White Haired Woman

If I manage to live around another 20 years, and I reach 100, what will life be like? My life will necessarily be even quieter and slower than it is now. Those around me will be gone or will definitely be 20 years older than they are now. Life for the rest of humanity will be different, too.

If Climate Change has cut Thanet off from the rest of the UK, I might still live here or I might have tried to move closer to Veronica – who will be almost 80 by then – or closer to Chloe who will be around 50. It would be nice if they lived near enough to visit me occasionally! Maybe I’ll have a jet propelled wheelchair that will take me where I want to go or, even better, maybe someone will have worked out the way to teleport (safely, of course!) As many people already know, I don’t like travel but I do like to go to other places.

You will have seen, I suppose, that this isn’t really a letter to myself at 100 – I will already know what has happened between now and then in my life, so this is a letter wondering if what I think might happen, has happened. This post is all getting very confusing, so I think I’ll stop and sign my letter!

Love, Me (at the age of almost 81) xxx

The title contains a group of words we tend to use when, for some reason, something happens in our life that is inexplicable.

I can think of several times things have happened in my life that might not have happened if……..

It was a Sunday before a May Bank Holiday in 2018. Julian and I had planned to go to the Dogs Trust in Chestfield. Our lovely Rosie had died over a year earlier and we thought it was about time to look for another. But, Julian was out somewhere and didn’t get home in time so we went the next day.

We walked into the centre, marvelling at how it had changed since 2005 when we had picked up our Rosie. The kennels had been outside then but now the dogs were visible from inside along the two side walls. We walked up one side and down the other but didn’t find what we were looking for, namely a smaller dog who would be easier to walk.

I had had to give up walking Rosie as she was hostile to other dogs and would try to attack them before they could attack her, (though, of course, most dogs wouldn’t have. She had had a difficult life, living on the streets of a city in northern England and had learned to fight first.). My days of walking Rosie ended the day she spotted a woman walking two dogs on the other side of the road before I did. One second I was walking Rosie, the next I was flat on my face on the pavement and Rosie was trying her best to scare away the two dogs. Luckily, the woman with the two dogs took control immediately, grabbing Rosie’s lead and separating them.

We had gone to training classes with Rosie, we had met with more than one dog psychologist but no one had been able to help us with her dislike of other dogs. So, Julian became the dog walker in our house from then on.

Back to the Bank Holiday Monday. Discouraged, Julian suggested we go home and come back in several weeks but I thought it would be worth sitting down and filling in the form about what we were looking for in a dog. As we sat there, talking about how to answer this or that question, Julian looked up and saw a man coming through the door with a little dog and said to me, “That dog has a really small head!”

I turned and looked at the little dog and agreed and went back to the paperwork. A while later I took the question sheet to the desk and a young woman said she would come and talk to us in a few moments.

Sure enough, she came and sat down at the table. We talked about why we wanted a smaller dog. Julian told her he wanted a Jack Russell because he knew a man with one and that he took his dog out painting with him and that the dog was very obedient while the man painted.

Just before we left, the young woman said, “ We do have a small dog here in the office. She was being picked up by a man who wanted her but he decided not to have her after all. She’ll be going back to her foster place later. Perhaps you’s like to see her?”

We both agreed that we would like to see her. Lo and behold, she was the dog with the little head. A week later, after theDogs Trust had made sure our garden and house were safe, we drove back to the Dogs Trust and collected our little Lola.

The reason I’m telling this story here is that if we had gone there as planned, on the Sunday, we wouldn’t have seen her – she’d be at the foster carer’s. If we had gone any other day that week, she’d also be at her foster carer’s. Was it Fate that the three of us were there at the right time? Who cares! She may be small but she’s a big part of our family – and I can walk her without falling on my face!

–

When I worked I was, at various times, a typist, a teacher and an antiques and collectibles dealer. The typing paid enough to feed us; the teaching paid much better and the holidays were great; the one I loved, though, was the antique dealer though all it seemed to buy was more antiques! This last was my favourite job.

(When I use the word ‘antiques’ I am referring to items dating from the 18th and 19th centuries and ‘collectibles’ are small items from the first half of the 20th century.)

A dealer in antiques and/or collectibles does a whole range of things in any one week. I think my favourite bit of my favourite job was going to auctions and finding something that I loved – buttons, linens, small boxes, old games and jigsaw puzzles of the late 19th and early 20th century.

When I first started, it was the linens, small sewing tools and buttons. I had a one room ‘shop’ in a craft centre where I displayed the wares that I had found, usually in auctions but sometimes privately. I had a little advert, which was a picture of a little girl sitting on a cushion doing embroidery and the name “In My Lady’s Chamber” which I put in local publications. I remember that my large mother of pearl buttons were very popular as well as the tablecloths with crocheted lace edges and pulled thread work. One time, at an auction, I bought a large quantity of lace edgings, many of which were hand-made. I sold almost every one of those wonderful pieces of art in the first few weeks!

Something else I bought (and wish I had never sold) was a ‘hussif’. Hussif is a form of the word ‘housewife’ and was a basic sewing kit and the one I’m remembering was so gorgeous! Sadly I don’t have a photo of it, having sold it the week after I bought it but I remember that it was about 30 cms across and maybe 60 cms long. When it was rolled up, it ended up being 30 cms long. It was a beautiful blue colour and had spaces for needles and scissors, ribbons and hooks. (If you read my past post about Aphantasia, you will see that I can’t ‘see’ pictures in my head so cannot describe things accurately if they’re not in front of me. But I can remember details like colour and, more importantly, how I felt about an item).

As time went by I discovered more and more items I wanted to buy and sell and Julian and I opened a shop where he worked at re upholstery and furniture restoration and sold chairs, chaise longues, cabinets, tables etc and I sold ‘smalls’ (antiques and collectibles that aren’t big pieces of furniture.)

We worked hard in that shop but after seven years we realised that people weren’t bothering about reupholstering a sad settee or fixing a damaged table; they were getting rid of their tired furniture and buying modern. The same thing was happening with smalls. Minimalism was the keyword. So we sold our shop, had a quick sale of anything we didn’t want and moved to the seaside – but not before I discovered old wooden jigsaw puzzles and Victorian wooden games and toys.

Without a shop, I couldn’t carry on buying without a way to sell. So, I opened my very own web shop and, for the next nine years I bought at auction (mostly via the internet) and sold games and old wooden jigsaws. You will find several old posts about the jigsaws with lots of photos; there are also a couple about buttons and other small items.

I think that one of the biggest reasons I loved my work was because I learned something new every day : how to tell a Mauchlineware box from a German box; how to do an old jigsaw whose edges aren’t straight or which don’t have ‘pegs’ and ‘slots’ or which are colour-cut which means that you won’t be able to find adjoining pieces because of colour; or the difference between ‘pottery’ and ‘porcelain’.

I suppose it all depends on the time of day, whether it’s first thing in the morning, a meal, or late at night and, of course where I am and what I’m doing.

Some years ago I had pneumonia. I didn’t know. It started off as a headache, much like a migraine, and what I usually did when I had a migraine was go to bed and try to sleep it off. That was on a Wednesday, about lunchtime. I was sick, intermittently, and, as was usual I had a big glass of water on my bedside table from which I took the occasional sip. I was in bed all day Thursday and until around 2 pm on Friday, when Julian came in and asked if he should make a doctor’s appointment. I guess I said yes because he came in around 4:30 and said I should get up and get dressed as we had to go to the doc’s. Eventually, I did force myself to get up but I found getting dressed a really difficult thing to do and had no idea what to do with my long, untidy hair (which I normally wore in some sort of ‘updo’.

In the car I found I couldn’t put a sentence together and started wondering if I’d had a stroke. We got to the doctors surgery with plenty of time to spare as we had the last slot of the day. After what seemed like ages, we went in to the doctor’s office. After much testing and listening and tapping, the doctor said she thought I had pneumonia and that we should go to A&E. So, off to the QEQM we went and spent several hours in a crowded waiting room, waiting to see someone. We arrived around 8pm and I think it was after midnight when I was, finally, officially diagnosed with pneumonia and dehydration. It was the latter that was causing my extreme brain fog. I was admitted to a four- bed ward, where I spent most of the night lying awake as I’d spent so much time asleep before. I had intravenous fluids to rehydrate me and antibiotics to combat the germs in my lungs. By Saturday noon I was feeling much better!

Back to my favourite drink – nowadays I tend to drink a lot of water. Luckily, I like the water that comes from the tap.

I also like instant coffee! Julian can’t understand why I prefer it when he has a swanky espresso machine that has to be carefully filled with just the right amount of ground coffee, which he grinds himself in his swanky grinder. Me, I put enough water in the kettle, switch it on, put a spoonful of my favourite brand of instant into a cup and Bob’s your uncle! (But it can’t be just any old instant!)

I like tea in the afternoon. I make it in a similar way to my morning coffee, but use a tea bag in my mug. When the kettle is boiling, I pour the water over the tea bag then, instead of letting it steep, I stir it at least 75 times which seems to equal the right amount of steeping for my taste. Then I add a smidgeon of milk and a little cold water. Recently, I’ve been enjoying a biscuit with my cup of tea which I have decided to call ‘cuppity’ (pronounced cup a tea). I call it this for Lola who then knows to sit next to my feet to ‘hoover’ up any crumbs from the biscuit.

But, of course, at dinner time, which is in the evening at any time from 7 to 8, I prefer a glass of very cold dry white wine. I don’t have expensive tastes – almost any old Pinot Grigio will do. On special occasions I might have a Gavi or a white cote de Rhone. Occasionally, but very rarely, I love a frozen limoncello after a meal. Weirdly, I don’t like champagne or Prosecco (but may drink a little sip of either if necessary when toasting someone’s special occasion.)

So, there’s no point in asking about my favourite drink! You just have to memorise the post above and you’ll be able to guess what I’ll have.

*A&E. Emergency room

QEQM Queen Elizabeth the Queen Mother Hospital (my local)

Tap. faucet

Biscuit. Cookie

Addendum:

Since I wrote this post I have discovered the delights of Amaretto! At one of our favourite restaurants I recently ordered an affogato for my dessert. Until that day I had thought it consisted of a couple of scoops of vanilla ice cream and a small double espresso which can be drunk or poured over the ice cream. I had always enjoyed trying out different percentages of coffee on ice cream but, this time it arrived with a liqueur glass of Amaretto. A little dubious, I tried it…….heaven! It was (and is) so good!

During this last summer I ordered an Amaretto on its own and was asked if I wanted it on ice. Another decision…..yes, I said. So glad I did! Doubly heavenly – ice cold amaretto!

On the other hand I still like all the other drinks I’ve mentioned above but for a special treat, AMARETTO, GRAZIE,

On the day I was five years old, my mother went into the hospital and produced my newest baby sister, Jennifer. My 3 and a half year old sister, upon hearing the news, said! “Her name is Jennifer and I don’t like her.” My reply was, “She’s the best birthday present I’ve ever had!”

On Hallowe’en night, 1963, I went into hospital and, the following morning gave birth to a daughter weighing 6 and a half pounds, my daughter, ‘Veronica’. She will always be my best present to myself.

On the afternoon of the 2nd of April, 1995, ‘Veronica’ went into hospital and gave birth to Chloë, my only grand daughter, who will always be another best present.

‘Things’ are great. Books and jewellery and clothes, music, theatre tickets, magazine subscriptions etc etc are great – at the time, but are read, worn, used, listened to, etc etc and eventually lost or thrown away or forgotten. But, siblings, children and, grandchildren are most loved and loving and will never be forgotten or tossed away!

These are my best presents.

(Veronica is a pseudonym – because she’s shy!)

When I was a child and lived in America, I was patriotic. I left America when I was fifteen and was still patriotic. America could do no wrong!

Sixty five years away from America and I can see her far more clearly. During the sixties and seventies, with assassinations and civil rights, flower power and Vietnam, I saw some wonderful things and some grotesque and horrific things. I guess I was still patriotic but I wasn’t sure, by any means, that American was always right.

Marriage and house buying, child rearing and job hunting during the eighties, I forgot all about patriotism. I might have sung the Star-Spangled Banner if I heard it but I would just as likely have sung God Save the Queen if I heard that.

In the nineties, Judy came home to die. The American medical system, which is great if you’re very wealthy, offered nothing to my poor sister, aside from a diagnosis of cancer and the certainty that she was going to die within months. And, too, the rise and rise of gun culture, and the unbelievable fact of homeless people living under by-passes made me start to realise that America and American ways did not have all the best answers. I think that was when I was certain that I would never again miss being in the US. The UK has never said it’s the best. It has its faults, its share of homelessness, its areas of poverty, its drug problems but mostly politicians don’t try to convince you that there’s nothing wrong.

When Obama became president I was very pleased. I thought he would be able to make the changes America needed. I didn’t take into account the ways that Congress and things like lobbyists could prevent a president carrying out his goals.

And now. Well, I had never heard of or seen Donald Trump, had no idea of his wealth or lack of, his background of somehow getting out of things that other people were made to do, but what I saw on tv and in the papers from my first glimpse made me fearful for a country who would even consider such a man to be president……and then they elected him!

Thankfully, enough Americans realised that Trump was as incapable of leading the most looked-up-to country in the world and, after four years, elected Joe Biden who is just a year older than I am. He has done some great things for the people of America as well as for the people of much of the world. He’s not perfect, he speaks rather slowly and occasionally forgets a word but he’s a million percent better than the person he ran against. At eighty I forget words but I was doing that at fifty!

When Trump lost, I thought that he would just disappear but January 6, 2021 made me realise that this person would not let go – and he hasn’t. For some reason, some perfectly decent people believe in him. And, of course, some perfectly horrible people, too. Trump is a great liar and does what all bullies do. He contradicts, he shouts, he name-calls, he blames anyone and everyone for his own failings.

I can no longer be patriotic. To me patriotism seems to infer that one’s country can do no harm. Watching the Republicans in the House of Representatives spend all their time looking for ‘high crimes and misdemeanours’ and no time doing the work they were elected to do, must make the most patriotic of Americans feel that somehow, something is wrong.

I love living in England. I have spent 65 years here and, no matter how many or how few years I have left, I will spend the rest here in a place that doesn’t pretend to be the best but is where all the people I love, live.

One pleasant summer’s evening Julian and I decided to go out to eat. We got in the car and drove to a pub a few miles away which was well-known for its food. We walked in, sat at a table, ordered and ate. When we had finished, we got up , left the pub and drove home. It was only when we had gone inside the house that we realised that we hadn’t paid!

Thankfully, the phone number was in the phone book and we rang and apologised profusely, promising to return the following day to pay – which we did.

Far more interesting were the few times we (my sisters, mother and I) broke the law on the cross-channel ferry. We used to visit our au pair’s family in Le Touquet and my mother was always keen to take them a bottle of spirits. Patty (mother) would worry that she would have to pay duty on the spirit so she had the bright idea of slitting open Jennie’s teddy bear and inserting the bottle inside it. As Jennie was small for her age (she was 11 or 12) she could get away with carrying a teddy. The trouble was, the teddy made a gurgling sound when it was moved around or a clunk sound when put on a wooden bench which was where one sat on those ferries. Luckily, anyone who heard these suspicious noises didn’t go and report us so M. and Mme. _______ were always able to enjoy a whiskey or gin before dinner when we visited.

This blog was started as an autobiography for my family. At 80, I have lived more years than I have left and those who come after me want the stories I have told and those I haven’t yet told so that I can be remembered.

My own mother died 12 or so years ago and there are things she told us as children that have been all but forgotten – about how she and her friend sneaked around looking into peoples’ cellars during prohibition in the hopes of finding people making their own alcohol. But, what happened? What else did they do? What kind of child was she at school? What is the true story of the time when she first saw my father? Did they really honeymoon in New York and ride in a horse=drawn carriage? These are things that have been passed along but have they been remembered correctly?

And, I’d really love to read about my father’s youth. There is a book which tells a little of his childhood when his parents took him and his twin brother to Ireland for a few months but, aside from that, I know almost nothing.

So, you out there, reading this – this is part of my autobiography and I’d like to thank you for reading it!