Good heavens, New Years Eve 2021 ALREADY??!!

 

I have made my resolutions for the coming year, God willing I shall be able to report NYE 2022 my success or (sigh) lack of. My 2021 NY resolutions are a mixed bag of success and fail so the fails are moving to the 2022 list. Successes have become habit, am I satisfied with those successes, er, no, there were not enough of them to grant me the satisfaction of achievement. Oh well, ONWARDS TO 2022!

 

Planning ahead, I have the diaries (desk and Paul's Filofax), the Verse A Day mini magnetic fridge Bible verse ready to be moved to the front of the fridge. Tomorrow whilst watching a vintage Christmas movie I'll tab the months of the desk diary and note appropriate dates to be remembered including the bin-to-the-kerb schedule. 

 

Fox's second son arrived 1st October 2021, so far he is the very image of his mum - also a ginger with blue eyes so there is that. Oh, the poor wee bairn has arrived with his paternal side ginormous ears (sigh) and like all of my side of the family including his dad, is already wanting 'real food' as opposed to the clearly boring formula, juice, and water offerings. I did warn the dil by the time the little fellow was two months old he'd be making it clear 8-12 ounces was not enough. She talked to the paediatrician who of course advised against it. She talked to her nan who advised, as I did, to try a tiny amount of rice and banana flake cereal mixed with formula...my newest grandson now sleeps through the night and is gaining weight and length. 

Fox's first son will be 18 in May and seems quite pleased about the new brother, he is enjoying watching his father relearn all the things he learned when the firstborn was an infant. He especially enjoys watching his father's preparations for nappy duty - a jar of Vicks now carried in Fox's pocket after everyone (absolutely everyone) got great amusement watching my poor son gagging as he changed nappies. 

My new dil is rather splendid, quite sensible and level headed. 

Paul and I are anticipating our 11th wedding anniversary in the New Year (mid-January), still able to claim 'happily married' status. 

Worries, however, abound. The geo-political situation is best described as perilous with Russia, the Ukraine, the Belarus weaponising of willing invaders pretending to be 'desperate refugees' and that lunatic hag Sturgeon proving that Naughty Nicola portrait true with her power-crazed 'covid restrictions' despite the realities and of course her insistence on indy-ref NeverEndDums. And here in Britain the attacks on civil liberty and democracy are on the up-tick despite the obvious truth the Omicron variant is proving to be the end-game for 'the deadly virus', between Sturgeon, Drakeford in Wales, and the hysterical SAGE group 'advising' the PM the 21st century version of the Black Plague is nigh, civil liberties are being stripped from all but never more than the way 'the un-vaxxed' are being demonised as 'unclean', selfish and anti-community. Oh and don't chance going anywhere without a face mask or you're quite likely to be verbally and physically attacked whilst being threatened with police action.

There are credible rumours of door-to-door pressure parties arriving with injections and refusal to take no for an answer without a printed and certified medical exemption (which I had to force my GP to accept from my three consultants who are adamant I cannot-must not be jabbed with the so-called vaccine owing to my multiple conditions being susceptible to the increasingly fatal side effects of the jabs). The so-called 'vax-pass', utterly useless for preventing spreading the 'deadly virus', is being used to keep 'the un-vaxxed' from venues and employment, and the rumour is the pass will soon be required for entry to shops including supermarkets.

And so we see off 2021 with hope for the future but fears for it as well.

 

 

HAPPY CHRISTMAS TO ALL!

 

And now it's Christmas 2021. The wrapped presents are on the table as I put the smaller tree on the mantel this year - no Father Christmas Grotto look at our house this year owing to Paul's unwillingness to take every last thing out of the shed in search of the Christmas boxes. In a few minutes I'll go put the beef joint in the slow cooker.

I know my husband - once a box goes to the shed I know I may never see the contents again  so I had a bit of Christmas craft and decor stashed in the house including a small non-Balsam Hill tree and some lights including the clip-on candle light string the non-Balsam Hill tree branches will not support. No major worries, I also had a set of micro-wire white lights (plug-in) to string on the little tree. 

 

We do have Christmas here in the living room but there are no stockings, Santa Bags, multi-colour outdoor Christmas lights, no lush Balsam Hill 4ft Christmas tree and German made reproductions of antique Christmas baubles, no Advent Wreath and Countdown Calendar. Our traditional wreath is 'somewhere in the shed' along with the candle bridges, garlands lit and unlit, and worst of all, our Nativity scene is 'in there somewhere'.

I ended up buying a little folding triptych Nativity scene, a set of mini-glass baubles including a finial topper, a new candle bridge and 4 sets of micro-wire blue outdoor lights (all that was left online at Festive Lights in the run-up to First Sunday of Advent). I dug out the Christmas shape mini-biscuit cutters and used the star, bell, and gingerbread MAN to cut decorations from air-dry clay, and some candy cane striped pipe cleaners cut easily into mini-candy canes.

 

I could go on about my efforts, for example how I used a honeysuckle vine wreath I made years ago left from Paul pruning the massive overhang into our garden from the neighbour's (got their permission first, of course, and they were mortified to see how invasive their plant had become), added some red and green jute twine with some big red 'jingle bells' and called it a door wreath. It actually has some charm. And I rather like the look of the Christmas tree on the mantel with the Christmas cards crowded together. 

The outdoor lights arrived in time to be lit at dusk on First Sunday, the air-dry clay finally dried, were painted and on the little tree. All in it actually has been a nice Advent season and now it's Christmas. 

Last night before supper Paul and I took a walk around our town to see the Christmas lights and it was lovely to be out there in the snowless but VERY cold Christmas Eve air walking around the neighbourhood and town centre. Best of all, an increasing number of our neighbours are putting up Christmas lights - all 'tasteful' so no inflatable snowmen and Santas, just sumptuous Christmas trees glowing from Victorian bay windows (we live in the Conservation Area), lit shrubbery and trees, and more candle bridges in windows without trees - I like to think my candle bridges started something but we live at the end of the goat track so I doubt mine started anything:) BONUS: one of the shops has a white light plump pine and holly garland outlining the shop door and Paul wants to do that to our door Christmas 2022. Big change from the man who had two strings of ancient fairy lights and one forlorn little plastic apple with some holly and pine for a Christmas decoration.

I have our outdoor light display on timer so at 10pm when the lights went out, I made sure to light the battery tea light on what we call 'The Christ Candle' - placed in the front window to run all night to light the way for the Christ Child. I've done this for decades, my small way of reaffirming my faith, my hope the single candle shining through the night tells the neighbours Yeshua is welcome and wanted in my home and my life. Last night after 10pm when I popped in where Paul has his computer set up, he asked 'Have you lit the Christ Candle?'.

O' Come O' come, Emmanuel! To ransom captive Israel...

WARNING - TYPOS MAY ABOUND, I LACK THE ENERGY TO EDIT THIS MORNING

 

I suppose it had to happen eventually. I put it off for as long as I could but last week I found myself forced into it. 

Yes. I bought an upright BAGLESS vacuum cleaner. Despite my collected allergies meaning a bagged vacuum with super-HEPA filters is the recommended purchase, I finally bought a bagless vacuum cleaner.

I had to. The upright bagged brand and model I need (and can afford, who is minted enough to slash out close to £500 on a vacuum cleaner, who?!) is reviewed as 5* for performance and -5 for being able to find replacement bags, belts, and filters. 

 

I surrender. After over 50 years of being the chief vacuum wielder (and oh yes let's not forget mopping and scrubbing the hard floors also being my daily), I had to give in and purchase a bagless. Still, I'm not completely stupid - rather than splash out over £100 on a vacuum of dubious performance, I chose a 'seller refurbished' British model - £45 for one listed as 'like new with all attachments'. If I discovered it to be a useless 'flog-on' item of regret at least I'd only wasted £45.

Sigh.

Still, it could be worse in a way - thanks to the bloody pandemic I have plenty of 'one use' face masks and vinyl gloves and mob caps to protect me when emptying the dust cup and washing the filter. See, silver linings (she sez with a rolled eye in sarcastic tones). 

So, yesterday afternoon the nice Hermes lady courier brought my bagless upright and my husband and I unboxed it carefully. Right, looked good out of the box - very clean and not a scratch on it. The bristles on the attachments and roller clean of accumulated dust and grime. 

I fired it up not expecting much - after all, the only reason I went looking for an upright was owing to my ageing back complaints over the use of the cylinder (canister to my American based readers). My carpets looked reasonably clean as I'd just vacuumed the day before.

Oh. Dear. My carpets haven't looked that clean in three years (when we took possession of the cottage and had the carpets cleaned first thing before moving anything into the house). I had to empty the dust cup twice yesterday afternoon - and wonder of wonders I didn't even need to don the PPE to accomplish the emptying and cleaning of filter and dust cup when I was finished vacuuming. 

 

So when/if this seller refurbished Bush British designed bagless upright vacuum packs in, I will not hesitate to buy another, this time brand spanking new. 

 

Christmas shopping is done, yesterday we retrieved one of the Christmas trees and lights from the shed. The Pantry of Doom is fully stocked as are both freezers - spoilt for choice, we can dine on either a big fat hen or a huge beef joint for Christmas Lunch and yes ma'am we do have plenty of frozen button sprouts, cranberry sauce, and even tinned green beans - about the only fresh we'll have to hope we can find Christmas week is potatoes. Oh, and apples for the pie. I finally found a source for pumpkin puree so we'll be having a pumpkin pie as well. 

 

I try to buy ahead every year - in January I start scouring the 'Net for stocking fillers and gifts, by September I'm ordering the next year diaries and Bible Verse A Day mini-calendar. By the first week of November I'm usually fully able to claim 'Christmas, done and dusted!' and all that is left is the sewing-crafting and making sure the Christmas Tree goes up Thanksgiving Night (yeppers, we do Thanksgiving in this house including decking the halls whilst a Christmas movie runs in the background). This year I wasn't the rarity on that score (pre-planning and stocking up early), I was the norm - stock shortages has everyone trying to fill pantries and freezers and Santa Sacks ahead of time in an effort to thwart the shortages.

 

Yesterday last-minute shoppers were granted something of a reprieve on the announcement British turkey farmers had managed to find enough seasonal help to ensure any table wanting a Christmas Turkey would be able to find one in their supermarket or local butcher. However, in a whisper the news presenter suggested shoppers buy now if they really want to ensure Christmas Lunch doesn't resemble something like was seen during The War Years. 

 

As it is 'only Paul and me' for Christmas Lunch, I usually do a chicken with the traditional turkey trimmings. A big one, of course, usually ordered from the local butcher. Not this year, sadly. He has retired, the shop is closed. Never again will we feast on his lovely beef olives and other delicious offerings. I've heard rumours there is a new butcher (in a different shop as they chose not to purchase Mr Bertram's) and I will have a wander around the square to give it a look-in. But I will miss our butcher and for now we're buying our meat from Morrisons - excellent quality (except the beef mince which will never compare to Bertram's!). 

Ah, for last year! We enjoyed grilled sirloin from the butcher instead of our usual chicken, and I do mean we enjoyed - it was a wonderful festive change and one we'll repeat, perhaps Christmas 2022. Other years for a change we've had stuffed pork medallions but the 'animal right activists' had been able to stop the normal castration of male piglets destined for the abattoir (and my dinner table!) - so pork the past few years has come with an utterly horrific boar taint so foul I had to replace a microwave when the stench from making boar tainted streaky bacon in it would simply not come out no matter how many Pyrex jugs of straight vinegar I boiled in it!

 

On the happiest note of 2021, we have a new grandson:) Fox and his new wife were safely delivered of a braw wee lad 1st October - I say safely as she was hypertensive PLUS Covid positive when sent to hospital two weeks early by her obstetrician. She and Fox were kept in isolation both receiving some sort of intravenous drip (yes, my beloved son also had the virus and suffered worse than his wife - but came through it without need for ICU, thank-you God and all the saints and angels), the moment the baby was delivered he was whisked to a specialty infant ICU owing to a high heart rate and fever. 

 

My newest lad is fine now, no complications and is home making normal progress according to the paediatrician, Mum is likewise doing well as is Fox (who looks utterly exhausted in every photo sent; she looks like every new natural-born mum, tired but over the moon with Mum joy:). I won't lie, Paul and I were in the grip of a well-controlled frantic until everyone was clear of the virus, home from hospital, and successive well baby checks showed the wee man as having no after-affect of the virus.

 

Late autumn is closing fast, winter really is coming and it looks as though this winter will be 'interesting' with long freezes and plenty of snow pack. Good. Bring it. I have a sledge I want to try out, and maybe a deep freeze will keep the miscreants unable to get out and terrorise the populace.

 

Homegrown yobs throwing fireworks at emergency responders on call-outs is bad enough but the taxi bomb at a Liverpool at 1059hrs Remembrance Sunday morning shocked us all to the core. The bomber has been identified as a muslim false convert to Christianity (done to allay worries the Syrian 'refugee' should be on the watch list), and the overriding concern is this horror combined with the equally horrific murder by yet another muslim of MP David Amess a few weeks ago is the beginning of sleeper cell acts of terror in the run-up to Christmas. 

 

And last week close to 2000 'dinghy people', mostly (as Lawrence Fox termed it during an interview last night on GBN) 'military aged males' swarmed into Britain via the Channel...

We NEED a harsh savage winter 2021-22. We need it for so very many reasons but most of all to slow the terrorists and dinghy people invasion.

 Every year beginning a week before the day, I go to sleep praying two things - no bad dreams and that 11th September dawns grey and cold. Some years the day is grey and cold no matter where I am. But every year since that horrible day I have the same dream every night in the week leading up to the day. Every. Single. Year.

For the day to be a brightly beautiful autumn day as it was that day twenty years ago seems a hideous affront to the memory of the day-the dead and the first responders who ran TO the danger, not away. 

This year it is the twentieth anniversary. I've spent the morning switching away when that ghastly, odious cowardly traitor Biden comes on screen. I'm sorry, I wish I could feel more respect for any sitting POTUS. But when it comes to Biden I cannot summon anything more than total contempt. 

 

I fully expect simultaneous attacks thanks to him, he has flung open the door to repeat and continued assaults on the West and seeing that doddering evil semi-ambulatory abomination daring to commemorate 11th September 2001 in any way is an absolute outrage.

 

Here in NE Scotland it is a bit on the chilly side and there is no bright blue sky and shining sun, it is grey with the occasional flicker of pale autumnal sun. 

 

All this past week I've had the usual same dream - that pair of young men trapped on the 102nd floor, one pacing and crying out 'But I don't want to die!' and the other looking straight at me saying over and again 'Please, can you call my wife...'.

 

Please, can you call my wife?

 Right, so, I am now 65 years old. Legally the milestone was reached on the 27th - a mix-up on my birth certificate has me legally born on the 27th but my real birthday is the 29th. I tried for a rather long time to have my US birth certificate corrected but finally gave up after cost and bureaucracy road blocks became too much for me. I now celebrate from the 27th through the 29th and usually call it my birthday weekend. It's easier although I do have to remember to use the 'legal' date as opposed to the real date on official documents. 

I'd shrug it off without a second thought if something similar hadn't happened in 1982 when Fox arrived and the young girl filling out the registration form put my name on his certificate as my first name+Crusty's first name+rose instead of my real name! What happened was...the hospital sent a very young girl into my room to get the birth registered as soon as possible (more of that pesty stupid little heart thingy meaning I'm always considered 'at-risk' when in hospital so they don't like to delay things like registrations and forms signing) and she'd just begun when Crusty arrived with a huge bouquet of roses. 

 

In my still medicated state (I had a C-section and the morphine took nearly a week to wear off), all she heard was me going on and on thanking Crusty for the gorgeous roses (which turned out to not be from him, but from someone else although he happily took credit for the thoughtfulness, of course) after I'd told her my full (real) name.

 

Apparently my rapture over the flowers overrode her hearing and writing down my real name - poor Fox has been scratching his head ever since.

Again, from the time Fox's birth certificate arrived in the post a month after he was born, I tried to get the damn thing corrected, to no avail and after several decades trying, I gave up on getting either of our birth certificates corrected.

Any road, here I am, 65 years old and not feeling a day over 35, lol:) Happy Birthday to me. 

Nothing terribly exciting planned for the day. I'm married to Asperger's, I'm lucky he sometimes remembers our anniversary. He did wish me a happy birthday this morning. 

 

Now to make my day wonderful, all I need is to hear from my children. Er, not holding my breath - I raised them to be self-sufficient and independent...and the little beggars clearly took me at my word!

A couple of things burning a hole in my brain...

 

1 - as it appears now we'll be 'in the time of coronavirus' forever, I'm no longer keeping track and have dropped the header I've been opening with for months. 

 

All I feel safe to say is if those 'vaccines' are so wonderful, why did my consultants advise me to avoid them to prevent triggering the extreme versions of the known side effects which unfortunately are the very conditions I cope with already? 

 

'Side effects include pericarditis (tick, I have recurrent pericarditis), blood clots (tick, I get DVT almost at the drop of a hat), neurological problems (tick - I have Essential Tremor), and auto-immune complications for those with 'natural antibodies (tick twice again - I still have 'robust antibodies' after having Covid in 2019 and I also have Rheumatic Heart Disease with associated Rheumatoid Arthritis)'.

 

Ain't life grand? I ask that as my GP insisted the benefits far outweigh the 'minimal risk of side effects' and pushed me to get the jabs against the advice of the consultants. 

Clearly, here is where I confess I am not jabbed nor do I plan to be. And, here is where I confess I've been lying to anyone who asks that 'Oh of course I've had both jabs, and have you heard anything about when we can get the next set of boosters?'. 

 

I'd be ashamed but it's a lot like having to lie about supporting the SNP (who have to be the most corrupt and incompetent government EVER) - it keeps the peace, more or less. gNats (SNP fanboys and girls) are very scary people who don't mind burning down your house/car and physically assaulting non-gNats. So hell yeah I lie. Funnily enough, the most ardent gNats are also the most ardent pro-vaxxers. Go figure.

 

If those vaccines are so spiff, why is the Government seriously considering a back-door mandatory compliance (vax-pass to get into 'large gathering' venues and we think passes will soon be required not only for events but to get through the supermarket doors as well)? If those vaccines are so successful, why are 'they' telling us even the double-jabbed should still go about masked and oh yeah, be sure to queue for boosters on a regular schedule? Finally if those vaccines are so great, how is it the vaxxed can still contract - and spread - the virus?

For Paul and me, life really won't change - we're hermits any road and 'don't get out much'. But we feel for those who are unjabbed (for whatever reason) and would like to get out to the pub/restaurant/symphony/opera/ballet/rock concert/theatre/cinema/tourist attractions...but won't be able to owing to not having submitted to dodgy jabs. 

If supermarkets go on the 'must have a vax-pass' list, Paul is thinking he'll have to sacrifice himself (ie get the bloody jabs) so we can get groceries in.

2 - about my hair and my latest 'covid-cut'. TIP: never turn your husband loose on your locks with a pair of clippers. It. Is. Not. Nice. I look scalped/plucked/weird. It's been a couple of weeks and some regrowth is showing but it's going to be a very long wait to regrow enough hair to warrant hope I won't need a vax-pass to see a hair stylist. 

 

In less than twenty minutes I went from having shoulder length hair (admittedly in need of attention) to sporting a VERY short pixie. And that pixie style is not one of 'the good ones', it does nothing good for my appearance. Good thing I'm a hermit and good thing (for the rare outing) I have an extensive collection of summer and winter hats.

And oh, if you're reading this, Fox - WTH haven't you emailed or telephoned lately, ffs?!

 LIFE IN THE TIME OF CORONAVIRUS DAY 461

 

Forty years. Today would have been 40 years. 

I try not to think about it and some years I actually manage to make it to the end of the day before the wave of grief for what could have-should have been (or anger at the betrayal) sweeps over me. 

Forty years. Today would have been 40 years. 

 LIFE IN THE TIME OF CORONAVIRUS DAY WHO THE HELL HAS KEPT TRACK AT THIS POINT

BLIMEY!!! 47 years ago today I graduated high school - very nearly at the bottom of my class but I did manage to actually graduate. Looking back (don't most of us) I do wish I'd been the student I know I could have-should have been. Regrets, I have a few, and being such a lackadaisical student ranks right up there near the top of the list.

And then, after an eye-opening camping holiday through Yosemite and Sequoia and Kings Canyon national parks with my then boy-friend, and another eye-opening holiday through Northern California (wine and golf tour, and a side trip to Stanford to see if I was interested in taking up their offer - I wasn't), I joined the US Coast Guard. 

No regrets passing on Stanford. Nor any regrets about joining the CG save one - I wish I'd been able to stay on active duty for an entire career. But back then the CG didn't know what to do when a SPAR (Lady Coastie) married and fell pregnant so their default was to de-mob us. Of course a year after I was sent to Reserves, they realised married (or not) pregnant SPARS were not as big a problem as they'd thought - I can still see that heavily pregnant SPAR walking past my base housing (my then husband was also a Coastie and we lived aboard) to work in her newly minted USCG Maternity Uniform, I can still remember the moment of complete bitterness I'd not had that chance. 

 

Stanford then and now was/is a vastly over-rated 'educational experience opportunity' and so over-the-top pretentious I have always felt I dodged a bullet not taking that up. 

TIP: when an institution or person feels the need to constantly remind others it/they are a 'prestigious' entity, they aren't. By the time we left the campus weekend I'd heard the word 'prestigious' so many times (on continual loop, as though it was the only word the guides knew and they parroted it the entire tour-sales pitch) it had become an earworm it honestly took me weeks to rid myself of. 47 years on I still cringe when I hear someone use the word - if not accompanied with an eye-roll from the speaker, I go out of my way ever after to avoid the pretentious git who'd used it.

Should I manage it, in another three years it will have been 50 years. FIFTY, WOW! I'd go to the reunions if I could get a fit-to-fly certificate but the plain truth is I'll have to 'phone it in' via Skype or Zoom or whatever is up and running in three years. I can't even get my doctor's approval to fly from Dundee to London (altitude and please refrain from derisive 'cabins are pressurised' when an hour into a flight my legs swell to alarming widths and the flight attendants worriedly ask me if I agree it would be best if they did an emergency landing and had an ambulance standing by).

 

My stoopid little heart thingies have me restricted from altitudes over 1000ft - no exceptions according to my cardiologist and if he had his way I think he'd say nothing over 500ft. So, that lets out any Munro bagging (hill walking the Munro mountains of Scotland), in fact it lets out just about most of the hills and mountains in Scotland including the ski resorts unless I'm happy to sit in Base Camp and watch, dammit.  

Also lets out 'wild swimming' and other water sport - even with a wetsuit the shock of the water temperature would bring on a crippling angina attack that could be, well, fatal, really - in the midst of an angina attack I can barely make it to a chair much less be able swim back to shore for a Nitro-spritz.

 

I try not to let it bother me, I had a surprisingly active life until Spring 2019 when an invasive dental procedure went wrong and I ended up, well, nearly dying, actually, from an acute pericardial crisis. I've always had a 'stoopid little heart thingie' (Rheumatic Heart Syndrome) but it didn't stop me joining the USCG or enjoying any 'extreme sport' I felt like giving a go. But 2019 changed all that. For the most part I've adjusted, found other things to do besides horses and surfing and hill-walking and...and I bloody miss feeling able, if I'm honest. There are times I look at the badminton racket and think it should be a tennis racket and I should be back out there on the courts running like a scalded hare. If it weren't for my now multiple stoopid little heart thingies. 

 

So in three years, should I still be around, I will be Zooming or Skyping or maybe just sending a Western Union to be posted somewhere in the venue where the reunions will be held. 

 

47 years, WOW!

 LIFE IN THE TIME OF CORONAVIRUS DAY 397 (+/- depending on locale)

Another day. We have recently been 'free' to travel within Scotland - no daring to cross into England, Wales, or ferry across to Northern Ireland, but we are 'free' to go where we choose in Scotland the now. That may change if this Indian double-mutation variant proves to be more deadly than the previous mutations so Paul and I ventured forth earlier this week to the preferred supermarket down in Dundee to do a Big Shop while we can. 

Considering we were late leaving the house (after 9am rather than the 7am we'd thought to leave by), there was little traffic to/from and the car park at the supermarket was less than half-full. The store was therefore less busy - WOOT! Shopping with an Aspie is never fun but much less so when the stores are busy. Were we in-out as quickly as Paul would have liked, no. But we got everything on the list, a few other things we'd not put on the list, and were back on the road by noon. 

Just that one relatively small outing exhausted us both, we were surprised at that but then again perhaps we shouldn't have been surprised after two years of 'pandemic awareness' - for us it really began when in December 2019 we began hearing whispers of a 'strange new pneumonia' in China. Saying 'we don't get out much' is an understatement, especially to describe us since January 2020. 

 

We dragged the shopping in and forced ourselves to stay upright long enough to put everything away before collapsing onto respective preferred collapsing spots for the rest of the afternoon and evening. And we both were in bed fast asleep quite early. Which meant the next day we were both up early. 

 

We're hoping to have visitors up from England in June (everyone is 'staycationing' this year to avoid the eye-wateringly expensive hotel quarantining and the real risk of the destination country either being rife with Covid or trapped abroad should an outbreak preclude returning home). Paul and I joked they needed to bring their 'vax passports' before we could let them in the door - luckily they have a good sense of humour and knew we were joking. 

It really was a joke but the growing mistrust of the vaccines is no joke. Every day reports trickle out about serious complications - some fatal - happening across age and condition groups, and some of the worst complications are happening to people with MY pre-existing conditions. 

 

We've been offered the jab but didn't make it through screening - I'm in an acute pericarditis flare so the centre 'preferred not to administer' to avoid...serious side effects. Paul then refused his vax and now we're both having to continue being even more careful than we usually are. 

 

Considering I went nearly full-on germaphobe after nearly dying with H1N1, I'm used to the precautions but it saddens me to see Paul now being more hygienically aware as well - he once derided but now is scrupulous about using the 70% isopropyl alcohol I refill our spray bottles with, and the boil-washable cotton carrier bags go straight into the wash after any nip to the shops as do our four layer masks - everything gets a boil-wash these days after one use.  

 

Scandals both political and 'sport and celeb' continue, and pandemic restrictions are now chafing beyond irritating to the point of boiling over into civil unrest. The British Monarchy is under attack from a pair of the most shockingly spoilt brats ever to hit the headlines. Life is so topsy-turvy these days it is increasingly impossible to predict if anything will ever 'get back to normal'. 

 

Meanwhile I'm trying to keep full freezers, store cupboards, personal and medical chest supplies rotated and well stocked. We've taken to dashing out to 'top-up' when lockdowns ease. We 'socialise' via phone and email (no Zooming from this house, I'm no techno-phobe but I haven't been to the hair salon in over a year and my 'Covid-Cut' is not growing out well:) 

 

The general consensus is 'something is coming', we all have a sense of impending something that won't prove terribly pleasant - a feeling 'this isn't going to end well'. We all hope we're wrong but are lifelong believers in the old saying 'Prepare for the worst whilst hoping for the best'.  

And meanwhile we're all trying to maintain a sense of humour whilst finding new hobbies or honing old ones. Our gardens are looking rather good, I've used up most of my yarn and fabric stash (the house is looking great and I've made so many crochet and quilted blankets and hats I could easily supply a small army with 'keep-warms'), Paul has pared down the shed clutter, and we're on our third go with the 20+jigsaws I stocked in over 2020 knowing we'd need something to do as a couple when things go a bit boring.

 

We are all of us trying to get by/through best we can without going full-on mental - it's no longer as annoying, for example, as it once was to have people sharing snaps via email (the way it once was when roped into slide-shows of someone's latest holidays abroad), we trade ideas after seeing what one has done in their front/side/rear garden, we coo and ahh over snaps of grands born during lockdown the grandparents have yet to meet in person, we laugh with the 'cat staff' at snaps of the cats latest antics in the conservatories, and we praise profusely the art quality sunrise-sunset-moon/land/sea scape photos. 

Making do. We'll manage.

 

 

                 His Royal Highness Prince Philip, the Duke of Edinburgh

 

 

                                                 1921 - 2021

 

 

                                                        RIP

 LIFE IN THE TIME OF CORONAVIRUS: DAY 380+

It's April in Scotland. So it's been alternately hinting at Spring warmth whilst roaring back with snow and wind and ice. It's been VERY cold the past few days and forecast to remain so through the rest of the month. Yesterday and the day before we had the amazement of seeing it snow heavily - while the sun was shining! I've seen it rain briefly through sunshine but in all my 64 years I've never once seen it snow heavily while the sun shone brightly. Honestly I felt as though I was watching the opener of a disaster movie. 

 

Meanwhile, the vaccination against Covid continues but is slowing here in the UK owing to both supply chain disruptions (DAMN THE EU!!) and vaccination-hesitancy. Well, really, who in their right mind risks blood clots, ffs, and I don't blame the ethnic minorities being distrustful - I've seen too many ethnic minorities suffer owing to things like the Tuskegee syphilis horror (that didn't end until 1975 so please don't tell me that's ancient history 'cause it's not). And heck, I'm not an ethnic minority and I'm feeling some hesitancy. I was not terribly upset at mine being postponed once in screening the nurse discovered I'm in an acute pericarditis flare - 'Sorry Mrs, you'll have to come back when the flare is over', which could be months the way my flares have been the past two years. I do sort of feel I've dodged a bullet with the delay, if I'm honest. I not only have the heart thingies but I also have Essential Tremor - do I really 'feel lucky' having a vaccine that is being linked to a rare blood clotting complication that has proved fatal for several?

 

And now we're being told we all will need regular inoculation, like for the flu (which I can't have owing to the heart conditions meaning even 'minor' side effects can put me in hospital) AND even having the vaccination(s) doesn't mean things can open back up to where it was before the pandemic so it is really looking as though this restricted life we've all been living since spring 2020 is going to go on indefinitely, as in unending and forever and oh btw, you may in the near future need to 'show your papers' to enter the supermarket.

 

As a consequence of Brexit, the pandemic, and a cargo vessel jamming the Suez for several days, prices are rising including for things like electricity and supply chains are disrupted all over the globe. I discovered a very long time ago it's best to plan ahead for things like price rises, power outages, supply chain disruptions, and ageing, so this all is just a wee blip on our (Paul and mine) radar - but it all bears watching of course. And taking yet more mitigating steps.

I'm not the only person doing this, my husband is stocking up on things he can't live without if prices go even higher and supplies become more limited than already are. I've just received a bulk order of the only hand cream I've ever found that keeps the atopic dermatitis at bay, and the Avon lip balm they only sell once a year for some insane reason. I could go on for pages about the cost of the sort of things we're seeing rise to astonishing heights or supply chain disruptions meaning reliability of stock varies wildly. We now have a rule - if it is something we need (ok, or love) and we can't make it ourselves, we buy in bulk when we see it. 

Food prices and stock availability are a concern, so much so we've begun rationing ourselves. Half the portion sizes which were already small enough to bring a tear of joy to the dietician's eyes - but now what was a monthly supermarket and butcher order lasts two months. The cost of meat has steadily risen over the past year, more so than the first year we lived up here, and it's primarily owing to the pandemic according to our embarrassed butcher who apologises every other month when Paul picks up the order I've phoned in. 

But it's not just meat, it's everything from butter and milk to eggs to potatoes and fruit...locally grown or brought over from the EU, costs are rising thanks to the pandemic restrictions and yes, in part to Brexit - the evil Eew cannot keep from limiting supplies, cutting supplies, and imposing eye-watering tariffs where they can't stop supplies from going through. Even getting post - letter or parcel - from Northern Ireland has been affected by the EU restrictions, the EU is stopping post at the waterfront and airports despite NI being UK, not Eew.

 

My friends here and back in the US are re-thinking as well. Between the issues being caused by Brexit shortages and price rises (DAMN the EU for the problems they're causing that didn't need to be!!), ageing and health considerations, we're all doing re-thinks about how we do things.  

 

I stock in medical supplies and rotate not only the consumable medical supplies but the food and household cleaning supplies as well. OK, I admit it - we're doing everything we can to avoid the supermarket and the medical service. I even brushed up my suturing skills. I did after all grow up between a cattle ranch and boxing gym - I know how to distinguish between a simple and compound fracture and set a simple one safely. And I can neatly suture a small wound if needed. As for other home nursing, yep, I am trained for that and stocked with supplies to make it happen. 

 

We've taken the decision we will not go to the medics unless absolutely in a genuinely life-threatening condition. I don't go in the supermarket at all and Paul disinfects using isopropyl spray at the car boot before loading the purchases in and getting into the passenger compartment with me (I go along for the ride but not inside, at least this way I get out of the house a bit). 

 

We think Paul has had the virus - we know I have antibodies so I have had it and the cardiologist thinks it caused me to have several acute flares of the recurrent pericarditis plus making the microvascular angina worse so he wants me to be very careful. They won't test Paul for antibodies so we don't know for sure but the cardiologist thinks Paul is either naturally immune or had it at the same time I did, and he was asymptomatic. Either way, we're to 'continue being careful' as if we needed to be told, lol!

 

And we continue planning and implementing 'ageing-gracefully-in-place' considerations. Paul and I downsized two years ago (ok yes, we should have held out for a two bed-two bath but heigh-ho). An en-suite WC is going in the bedroom walk-in closet in part for convenience and in part in case once of us needs to quarantine (hey, two facilities are a must even if it's 'just a couple'!). 

 

Of course the en-suite is dependent on when the builders can come in the house to do the work - one of the worst things about the pandemic (of course aside from the horror of losing friends to the virus) has been having to put things like needed home improvements to the very very back burner. But eventually the bedroom en-suite will go in, I will have a shower room instead of a shower over an impossibly high-walled bathtub so my ageing knees and back are able to simply walk into a shower cabinet rather than risk a fall clambering in and out of that wretched high bathtub, and the new kitchen WILL be done so I no longer have to bother Paul to take something out of the oven - the oven will be raised and I can do all my cooking and baking without worrying my back is going to play up taking a casserole out. Or putting it in. 

Someday. When the pandemic is really over and we're able to have builders and plumbers and electricians back in. Someday...

 

The only reason our neighbour is scheduled to have his garden fence replaced next Monday is owing to storm damage - until that gale force wind at the past weekend took out a small section of his back fence, he, like us, was at the very bottom of the queue. But the damage to his fence means he's been bumped up to priority. Paul and I are still at the back of the queue as we've not had an emergency grant us a bump.

 

We're switching to lightweight but robustly built tools when something needs replacing - we love the 'reel' lawn mower and edger (great but not strenuous exercise, I even have a go when I can pry Paul's fingers off the mower and the edger), and we're 'decluttering' things we rarely use or are simply too big to store for easy retrieval on the rare occasion. Sniffle, I 'rehomed' my big Pyrex casserole pan - that thing was huge, the only way it fit into the oven was diagonally and even then it came perilously close to touching back wall and door during baking. I miss it of course but I have space in the cupboards for smaller things now.

 

Paul and I don't bend well any longer - problem solved by raising the power sockets to hip level - and eventually the oven will be raised as well for the same reason. My heart conditions mean inclines-stairs-lifting-toting-exerting is a non-goer - we live a one-level cottage on a flat level property and street and walking to all the things we need from convenience store to supermarket to library. It's only the GP and dentist up a steep hill and my angina is well controlled to the point I can just about manage that hill now spring has sprung. 

 

Er, now all that is wanted is for the GP and dentist to re-open for full service. Someday. Maybe. But I'm beginning to doubt medical-dental normal anything is going to happen again during my lifetime.

I bought and use daily a bread maker - who knew gluten-free bread could taste so much better when made with a bread maker?! I didn't but I do now! And the savings making our own bread (including dough for rolls and pizza - Paul is in heaven with his homemade gluten-free pizza bases I make ahead in bulk and freeze for him), WOW! 

 

The deep fat fryer is used for gluten-free battered fish, chips, and doughnuts. Change the oil for each type food and it's cheaper than take-away chips to make plus it doesn't seem to be causing a bump in the power bill. The pasta machine comes out for all sorts of gluten-free pastas, so fast and easy to make a small amount of fresh pasta.

 

OK, the little cupcake maker doesn't make as nice a cupcake or muffin as the traditional oven so that went to the charity shop the second they began accepting donations again (we're still in restrictions but the full-on stay-at-home lockdowns have ended - for now). But for the most part every kitchen gadget I've bought over the past few months has been genius for making my life easier and avoiding supply chain disruptions and price rises.

The latest home gadget is a manual carpet sweeper. Aside from not wearing wrinkled stockings and the constant curlers in hair, I'm beginning to feel my inner Nora Batty rising - my house is CLEAN, dammit! A few years back my Hoover (no, really, it was a genuine Hoover upright) died (well, I knew better than to vacuum over wet, I really did but went ahead telling myself it was only damp...) and I smartened up and bought a lightweight cylinder (canister for the American readers) vacuum. 

 

It's a Zanussi because who can afford the Miele these days, certainly not me - those Miele cylinder vacs cost £££, the Zanussi was ££, weighs much less and does just as good a job cleaning the carpets in this cottage. It has to have a bag and a filter - and that's how I want it. Unbagged vacuums are dust spreaders and a major pain to empty. 

 

It's so tiny I'm always amazed at the superior clean from it - slide on the pet hair turbo head attachments and I have ultra clean carpeting once a week sufficient to making using the carpet sweeper daily an effective way to manage the carpet cleaning without having an angina attack.

 

The carpet sweeper does a decent job - every morning I run it over the carpets and emptying it into the rubbish bin is relatively easy, easier than the bagless stick vac I was using. Once a week I haul out the little Zanussi for a deep clean but daily the carpet sweeper keeps the carpets presentable and BONUS, I get to feel I'm doing my part to stick it to Scottish Power:) Twice a year I attach the 'carpet glide accessory' to the steam mop and go over the carpet 'to freshen', lol - damn sight cheaper than having the carpet cleaner in and does every bit the same as the £££ carpet cleaning service. 

 

Re-thinks. Between ageing with health issues, Brexit (which I voted for and would again - I am only complaining about the way the EU is determined to punish Britain for regaining sovereignty), and the bloody pandemic lockdowns and restrictions, we're all having to do re-thinks. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 LIFE IN THE TIME OF CORONAVIRUS: LOCKDOWN DAY 352(+, DEPENDING ON LOCATION IN UK)

Read the following in sarcasm drenched tones: Beginning Friday, we Scots may associate outdoors ONLY (socially distanced and ffs absolutely NO TOUCHING!!!) with total of four other people from two other households. Outdoors, including in private gardens.

OH MY GOSH, BECKY, I like totally cannot contain my excitement!!

meh

'How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is to have a thankless child!' King Lear, Act1 Scene4

The adults in the room (meaning the UK as the only adults in private rooms were socially distanced members of the same household) sat with jaws to the floor for two hours Monday night as the man-child formerly known as Prince Harry and the harpie he married and then inflicted on the UK did their absolute level best to besmirch the Royal Family and the UK as uncaring ('I just didn't want to be alive anymore but when I asked for help I was told it wouldn't look good for the institution.') and racist (Harry and his harpie neglected to coordinate their stories, he says the racism about the colour of any children displayed by a member of the Royal Family came before the wedding, she says Harry told her it happened during her pregnancy with wee Archie and was presented to her as why the wee man wouldn't be a prince at birth).

I wasn't going to watch the Oprah 'Let's get the Queen!' show broadcast here in the UK on Monday evening from 9pm to just before 11pm but after every newsfeed was saturated with the most shockingly lurid tales, I wanted to be sure for myself if all that horror had really happened or if it was just clever trailer editing to make people tune in and reel with the shock. 

Buckingham Palace issued a statement yesterday (9 March 2021 around 5ish), a statement the news presenters and 'journalists' presented as being rather too long in coming (despite it being issued less than 24 hours after the shocking interview hit our airwaves) and all I can say at this point is it is a far more compassionate statement than I would have come up with had my grandson and his horror of a wife gone public to label me racist and uncaring.

I've not looked at the news this morning (it is just after 8amGMT as I type this) so I've no clue if the couple have doubled down on their appalling pack of lies. In all frankness, I don't believe a word of it except her claims of becoming suicidal, that one I do believe. 

 

After all, she's a bullying diva drama queen actress and those bints are genuinely suicidal if they break a nail. I wish I could say I was kidding but I've known a few of them and they really do mean it when they say 'I don't/didn't want to be alive any more it was so terrible (insert minor life annoyance/perceived unkindness to them)'. They are so into themselves they really are convinced the only solution is to offer to kill themselves...unless some hero rescues them from the utter despair. 

She needed mental health help but couldn't get it? From the Palace that really did learn the lesson of ignoring Diana's mental health 30 years ago, oh please - the truth is probably more along the lines of Harry's harpie not asking her GP or obstetrician to refer her. Of course HR wasn't going to help, they're there for the paid staff, not the principals - the principals are expected to...ask their medic for assistance. 

 

We've all been told over and again Harry couldn't have made it without mental health counselling - is she really expecting us to believe he didn't have a single suggestion for her to help her get help?? Oh puhleeze!

 

Right, so some clod in the Royal Family phrased a perfectly natural question badly about what the children might look like and made poor MeMeMeMe want to not be alive any longer. And she's made a major meal of it and that's the extent of it - this stupid woman has deliberately blown something out of proportion and it can never be pulled back, never be answered to the satisfaction of the perpetual profession victim element of the population. Last night across comments feeds the accusation she's deliberately started a race war flew thick and faster than the mods could delete them.

How sharper than a serpent's tooth...

 

On my personal homefront, we're 'getting there'. I have taken the bull by the horns and sorted three rather big (to me) problems organising this little house. 

Problem One: the bathroom window. It faces the front of the house and while we are blessed to live at the bottom of a 'goat track' (meaning very little foot traffic beyond the postie and the Amazon couriers), and despite the distortion ripples on the window glass - light and shapes show through. So we put up a blind and were surprised when the wood slats didn't give us quite the amount of privacy we'd hoped for. I put curtains over the blinds...nope, that didn't help and the curtains have to come off weekly for washing or the bathroom humidity causes the curtains to go mouldy (no. extractor. venting. fan. dammit. so the upper window has to be open during bathing to vent at least some of the steam).

SOLUTION: I put mirror tiles across the lower section of the window formerly covered by blinds and curtains. OH HEY! My husband can shave in a 44x20in mirror! I can brush my teeth and apply the very occasional bit of mascara and lipstick. No more squinting into a 5x5in round mirror set precariously on the window ledge. And no more lack of privacy - can't see out, can't see in - WINNING!!

Problem Two: OH MY EFFING GOD do not ask me to cook and bake in a 1980s styled kitchen I wouldn't have chosen in the 1980s much less the 21st century! The other day I switched away from SkyNews (I keep it on during the day, on mute, to watch the scrolling ticker for news the world has just ended) owing to the unpleasant appearance of The Little Dictator (aka the Scottish First Minister I can't wait to vote against come May elections). Went to The Drama Channel where a 1986 episode of Last of the Summer Wine was running - and what did I see in Glenda and Barry's kitchen? MY KITCHEN CUPBOARDS! 

SOLUTION: Actually, I have been working on this since we bought this house - the kitchen is a shockingly bad hodgepodge of a faux granite worktop in black-grey-cream-rust flecks, the walls are covered in a nicotine-cream colour cushion vinyl wallpaper 'decorated' with scattered latte cups. The appliances are in the wrong places - who puts a cooker at the other end from the window when cheaping out and fitting an extractor fan that only moves the venting from the hobs to the bloody floor instead of properly venting it to the outdoors, WHO????!!!!

 

The legacy tiles are nicotine-cream with every four or five tiles a red poppies inside a blue and gold rope frame looking thing 'accent tile'. And the cupboards are an unpaintable textured light beige with a light pine 'trim' at the top. 

 

Horrible. Depressing. 

I researched and 'costed' fixing that kitchen. Oh dear. Now you know why I buy that one lottery ticket every week. Hey! Can't win if you don't play!

I have examined it from every angle. Yesterday I solved it. 2 big pots of mould resistant white matte kitchen paint, 4M of wide white high gloss vinyl, an applicator kit, and enough replacement handles and pulls (black) to turn my hodgepodge. The ancient cushion wallpaper came away easily and the freshly painted white walls somehow make that 8x8ft kitchen look bigger. The vinyl wrap actually looks pretty damn good - no bubbles or twists and bonus, it wipes clean with a damp cloth. The cup handles on the lower cabinets and the pulls on the upper tie in perfectly with the faux granite worktop and black gingham cafe tier curtains. Finally, my kitchen looks proper - no eyeball twisting hodgepodge in there. I love it. It's a timeless undateable looking room now and if I ever win the lottery I'm going to have the kitchen done over in the same scheme but with proper wood cabinets and the appliances finally in the right places for efficiency. And by gum, I want a 'greenhouse' window!

Problem Three: Storage space.

SOLUTION: CULL! I packed away dishes, glassware, utensils, clothes, craft supplies. Boxed and stacked in the shed according to 'bin-keep-give away'. 

Lockdown. It's been good for some things, anyroad!

 Three days into 2021 and so far things are looking rather like 2020 with the exception of the UK finally being free of the Eew (say it out loud and you'll get the joke). Things in the Brexit department are definitely looking much better!

On the home-front, I have taken the command decision (as Chief Cook and Bottle Washer, also Toilet Roll Faerie and General Dogsbody) to declare this home will no longer make or purchase a bloody Christmas Pudding EVER again, full stop, end of, I'm done making or buying a Christmas Pudding that is NEVER eaten and is merely shuffled around in the pantry until the following Christmas whereupon it is quietly 'retired' to the food waste recycling bin. 

When we were packing out the old house to move to this one (September 2018) I found no less than four badly out of date Christmas Puddings - two home-baked by me and two purchased from the supermarket. We bought one that first Christmas in the new house - binned when found as I went looking for the ingredients for the 2019 one I stupidly fell for making last year - the 2019 one was binned uneaten the same day the decorations came down. This year the store-bought Pudding will likely do the same.

I'm DONE with Christmas Puddings! If God graciously permits Mankind to survive long enough to deck the halls, etc, for a Christmas 2021, I'm making us a Dundee Cake (fruit cake but much nicer ingredients than most fruit cakes or Christmas Puddings) AND a sponge Christmas Cake (complete with marzipan under the fondant AND atop the cake as decoration). The small Dundee Cake we bought locally this year was actually eaten before Christmas and the Christmas Cake was gone by the middle of Boxing Day. I may - keyword MAY - give making a Yule Log cake a go (Swiss Roll decorated to look, well, like a log, but with cutesie marzipan racoons and red squirrels and a fox or two charmingly nestled into the marzipan holly and ivy). Paul has shown a preference, in the end, for apple and cherry pies with fancy French Vanilla ice cream. I'm getting older, perhaps next year I'll stick with nice fruit pies and skip the baking of fancy cakes altogether. 

The Christmas tree is looking rather lovely; the battery operated lights on the potted evergreens are bringing walkers down the path to admire (colours, we needed something cheery out there this year). I was going to try for another constellation display (last year the Plough and Northern Lights display in the kitchen window went down a treat with the walkers) but when the Star of Bethlehem formed in the real skies I knew the candle bridge was the better choice. That window, nicely enough, sits on a direct line to the Star (when it was still showing) and was just right with the candle bridge, one walker came back with his fancy-schmancy camera and the resulting photo came through the door NYD - a definite keeper, that photo. I'd scan it and post it here but my husband doesn't want to chance the GPS linking and giving away our location (the dubious joys of 'modern times', having to worry about GPS locators). 

 

Christmas, Boxing Day, NYE and NYD meals were rather nice, the only traditional meal we had was steak pie and we had that NYE, not NYD. Grilled sirloin for Christmas with baby potatoes and garden peas, and I won't bore you with the details of the rest of the 'festive' meals.

We made NY Resolutions, printed and posted on the fridge and are having a whale of a good time poking fun at some of the things on our lists. 

The Little Dictator running Scotland (the now, ROLL ON MAY 2021 ELECTIONS!) is probably going to put Scotland into a full lockdown tomorrow (Monday 4th January) as the number of cases and hospitalisations continues to sky rocket. 

I had a good vent about Sturgeon last week so I'll let it rest. 

Onwards and upwards for 2021!!