 2012 

I return a pair of lilac linen trousers to Laura Ashely. I’ve lost the receipt, they have gone down in price since last week so I lose £9 and can only have a credit for 28 days. I thought the trousers would be suitable for my nephew’s wedding in August but they aren’t. I start looking for something else in M & S. Nothing. So I buy a turquoise swimming costume instead to replace my old one which has gone all stiff in the straps and saggy at the waist. I hardly ever go swimming now so it’s just in case.....

I meet up with my lovely support woman from Devon Carers for a coffee. She gives me the name of a lawyer to talk to about my husband’s tribunal. She says it’s vital to get the appeal right. I feel panicky. I keep trying to forget about it but it’s hanging over me like a bad smell all the time. At least my fear that I’ve somehow done something wrong is what’s hanging over me....but that’s not new.

I notice I haven’t been practising my Mindfulness Meditation and decide it’s alright - judging myself is probably worse than not doing it.. Maybe I could take my fear and criticism back to the very expensive shop where I bought them and not bother with a refund..... trade them in for love and laughter instead.....

Small Flying Rocks

24th June 2012  Sunday

My husband says it’s not very hot for central summer - he means mid summer but I think that’s what we’ll call in now. He’s invented another word for semantic dementia which I ilke much better - Semantia. It sounds more like a country of high mountains and cold lakes rather than a disease.

This afternoon we walk along the far beach at Sidmouth with the tide washing in over my toes. The red ochre cliffs tower above us like cracked castle ramparts. I think they look precarious in parts with streams of water wearing away grooves in the rock face. Suddenly we hear a deep throated rumbling and watch as a hail of red stones and dust career down onto the sand from the very top of the cliffs in front of us. People start running but by pure chance there is no - one directly in the path of the bouncing rocks and in seconds it’s as if nothing happened at all.

Later we sit on the pebbles at the other end of the beach licking double scoop ice cream chocolate dippped waffle cones - blackcurrant and clotted cream for me and walnut fudge for him. The air smells of seaweed and fried fish and chips, the sun feels hot on the side of my face, seagulls swoop and shriek across the waves. 

I’m glad we missed the little land slip today. I realise a part of me is always on hold now, listening for the rumble, waiting for the avalanche to crush me - while I get used to the stings of small flying rocks.

Wooden Soul Spoon

22nd June 2012 Friday

The hob blows a fuse in the middle of my cooking demo. Luckily the cooker still works  so I bake the sweet potato bubble and squeak without the squeak, turn the sesame stir fry into a courgette salad with a very improvised ginger and coconut dressing and we can only look longingly into the pan of raw chopped up broccoli, curly kale and peas waiting for their fried garlic sauce which will never happen.....

My friends are wonderful  - they see the funny side and make helpful suggestions and even find me an electrician who comes and fixes the cooker. Which is fortunate because I find it almost impossible to imagine even a day without the comfort of a wooden spoon in my hand -  stirring a pan of something hot and savoury on top of the hob. Swirling my heart and soul together.....keeping trouble at bay.

My Solstice

21st June 2012 

Mid-summer Solstice......

Rained all day.....

Clean, fresh and tasty Gado Gado ( Indonesian salad with eggs and spicy peanut sauce) in fab Veggie restaurant in Illminster called F;East with two gorgeous women...

Cleaned out  all the crumbs at the bottom of the saucepan drawer......

Collected the pussy cat from the vet......bad news - more lymphomas - he’ll have to have intravenous chemo injections with possible side effects.....he’s  very quiet tonight.....

Feel flat and tired and disconnected in spite of lovely deeksha evening..... 

Just want to escape into my cookery books and drool over photos of  Hugh’s 'River Cottage Veg.'......

Haven’t really prepared my “Playing With Veg” cooking morning tomorrow with two dear friends......hoping the veggies will talk to me in the night....

Elderflower Nectar and Being on the Sofa

20th June 2012 Wednesday


There are two big bags of lacy pink elderflower heads in the fridge -picked at the allotment on Sunday - waiting for the citric acid so I can make cordial - rose pink nectar, perfume of the gods.

It used to be that clients came to the house to consult my husband on all things financial, green and ethical. He wore smart clothes, made them cups of tea and sat in the biggest chair in the sitting room while they sat on the sofa with all the papers on the table in front of them. He gave them advice and wrote the reports and received the money. And they loved him.

Today it was our turn. A lovely man came from the same company that my husband used to work for. He wore a brown suit, sat in the biggest chair and we sat on the sofa with cups of tea. And he talked to us about our financial situation and if we should start planning for long term care for my husband.....I only cried once and only a little bit. It’s such a relief to have someone else on our case -  mostly for my benefit as my husband understands it all anyway. He just can’t read the papers and the reports and isn’t sure what CGT is.  But he says it’ll all be alright whatever happens. 

After two and a half hours my head is thumping and we escape to Honiton for lunch at The Boston Tea Party. We sit in their sunny garden and dip fat sweet potato chips into a little cup of mayonnaise. Honiton is full of my father. We call in to visit two of his friends - take back some classical music CDs they lent him. They show us the long sloping path up to their front door with a hand rail fixed to the wall. My father was so grateful for the support he said them, “When I’m gone you can call it Merfyn’s Way.” Which they do - and so that’s how they remember him every day.

We drive back to Exeter to start the search for citric acid which has so far been futile. It seems everyone is worshipping at the altar of the elderflower gods this month.