Mud, mist and snowdrops

My best Christmas present starts on Friday. I asked my daughter to go to London with me for the weekend in January (as her present to me) and the thought of it has been keeping me going through these dark weeks since Christmas. Dark weeks of mist, rain, mud and disturbing geopolitics.

Last year she gave me the same present but in February, though when the weekend arrived I had the worst cold of my life (a box of Kleenex a day job) and it took the shine off everything. So since New Year I’ve been staying away from anyone with even a trace of a cold, even the captivating 3 year old MsX. 

Thank heavens for the internet. I saw MsX on Facetime on Sunday rather than in person, because she said 'I am not myself.' 

(she had a cough and a runny nose.)

And later that day I played Dress to Impress on Roblox with Cece in Colorado, and in one of the rounds I won! I came first! The theme was 'Gym,' and this is my character dressed in what I chose (hairstyle included.) I was so proud coming top against 8 teenyboppers.

Making the most of every single day is more important the older you get. I’ve been thinking a lot about this. I had this particular blog post all worked out in my head yesterday afternoon while I was cutting back the buddleia. Now it’s turned to mush. But that is part of what I was thinking about…that everything turns to mush. 

I mean…from your late seventies onwards, nothing is going to improve, is it? I’m on a downward slope. As my body wears out, my health will get worse, my short term memory will decline even more. I was talking to Isaac about this on Monday and in the middle of a sentence a new thought occurred to me and I mentally shelved it, thinking I’d mention it when we’d finished what we were talking about. And then when we’d finished, I couldn’t remember it. 

Yesterday I was filling in an online form which required my driving licence number, and I kept getting the message that what I had entered was not valid. I tried missing out the letters at the beginning, the letters at the end, but still it would not work. I checked it. It looked right but it was not accepted. I rang up the helpline and left a message as they were busy. Then I checked the number again and saw that I had missed out a number in the middle. Durrrh.

This is not a miserable post, not a complaining post. It’s just a post about coming to terms with reality. In the past I’ve always felt there was room for improvement, room to expand, to grow, to develop. I suppose my painting has improved since I started, in lockdown. On the other hand, three of my favourite paintings are from that time, so perhaps I haven’t.

This is my latest, of Dave:

When you're 12, you think - ooh, can't wait to be a teenager.  When you're a teenager you can't wait to leave home so you can do what you want and not what your parents tell you to do. When I was young, things felt as though they were on the up. Now I'm old, it's different. What's to be done? Vive Hodie. (Live today.) Carpe diem. (Seize the day.)

Dave's carvings 

I know full well it's not a new message.

Yesterday afternoon in the garden it felt like spring. And along the lane, the first snowdrops are out. 

I have to learn to enjoy every day, and not rely on beacons of interest and enjoyment scheduled on my future calendar. I am not very good at it.