Always look on the bright side

I’m sitting up in bed, listening both to the rain and the birds singing in the gum tree and acacias outside our house. The magpies visit daily, singing and chattering to us, the cat chatters back. (I put the link in for the UK / USA peeps as the birds are called the same, but are so different. The warble is lovely, and our pair come when they’re called to hang out).

I’m making a concerted effort to sit upright as much as I can today. I’m also revving up for a long hot shower, but I’m waiting till the boys get back from hockey before I have it. I’m not as unsteady on my feet as I was, but I’m still a bit worried I’ll fall over.

I’m trying to find the positives in this.

I spend my life propping others up, checking in, cheering on. I’m not and don’t think I am all ‘woe is me’ – I’m just trying to show what’s going on in my life. The only way we are going to get through life is to walk beside each other. If you feel I overshare, or whinge or complain. That’s fine, tell me.

We’re all adults FFS, we’re not in the school yard anymore.

Hubs has asked I don’t share as much on Facebook. I told him, ok, but I’m not going to dial back on the mental health stuff though. That shit is important.

So I’ve “gone fishing”. I’ll push photos through to FB from Instagram. I’ve also ticked a box that means you can’t see when I’m online, so I can wander around in my groups and reply to messages on my time.

I’ve also had a big cull and blocked others, because I am done.

I wear my heart on my sleeve; always have, always will. If you don’t like it, that’s fine; I don’t have to like the stuff you do either. That’s the joy of being an adult.

But like I said, I’m looking out for the positives. I’ve only had the flu, imagine if it was anything serious? Broken hearts take a long time to heal, but you come out stronger.

what a week

Valerian, the herb, not the movie

Last night it took me ages to get to sleep again. Then I woke up. Fretted. Got cross with myself. Fretted some more. Got back to sleep. I had bad dreams last night too, images I can’t shake even now. I staggered out of bed at 6:20am; bleary eyed, unbearably sad and with less than an hour to have a shower, finish lunches, get Hubs to the station, Archie to school and me on the road.

Things didn’t get done over the weekend, like Archie’s reading diary. We read every day with him, but have to justify it to his teacher by completing it. I sent him to school with three blank spaces in it, so can look forward to ‘????’ in there tonight when we get home.

I got in the car ready to whizz the wee man to school and got an alert on the dash ‘Key mechanism not working’ I only needed to get the battery changed, but it freaked me out somewhat as I’m transferring the car to my new job.

I’m tired, cranky and honestly, shell-shocked. I am not fully in my body. I have to start taking better care of myself, otherwise I’m going to fall over. I need to do some exercise to help tire me out and get me to sleep, but tonight I just need an early night. I’ve also brought some Valerian for good measure. I am making myself eat, as I have no appetite and when I do eat, I feel sick. To top it all off, my stomach is churning. Looking everything up online, so far so normal. I know it is a process I’ve got to navigate, my compass is a bit faulty.

I am so glad that I’ve got people on the end of the phone for me. I’m also grateful that Ian and I are messaging each other. Cat photos, nonsense, updates on our days and laundry. Anything and nothing. He told me off for drinking, having seen me obliterate feelings and pain before, he knows the depths I can sink to. I’ve reset my sober date to today (24 June).

At lunch time, I went to Box Hill Central – that has changed a huge amount since I last was there. I was only just pregnant with Archie, so over eight years ago. I dropped the dry cleaning in, found a pharmacy for the aforementioned herb extract. Walking round to find somewhere to get the battery changed, I got completely lost; asked for help, got misdirected out of one building and into another. Then giving up altogether, as I was heading out (in a huff) to get back to work, I walked right into the stand and got the battery replaced.

Then … I got lost coming out the car park, had to do a U-Turn on Elgar Road.

I should be able to book my flights tomorrow, Ian is off to the funeral director now. That might help, as I feel a bit lost and in limbo still.

I don’t know what to say

This is the bit I hate. When people do the head tilt and say ‘I’m sorry.’ Both of us feeling inadequate because we have no language for grief any more.

In a way, I’m glad I’ve changed jobs. I now sit in an office with ten people, instead of over a hundred. I don’t think I could cope with lots of people coming up and doing the head tilt at me.

I’ve been in constant contact with Ian, messaging each other about shit. Inanities, funeral plans, what, where, when, cats. I said to him today I was worried about upsetting him, he told me off – “Not going to happen” as he reminded me, “We lived under the same roof for goodness knows how long and never had a cross word.”

We had a giggle last night about the amount of selfies Erika took. Literally every where she went, she took a selfie. No shame, no fuss, no bother. “This is me in outer Mongolia. This is me with an ice cream. This is me with everyone. This is me!” We laughed at the montage of photos that could scroll through for hours without repeating itself.

I’ve got her last selfie saved in my phone, she knew she was heading into hospital so got all her hair cut off. She looks calm, adorable with a pixie crop, stoic almost.

I miss her giggle.

BossLady was very sweet last night and said, ‘Don’t rush in tomorrow’. So when L messaged me and said ‘Want to meet up?’ I jumped at the chance to say ‘Yes, let’s have a coffee’. Best laid plans were foiled when we found the coffee machine had gone phut, but we coped and went to the other cafe.

I am so blessed, I had so many hugs from friends this morning. Our house, Archie’s school and where I used to work are within 50m of each other, meeting L and A for coffee meant a steady stream of colleagues coming for their morning cup of Joe fix; and a steady stream of hugs for me. I didn’t put my make-up on, there was no point, I knew I’d cry.

After a good natter with my girls, I drove to work listening to Tim Ferriss talk to Amanda Palmer. I listened to his interview with Neil Gaiman yesterday. Amanda and Neil are two of my favourite humans, they are so of themselves, by which I mean – they are Amanda Fucking Palmer and Neil Gaiman. Amanda talked about how Patreon (of which I am one) gives her the freedom to do WTF she wants to do with her art; including making the most intimate, hair-raisingly good album I’ve heard in, well, ever There Will Be No Intermission. I can’t tell you how good it is, you just need to listen and wallow in it. She is talking with Tim Ferriss and telling him how much of a relief it is to be able to do this album, and not have to go to Steve and say “I’ve made an album, it’s got songs on it about miscarriage, abortion and death. By the way, the first track is 11 minutes long” (I’m paraphrasing), but with this funding model, she can do what she wants knowing that thousands of people around the world can support her. Each month, we contribute money to enable AFP (and others on the same platform) to create their art, whatever which way, knowing that we won’t always like it, understand it, but that we want to hear what she says. And, (Brucie Bonus) as we’re cheering her on through our monthly funding, if you can’t afford to pay $$ for her album, on BandCamp, she can release the album for $1. Because the Patreon community have already paid for the recording studio, mixing etc. It’s a safety net that gives artists flexibility and autonomy like never before. Which is why the record companies are getting worried…

I digress, have you watched Good Omens yet? have you seen that a fundamentalist Christian group have petitioned Netflix to not make any more? Never mind that Amazon made it? If you’ve not watched it, please do. Apart from anything else, it looks amazing, the colour scheme of the characters, the texture of their clothes – sublime. It also has a fabulous combination of the original BBC radio adaptation actors with a stellar cast, as in Josie Lawrence and Jon Hamm, Nick Offerman, Derek Jacobi – the list is endless. Michael Sheen as Azriaphale might be my latest crush. Might be. He’s totally adorable as the old fuss-bucket. David Tennant as Crowley camping it up is delicious.

It’s faithful to the book, raw, and as Neil was show runner, that it’s not been tweaked to ramp up the suspense to eleventy-stupid is great. I don’t know about you, I do like a bit of tension, but stringing it out over episodes while you finish off other storylines – yawn. I loved it. I love that the book is also galloping up the charts again too.

Picture Credit

I ate lunch today

Which is an odd thing to be proud of, but I do have a tendency to not eat when I get very anxious or stressed. My throat closes up and I have to force food down me. Last night I had some soup, a real tangy miso and mushroom (new flavour from La Zuppa that I’m loving). I managed a mandarin for breakfast, have eaten my smaller than normal lunch and just had a cup of tea with a chocolate protein bar. We’ll think about dinner when we get to it tonight.

After three days at home blowing my nose like a trumpet and with aches and pains all over, I went back to work today. HR were very sweet, “Are you sure you want to be here?” ‘Yes please. I need something else to think about’. BossLady and I have already had a conversation about my going back to the UK for Erika’s funeral; the lady who was covering my role immediately before I arrived will back-fill, so I also don’t need to worry about it all falling into chaos while I’m out.

I know I’m going to feel sad, lost, angry and so on. Grief will do that to you. But s0dding hell, last night was hell. I went to the spare room in the end. If it wasn’t my legs twitching, which wakes me up, I’d be dreaming so vividly I’d wake up. Maddening.

I’ve got Jasper stuffed in my bra today. Erika gave it to me when I left the UK, ready for my long journey. It’s a thumb stone, polished so you can put your thumb in a smooth groove and fidget with it. Jasper also came into theatre with me when I had my C-Section. I don’t particularly do crystals per se, I like them as aesthetic objects, but it was one of the things I thought of would be easily portable, a comfort and reminder whenever I felt it. Normally I’d put it in a pocket, but I’m in a skirt. Yes, I have several of them.

I’ve caught up with my emails; as in, they’re sorted, categorised and I’m working through them. BossLady’s inbox is going to take more work, she’s practically full so I need to do a major archive operation and plough through them.

I’d love to go to the gym, or for a run, but swimming with Archie last night before his lesson, (read splashing about and playing) was hard work. I’m as weak as a kitten :/ I’ll start again from the weekend. I can’t do everything.

One day at a time.

Be like Christine

Yesterday, the world lost a kind, gentle soul who spent her whole life looking after others. Chris held her family together with love, and then shared her love with countless others through a lifetime of teaching, before it reached our little family to boot. Hanno’s mum was my heroine, for so many reasons, but mostly for the love she sprinkled through the world so freely.

We’d meet at Hanno’s house for races, or his plays, in between swapping texts and the odd game of Words With Friends, (that she wiped the floor with me in). Occasionally we’d call, but mostly to organise food; nevertheless, when we were together, we picked up where we left off. Fitting into the banter and laughter of familial insults of longstanding relationships. Archie has grown up with her in his life as someone who talked with him, not to him.

From the devilled egg standoffs with her daughter in law, to the roast dinners; from the chicken salads, to the breakfast rolls; from coffees to copious amounts of wine, our relationship revolved around food. Us ‘ladies what lunch’ drove to Rutherglen for some downtime away from the boys and endless football codes. We sampled wines, had lunch, went to the chocolatier, Rosie (my cousin) and I chatting in the front seat on the way home, Chris snoozing in the back.

We sat in a Laundromat drying bedding and towels in companionable silence, getting coffees on a cold, wet day, again getting out the house from the football! Walked round Farmer’s markets and brought fresh veggies, cooing over the soil still damp on the carrots, exclaiming at the crispness of the greens. I loved cooking for her, because it meant she sat down and didn’t do anything. From when she woke up to when she went to bed, unless she was sitting down to have a cuppa; she was on the go. Looking after Keith, cleaning the kitchen worktops, sorting laundry, if it needed doing and you didn’t stop her, Chris did it.

We cheered Hanno on from the back of the hall at his first play, slowly being allowed closer to the front of the hall through the years as his confidence grew. Archie telling me loudly to ‘Be quiet Mama!’ when I got the giggles.

The time we spent with Chris and Keith was filled with laughter, food, joy, food, love and more food. From my first trip over in 2007 where Chris had changed the bed in the spare room for Hubs and I, smoothing the sheets over with love. Folding the towels like a hotel, she made sure we were welcome. Never knowingly under-catered, we always had more food than we knew what to do with, Hanno’s house had elastic sides with people crashing on couches, in beds and cousins joining for breakfast after sleeping in a caravan on site just down the road.

Archie and I visited a few weeks ago, taking some flowers he had chosen for her. We only stayed long enough for Archie to eat his lunch, and a quick catch-up and a hug. He’s missing her already, trying to explain it all to an almost seven year old is hard work. While Archie knows that she’s gone, Chris will never be forgotten. Forty years of teaching, almost fifty years of marriage, two proud sons, four indomitable grandchildren, family, friends. All of us who knew Chris are better people because of her.

Be like Christine, pay your love forward. Greet the world with open arms and an open heart.

 

 

The Air That I Breathe

(Don’t worry, there aren’t that many songs with breathing associations left!)

Today I took myself back to the hospital, again on the train, again brought a coffee and a book and settled in for a long wait. Longer than it should have been as I misread the letter, and arrived for a 10am appointment that was actually booked in for 11am. Never mind, I nearly finished Cloud Atlas; as an aside, I’d like to get hold of the film to see how they managed to film it.

I spent over an hour with the consultant, she was amazing. Another incredible lady like the cardiologist, she knew her stuff. Short answer, we still don’t know what’s going on. I maybe on the cusp of something, which as it (whatever it is) is early, doesn’t show on tests yet. Or it may still be pulmonary hypertension, high blood pressure inside my heart, but only triggered on exertion. Or it may be an auto-immune issue. Lupus has been mentioned a few times too.

I had more blood tests done, I’m booked back in for an exercise test and a repeat of some of the respiratory tests to see if there is any change. And I may have to have another visit to theatre to get my heart looked at again, as although I told her I’d had a right heart check, there are no notes on it in the system. Whoops.

But, some of my symptoms are easing. I can now walk a bit quicker, than I have been. Walking and talking don’t get me so out of puff too. I also did the vacuuming yesterday and I wasn’t blowing out my arse (technical term) at the end of it. However the fatigue is not letting up. I’m constantly tired, constantly pushing through just to get to the end of the day. If I sit down and I’m not doing something, I will nod off. I’m also cold, yes it is winter, and hoofing it down with rain as I type (I realised the cat was still outside. Whizzed down to let him in – to say he was not amused would be an understatement!), but I go to bed with PJs, socks, under a duvet and a blanket and most nights with a hot water bottle. But I also sweat a lot too, at the slightest exertion, e.g. cleaning my teeth, getting dressed, I have to sit down between tasks in the morning otherwise I’m trying to put make-up on ‘glowing’ skin.

Hubs said that I need to appear on House, then we’d get it figured out in an hour.

I’ve also been given the all-clear to exercise, to do what I can. Not sure what that’ll be, but I’ll head out for a walk tomorrow lunchtime. It’s a start.

 

 

Every Breath You Take

Today I parked at my local station, hopped on the train with my book (Cloud Atlas) and went back to outpatients at our local hospital. Eventually, as I had to ask for directions. I had to go up to level 3, walk along the connecting corridor between two buildings, then head down to level 1. Eventually ending up below daylight, to get to the “nuclear testing” area.

Sounds more scary than it was, I promise. I was called in early, the benefits of allowing enough time to get lost, just as well too! I was talked through what would happen, confirmed I was who I said I was then had a cannula put in.

The machine today wasn’t an x-ray machine, nor a CT machine, but a mix of the two. Very technical here, sorry. I lay down was given a gas to breathe in, two and a half breaths worth, the machine then rotated round me as I lay there to take images of my lungs. After twenty minutes, I was then injected with another reagent, these images were quicker, only 8 minutes long.

I lay on my back with my arms above my head each time, trying to concentrate on my breath, the irony was not lost on me. I thought I could get at least a meditation session in while I was there.

Guess what? I’m normal. Well, my lungs are. Yay, no blood clots. Boo, no idea WTF is going on.

I headed to the café to get some lunch and bumped into the girl who was in the room next to me on the spinal ward. She recognised me, asked how I was going and we had a good chat. She looked really well, she’s trying out a new chair at the moment, so busy working on her core muscles as she has to sit more upright in it. But she said she’s also getting much better with a brace they’ve set up to help her control the chair.

Then heading back to the lifts to head home, I bumped into a girlfriend selling her handmade clothes. I’d been hanging out to see her, this was officially a great day! We had lunch, a coffee and a chat. I read some more of my book on my way home, headed into the office and got heaps of work done this afternoon.

Finally, one last piece of good news – the insurance claim has been processed too. Huzzah!

 

 

Take my breath away

Sorry, not sorry, for the ear-worm.

Two weeks ago, I walked into the local emergency department short of breath, the subsequent tests they ran on me were done as an In Patient. [Insert hospital food joke here]. However, I’m returning to Out Patients tomorrow after a few weeks off medical testing for good behaviour. I’m going to play with nuclear medicine this time, but I’ll tell you about that tomorrow when it’s done.

During my two day stay at one of Melbourne’s finest hospitals I had: two ECGs, a CT scan, four lots of blood tests (that’s nearly an armful), an ultrasound on my heart (ouch for boobies), two walking tests (walk as quick as you can before falling over, hint – wasn’t very far), four different respiratory function tests, an angioplasty and a right heart check (this does the blood pressure inside the heart).

The last two are done in theatre; you’ve probably seen them on TV, they insert a probe into an artery and a vein in your groin and run it up into your chest, inject dye and take lots of pictures.

I was going to be sent home after a few hours in A&E as the doctor there said ‘You look too well to be in here!’ Also, none of my markers indicated there was anything badly wrong, but then cardiology got wind of a 41 year old lady (ha!) who was struggling to breathe and came down to investigate. First test he did was the ultrasound; I got puffed getting undressed, it was then and there he decided to admit me. I was then moved round to the serious side of A&E, where I got trotted round the department at high speed until I nearly collapsed, from there I was moved up to the cardiology ward where I got told to rest up.

I do not recommend ‘resting’ in a cardiology ward. Particularly when your bed is right by the nurses station. In the morning, I was given breakfast and had my obs done early as we knew I was getting the angioplasty done at some point during the day. I also got visited first thing by the consultant; just after I’d dozed back off again, who stood at the end of my bed with her arms folding saying ‘I like a challenge!’

I was walked again briskly down to the end of the ward and back, the consultant chatting to me to gauge my breathlessness all the way. I then got popped back into bed, and read / dozed for most of the morning. We got a fifteen minute call to get me to theatre, my position on the ward was also being changed as I wasn’t being monitored, so I went from bed 15, to theatre, to bed 32.

I was given a mixture of tranquiliser and narcotic. I was so nervous I was chattering away as I lay on the bed; the surgeon peered round the screen at me and said ‘She needs some more’ I was given more of the G&T mix, of which I can highly recommend, and wafted quite happily after that. My heart looked great, no signs of thickening anywhere, heart disease or anything, which for someone in their 40s is unusual. I was taken round to recovery, everything was pulled out my groin (not a euphemism) and then I was lent on to stop the bleeding. For ten, long, solid minutes at a pressure that was so uncomfortable I could not talk. Didn’t stop her from opening the conversation with ‘So, what brings you here?’ I may have given a Paddington Bear stare. May. Two weeks later, I’m still bruised and swollen in my groin, when I bump into anything at that level (sink, worktop, small child) it hurts. Lots.

I went back to bed 32, I had a window view that I wasted as I was asleep for most of the afternoon, yay for drugs. Later in the evening, I was moved downstairs to the Spinal Ward. I was no longer classified as a cardiology patient, they’d had an emergency come in to the hospital and were playing musical beds to fit everyone in.

In the spinal ward, I had my own room. I’d had a shower before I came downstairs (more in a minute), so was able to get my obs done and head back off to sleep. I was woken at 2am for more obs, and panadol as I had a sore throat, more sleeping, then breakfast was delivered. I was allowed out of bed to get a coffee (frabjous joy) so I pottered downstairs, came back up and had another shower.

The showers at the hospital have to be used to be believed. They’re so powerful, the pressure is so great you can’t stand underneath them as they sting your skin. But the shower heads are not industrial enough to cope with this, so they’ve cracked and swing around in the holder thingy on the wall. After I’d finished my first shower and looked round the bathroom, the entire room was wet. The two other showers I had there, I was now aware of what was likely to happen, but despite my best efforts, both bathrooms again got wet.

Three showers, three bathrooms, three towels each time to mop up the water. Which as I was supposed to be on bed rest I got told off for doing. Friday morning I had to introduce myself to my next door neighbour after I’d showered, we shared a bathroom and I’d soaked his washing stuff on the hand basin. I said, ‘Try not to electrocute yourself when you shave,’ his razor was only wiped off, as I didn’t want to touch his stuff too much.  He laughed and said don’t worry.

Back to Friday morning on the spinal ward. For the rest of my life I will wish I had this on camera, but it’s firmly imprinted in my brain, so that will have to do. I’m standing by my bed towelling my hair with towel number four as I’d used the two I’d been given to mop up the bathroom, got back into my PJs, (damp), and grabbed another two towels to dry me off with. Two junior doctors on their rounds walk past the door, see me standing up and do a perfect, classic double-take. It was glorious.

I get dressed, get put into a wheelchair and am taken to the nurses station to get my notes, ready to head downstairs for some respiratory tests. Opposite the nurses station is a man, on a ventilator, visibly poorly, I’m doing my thing looking round and chatting to everyone, so I raise my hand in greeting and wave at him too. He nods at me. The nurse beside me behind the desk whispered ‘Thank you, so many people just stare at him’.

Would you look at that?

Firstly, apologies for not blogging properly for a while.

I went to my GP two weeks ago who listened to my symptoms, he asked me what was going on and after ruling out asthma worsening (amongst other things) put me on fluid retention tablets. My ankles were puffing up, at 10am. I was really out of breath doing the most basic of things, like walking into the office and to my desk. And you know women are supposed to ‘glow’; after a walk at lunchtime three weeks ago, I looked such a state and took so long to get my breath back, one Manager thought they’d need the crash trolley. Not reassuring.

R (GP) is great, he ordered blood tests (still sporting  bruise), an ECG (totally normal) and prescribed these tablets. I have to take one in the morning, as basically it forces my kidneys to work a bit harder (she said diplomatically). R said if I got light-headed, as they can affect your blood pressure, to let him know, they didn’t but did affect my digestive system (she said even more diplomatically). I felt awful the first day of taking them; so bad I had to go back to bed. The second day I wasn’t great, but pushed on through, getting better as the day wore on. By midday on the third day, Wednesday, I felt back to normal.

By the first weekend: I was sleeping through the night; I had more energy; I wasn’t a puddle when I exercised; my mind was clearer; my ankles weren’t swelling up and now two full weeks in, I feel literally like a new person.

Bolte

This was me yesterday, in the middle of a 16km run. I’m on top of the Bolte Bridge in Melbourne. Three weeks ago, I wouldn’t have had the energy to complete the run. I don’t care that it took me 2hours, 24minutes to get round. I don’t care that I walked most of the last 10km, as I know K and I ran probably 8km in total. I started off and ran over 2km without having to stop, normally I’m blowing out my butt (technical term) by 1km and have to stop to catch my breath. The only reason I had to slow down yesterday was because we were running in the Domain Tunnel, I was dressed as Wonder Woman and the cape was so hot over my shoulders – I was melting. Once repined around my waist, off we trotted again.

Inside the tunnel, the single best thing happened on the run, even better than me completing the run if I’m honest as it gave me goose bumps. Somebody shouted ‘Aussie! Aussie! Aussie!’ the whole tunnel shouted back ‘Oi! Oi! Oi’ – it was magical. Continue reading “Would you look at that?”

Monday reflections

Monday’s start nicely, I’ve usually got a weekend podcast to ease me into the day as I potter about the house getting ready and having breakfast. Then frabjous joy, brainpickings is waiting for me in my inbox. Every week there is an article that rings true, usually increases my book wish list and illuminates and informs me. I wanted to see Maria Popova as part of the Melbourne Literary festival, but I wasn’t well, so I missed her, dagnammit.

sit by a stream and listenThis beautiful image, drawn by Maurice Sendack, is a great reminder to take some time out and just be, (also found through brainpickings).

As Peanut and I walked around Healesville Sanctuary a couple of weekends ago, we crossed one of the streams, the water was bubbling away merrily due to the recent wet weather. We did stop, listened and watched the water jumping over the stones. We stopped for so long, people thought we were looking at something in the river and joined us, even though we weren’t looking at anything in particular. Peanut for all his being born in the age of gadgets, is quite happy to lie on his back and watch clouds; will sit quietly in the Platypus exhibitions at both the sanctuary and the zoo for ages watching them swim around and when he’s had enough play will take himself off to the book corner at nursery or at home and read quietly to restore his equilibrium.

This week, Alan Watts the philosopher was one of the featured articles, highlighting a book from 1970, Does It Matter, Essays on Man’s Relation to Materiality. This quote floored me today:

Clock time is merely a method of measurement held in common by all civilized societies, and has the same kind of reality (or unreality) as the imaginary lines of latitude and longitude. The equator is useless for stringing a rolled roast. To judge by the clock, the present moment is nothing but a hairline which, ideally, should have no width at all – except that it would then be invisible. If you are bewitched by the clock you will therefore have no present. “Now” will be no more than the geometrical point at which the future becomes the past. But if you sense and feel the world materially, you will discover that there never is, or was, or will be anything except the present.

I sit with a cat on my lap most evenings, draped round my head on my pillow every night and one sits on the bathroom sink yawning at me while I get dressed each morning. The cats are only ever concerned with “now”, one of the reasons I think my home needs a cat in, is to remind me to stop, slow down and wait.

The weekend was busy, we whizzed about all over the place, but sitting on the train into the CBD with Peanut was lovely, we pointed things out to each other out the window. I ask him all the time, ‘What do you see?’ whether this helps him show me things, or helps him find his words – either way, seeing the world through my little Zen master’s eyes has been far more helpful to me than pretty much any book I’ve ever read. Simply because when I’m with him, I try to be with him. We take pictures of what we’re doing, but I do try to post them when we’ve done what we’re doing, which leads me to this…

This weekend I fell heavily out of love with Facebook, again. It truly does drive me mad, I know I’ve linked twitter and this blog to it, so I’m updating it; but reading through my timeline with yet another change to how it’s presented, (despite my best efforts, it never appears in chronological order, which should not be that hard to arrange Zuckerberg!) No matter how hard I try, it is full of sodding adverts too. I apologise, but while I’ll be posting to it via twitter and instagram, I’m only going to look at Facebook over the weekends. Sorry folks, I just cannot do it any more.