Simple Pleasures

How nice it is to please myself what I do and when I do it. Retirement is wonderful, apart from the lack of freedom we’ve had due to Covid restrictions. To be fair, I don’t feel like I’ve missed out on much. I’m not one for much socialising, but when someone says I can’t, suddenly it’s the very thing I want to do. Revelations about social occasions the government got up to against their own rules make my blood boil. There’s enough being documented without me moaning. Give enough rope, etc. I’ll wait.

My family has been my ‘bubble’ since the end of the first lockdown relaxed movement enough for us to be together.  Sundays used to be family day. We would have all four grandchildren for lunch and tea, fun and games, cousins together, usually with one or more of their parents. Sometimes we need the help and we’d always end up shattered, even if we’d been doing quiet stuff like colouring or Play-Doh. Nowadays, with two of them being at school and two at nursery, we’ve changed to Mondays to make it a bit easier on ourselves – us getting older. We have two after school and enjoy their company for a while before the younger ones arrive a little later after nursery. It’s the lovely, simple pleasures that family time brings that gives me so much joy, even when there are tantrums and moody moments. My treasures, each one.

 When we were allowed, my husband and I travelled to Scotland on a couple of socially distanced breaks. We stay in a self-catering lodge and observe whatever restrictions are in place when we are out and about. Things are constantly changing but what we noticed each visit was that rules were strictly adhered to. We felt safe and looked after. Again, it’s the simple pleasures that matter for us; watching red kites, or the birds outside the lodge that I fill the feeders for twice a day, relaxing with a book, doing a bit of knitting or pottering about outside. It was great to be back after so long.

At home I like to keep in contact with my friends. One, like me, has kept very much to her immediate family throughout Covid, but we chat regularly on the phone or text each other, often after a Blackpool F.C. match. I’ve probably been at the ground, she’s been watching or listening at home. That’s another of my simple pleasures, going to the match, face mask on, being part of it regardless of the outcome and hopefully, walking home singing.

Music, as mentioned in my last blog is a necessary part of my day, lots of radio, but I’ve just taken delivery of John Lodge’s new album on CD and I’m happily giving it a hammering. I sometimes do the Sudoku in the paper, alternating between that and the word-wheel that drives me crazy. I’m mad, sad, simple or crazy, and I don’t care. I’m glad to be retired and pleasing myself.

My poem,

A welcome mug of Nescafe Gold Blend,

Enjoying a phone chat with a close friend.

“How’s it going? Are you coping okay?

I managed to get out for lunch today.

Doing the driving to help the guys plans,

A treat of salad and steak in St Anne’s.

Face mask and hand gel, all safety measures

Necessary for such simple pleasures.

Sunday was quiet, we just played Scrabble.

Monday was hectic with all our rabble.

At last, M’s wobbly tooth has come out,

The litt’luns were squabbling and falling out,

Just usual stuff, you know what they’re like,

They both want the pedal car, not the bike.

L loves to read, my darling treasure."

Fam’ly Mondays make a simple pleasure.

 

PMW 2022

Thanks for reading, Pam x

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Growing Pains - Back to School

Fear gripped me. Mid-dream and half asleep, I slipped out of bed in response to the screaming child in the next room. I tried to hurry, but my heart was pounding out of my chest, I could hardly catch my breath and my legs wouldn’t move properly.

He sat upright, wide eyes staring straight ahead at something scary, mouth open, continuous screaming. He was otherwise quite still.  I wrapped my arms around him, stroked his silky hair, made soothing noises and rocked him gently.  Night terrors, bless him, my little son. They continued for a while and terrified me more than him. I never got used to it happening and never found a proper reason.  He wouldn’t know anything about it, but my night was disturbed and my head filled with indescribable horrors that prevented me getting back to sleep long after he was settled.  He was about three years old, maybe only two and a half.  Perhaps his brain was working overtime, the events of his busy day filling his head with all sorts. Maybe it was a form of growing pains. He soon grew out of it. Later this week he will be thirty.  I am proud of him, and myself for getting something right along the way.

My daughter’s growing pains were physical and very real. Again, it was a night time thing, but she was older and could yell out that her legs were hurting. Double Calpol and lots of rubbing did the trick. She could settle back to sleep. I would be wide awake. I thought ‘growing pains’ was something made up, but our doctor was certain that was her ailment and she would grow out of it. She has.

At last, children have been able to return to school. It’s been too long a break, six months for most infants. I’m confident that schools are as safe as they can possibly be and I’m delighted to see my eldest grandson happy in his reception class where he is in the process of moving to Year 1. He loves school so much, it was awful to have it taken away from him. He understood about the ‘germs’ and needing to protect each other, but he missed everything. I enjoyed playing games, reading to him and doing little lessons to keep him on track with what he had learned so far, but as time went on, he needed the dynamics of his teacher, the surroundings of his inspirational classroom and to socialise with his friends.  He proudly tells me he is in the Giraffe ‘bubble’ and they do everything together. He’s happy. I hope all the children are, especially anyone who has been feeling unhappy in these difficult times.  Lockdown has brought plenty of invisible growing pains.

One of my favourite wordsmiths and fellow Mancunian, Mike Garry,

Signify

I called her Mam once

Sat on the carpet

With arms folded and legs crossed

Fingers on my lips

In that special place

She would eclipse

Where she'd read me poems

Tell me tales

Sing me songs

And like a fish to it's source

I'd be drawn in

I loved the way she'd hold the book

So that I could see the pictures

And the way she'd slowly move it from side to side

So that the naughty kids at the back could see

She told us we were allowed to dream

She got us to act out plays

I remember doing Finnegan's Wake

Told us about Shaw, Shakespeare and Joyce and Yeats

I was eight

But in that classroom her voice was sweet music

Echoing prayer and hymn

Story and songs

She was a living angel

But you'd know if you'd done wrong

She took us on school trips

To castles with moats across oceans with boats

And we would float

Without ever leaving the room

Loved the way she made the simple act of reading of the class register

Sound like the most beautiful song tune

Simply by the way she'd validate childrens names by saying

Katherine

Theresa

Patricia and James

Sometimes she'd get me to close my eyes

Imagine worlds beyond the sky

She told me one

"Michael, It's alright to cry"

And her eyes were seaside blue sunshine

But in that rainy, 1970's black and white Moss Side

Where my messed up life would disappear

The very second she walked into the room

She made my insignificant life

Signify

And she taught me that the more I read the more I see

The more I see the more I know

The more I know that more I grow

The more I grow the more I am

And I would give the world and all its riches

To simply hold that woman's hand one more time

And say thanks

"Thanks"

Mike Garry

Thank for reading, Pam x

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