More March Sunday Musings

Last Monday, we drove to Fakenham to colect Ollie’s casket of ashes from the animal hospital. They were very kind there, and the casket with his name plate on it was nicely presented in lovely bag containing a card, and a certificate guaranteeing that Ollie was cremated on his own. It also gave the name of the person who cremated him and the time and date, along with a unique reference number. It was upsetting for both of us of course, but it provided an element of closure to be able to bring him back home.

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On Wednesday, Julie popped in to see the dog groomer at her shop. Kelly had looked after Ollie’s grooming needs since before he was two years old, and she adored him. Julie was given a lovely gift for us that caused her to stand and cry in the shop. The last time Kelly groomed Ollie, we spoke about the fact that it might be his final visit. Unbeknownst to us, she took a paw print of his rear paw that afternoon, and saved some of his fur that she had combed out. Then once she got the news that he had died, she had the paw print mounted in a lovely box-frame, and put the fur into a small glass jar. Then she waited until she saw one of us.

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My plans to keep up with my daily walks were interrupted this week, when the recently serviced and repaired central heating suddenly stopped working on Wednsday evening. I contacted the repair company on Thursday, and they said they would try to get someone out to me that day if I could wait in. So I sat at home from 8am until 4pm and nobody came. Luckily, we have a wood-burner that I lit to keep the house warm. Ringing the company again, I was told that both repair engineers had been caught up on long jobs, but that someone would come on Friday. On Friday morning I rang to confirm, and was told I was first on the list once the other planned jobs had been completed. Someone eventually turned up at 3pm and fixed the fault. At least I got to have a long walk on Saturday in lovely weather, but this morning I have woken up to rain.

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Julie is going to meet her daughters today. The twins are taking her out for a Mother’s Day traditional English Tea in their home town of Attleborough. If you are celebrating a Mother today, or you are a mother being celebrated, I hope you have a wonderful day.

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Mother’s Day 2023

It is Mother’s Day here in England. I no longer have a mother to celebrate with. But Julie is my wife, and a mother of four children, so she has something to celebrate.

She is spending time with one of her daughters this evening, but I have no idea if the other three chidren will get involved.

So happy Mother’s Day to my wife, the mother of four children. She is also a great Mum to our dog, Ollie. He cherishes her.

I hope she has an enjoyable day.

My Mum: A Tribute For Mother’s day

Today is Mother’s Day in Britain. I send my greetings to all mums, including my wife who must endure a lockdown day, seeing none of her four children.

In the photo above, my mum is celebrating her 70th birthday. She died in 2012, aged 87. Four days before Mother’s Day that year.

I never missed celebrating that day for her, buying a large card with lots of additonal pages, and a Lindt Easter Egg that she looked forward to every year.

She was a great mum, and worried about me even when she was desperately ill.

Born in 1924, she lived in London throughout WW2. Terrified by the bombing during The Blitz, but still going to work every day. In fact she worked until she was 75 years old, enjoying the company more than she needed the additional income. She loved her family, and she loved all animals, especially her beloved pet dogs and cats.

Not a day goes by when I do not think about her, and miss her.

Violet Johnson. 9th of July, 1924 – 14th of March, 2012. Rest in peace, my beloved mum.

Thinking Aloud On a Sunday

Mothers.

I was away visiting friends last weekend, so wasn’t really thinking about much else. And I was nowhere near a computer, so there was no regular Sunday post.

But this morning, I woke up thinking about Mothers. Given that today is Mother’s Day in Britain, that is not really surprising.

My own Mum died in 2012, at the age of 87. She always loved Mother’s Day, expecting my attendance for a meal, and looking forward to the large card she received without fail. I always brought a gift too, but she was never bothered about that, much preferring to read the words in the card, and whatever short note I had added. When I was a child, one of my relatives would buy me a card and gift to give her, or I would make something at school. She kept all of those, and every card I ever gave her, throughout the next sixty years.

I have no doubt that I often took her for granted, especially during my teens. My clothes were washed and ironed, a meal always on the table, and support for everything from my stressful exams, to my first job, was given without reservation. During problems in adult life, she was always on my side. But if she thought I had made the wrong choice about something, she was quick to caution me about my decision. Nothing was too much trouble for her, as far as her child was concerned. She was a good mother, an excellent mother. One of the great mothers.

But with few exceptions, aren’t they all?

Whether sheltering in a refugee tent in Syria, dealing with a drug-addicted child in Edinburgh, or living with a severely-disabled child in India, mothers all around the world do nothing but show devotion to their children. The same cannot always be said of fathers, unfortunately, though some are undoubtedly excellent.

In my experience, becoming a mother brings on a fundamental change in a woman. As the baby is handed to them, something happens inside, that unconditional love that endures. Whether that child eventually turns out to be a University Professor, a world-famous doctor, a coal-miner, or nurse, the love of a mother never dwindles, and remains the same as the child becomes an adult. Even the mothers of serial killers and fraudsters still love their children. They will forgive us almost anything, driven by that magical connection of carrying us inside their bodies.

So today I send a salute to all mothers, wherever you are.
We couldn’t have done it without you.

Mothering Sunday

Today is Mother’s Day in the UK. (Maybe everywhere, I’m not sure.)
This is a little poignant for me, as it is also almost three years to the day that my own Mum died.
But it has been a nice day for Julie so far. Although she hasn’t been able to see any of her children, for various reasons, she has received cards, and spoken to them on the telephone. Yesterday, we travelled down to Hertfordshire, so she could take a card and flowers to her own Mum, and spend the afternoon and evening with her.

It hasn’t all gone smoothly though. Returning late last night, we discovered that our heating had decided to stop working, and we have no idea why. There is oil in the tank, it was recently serviced, and appears to be intact in every way, yet it refuses to fire up. Of course, being a Sunday, we cannot get anyone out to look at it. Fortunately, we have the working log burner, and that is now roaring away, providing heat in the living room at least. There is also a back-up electric heater for the hot water, so we are not that badly off. The weather isn’t playing ball either. After the recent brief spell of sunshine and decent temperatures, today is gloomy and chilly, with a chance of rain.

I will try to make Julie’s Mother’s Day special. I have already prepared her a nice breakfast, and later on, there will be a traditional dinner of roast pork. We will be able to enjoy the rest of the day in front of the fire, and have a relaxing evening. I will remember days gone by with my own Mum, who always loved this day so much; anticipating her annual card, and enjoying a visit from her son.

So, here’s to all the Mothers out there. The often unsung heroes of our lives. Their selfless devotion, the undemanding love for their children, and the lifetime of care and attention that they lavish on us. Wherever you are, and whatever language you speak. have a wonderful day.