Sunday Musings For Mother’s Day

Today is Mothering Sunday in the UK, and that was combined with the clocks going forward one hour. As often happens, this made me stay in bed one hour longer than usual, and I will be feeling like I am catching up for the rest of today.


I am sending greetings and best wishes to every mother who reads this blog. We only have to focus on recent awful events in the world to see just how determined mothers are, and that there is nothing they wouldn’t do to protect and nurture their chiildren. Not everyone had/has a good mother, but their bad luck was a rarity.


My own mother died in 2012. She died in pain and distress, in a side room of a hospital ward. I had sat next to her bed for some hours that night, before returning home exhausted. In the early hours, I was telephoned by a nurse to tell me she had died around 1:30 am. I was relieved that her suffering was over, and upset that I hadn’t chosen to stay by her side until her last moments. I can never take that back, and make a different choice.


This photograph of my mum was taken in 1939. She was 15 years old, and already working full-time since she left school at 14. She smiles at the camera, her teenage life spread out before her, the hopes and dreams we all recognise are present in her eyes. Three months later Britain was at war, and my mum’s life changed forever.


She will never be forgotten. When I am gone, my younger family members will remember their aunt, and their children will be told tales of her. One child is even named after her, to continue my mum’s legacy.


As for me, not a day goes by without remembering something good about my wonderful mum. That’s as it should be.


I hope you all have a wonderful Sunday.


Thinking Aloud On A Sunday

Clocks forward.

We had our summertime clock change at 02:00.

So when I woke up when it as still dark at 6am, it was actually 7am.

That still felt to early and dark to get up, so I managed to get back to sleep.

I must have needed that sleep, as I didn’t wake up again until 9:45am.

Which of course was now 10:45am. Confused? I was.

It all reminded me of this old song, from 1969.

Ollie and his time clock

Like many countries, we here in the UK are still hanging on to the rather pointless tradition of putting the clocks back in October, then restoring them to their original time in the Spring. This annoying custom means that it is now dark by 5 pm, and I have had to scurry around changing all those timers and watches that don’t automatically correct themselves.

Being a dog, you would think that Ollie has no concept of time. I like to think of him ruled by nature, waking at dawn, and sleeping when it is dark. But that is far from the case. He is a dog ruled by habit. So controlled by his personal routine, and inner ‘dog-clock’, that if he had been human, he would undoubtedly be considered to be on the Autistic Spectrum.

He goes out in the garden first thing. After completing his patrols of the fence, and along the side of the garage, he waits at the top of the patio stairs until one of us (usually Julie) appears in the kitchen to let him in through the back door. He then has breakfast, always a twisty chew thing, that he loves to eat at that time. Once that has been devoured, he follows me around the house, or sleeps, until it is almost midday. At that time, I have a sandwich, and give him some of it, usually the crusts. He also has his midday ‘stick’, a corrugated chew that is supposed to be good for dental health. After that, he dozes until he sees me getting ready for the habitual walk at 2 pm.

His dinner is normally around 5.30, and if it is late, he will keep putting his head on my leg to remind me. After we have eaten, between 7-7.30, he gets a medium-sized liver-flavoured chew, strangely called a ‘Wonky-Chomp’. I say strangely, because it isn’t wonky. He does chomp it though. He will then happily settle for the evening, until his late night trip into the garden, close to 11 pm. The final treat of the day is a hard Bonio, a bone-shaped biscuit, which he always crunches with delight. Some time after that, he might take himself off to his bed in the kitchen, and sleep soundly until morning.

The next day, he does it all again; his own version of ‘Groundhog Day’, that seems to make him happy.

For the first three years that we had him, we marvelled at the way he adapted to the clocks going forward or back. Despite losing or gaining an hour the next day, he stuck rigidly to his schedule, not expecting treats or a walk any earlier, and unconcerned if they were later. He still appeared at midday for his stick, even though it would have only been 11 am, the day before.

But for some reason, his clock has been disrupted this year.

When the clocks went back last weekend, I expected him to perform his usual magic trick of not noticing, and carrying on as normal. But at 11 am on the next day, there he was, asking for his treat, convinced it should really be midday. By 1 pm, he was turning in circles, agitating for his walk, sure in his own mind that it was 2 pm already. And he has continued like that all week, determined to keep his routine the same as before the clocks gained that hour. After three years of appearing to be unconcerned, he has changed his tune.

I would love to be able to ask him why.