Wed 31 May 2023 1230hrs BST

 

Happy Birthday to my brother (who thinks I'm an idiot, but heigh ho, I love him).

 

Now for my wee rant...

 

GRRRRR! I have been slowly and carefully recovering from a late winter acute flare of the recurrent pericarditis. The weather has finally hit my personal 'sweet spot' just as the flare has receded and I'm back to full-ish energy levels. I could smell the new mown grass, could see my roses and various bulbs in their blooming turns. I had spent my illness time perusing (ok, pouring over) garden designs and plants that might have a real chance in my little bit of unique micro-climate garden.

 

And just as I was pulling on the wellies - MY BLOODY HUSBAND BEAT ME OUT THE DOOR TO THE SHED HARBOURING MY GARDEN TOOLS!

 

Oblivious to my distress, he gleefully called me out to admire his handiwork (omfg, butchered lawn via badly applied strimmer weed whacker and dull blade cylinder push mower). 

 

And to hear him describe his plan for the garden, how he's going to create flower beds and plant dwarf trees and...

 

I gave a weakly voiced 'Oh that sounds lovely' surrender and went inside to nurse my wounded spirit. 

 

To his credit, three weeks ago the doorbell sounded and a nice young man delivered...

 

A WORKTOP DISHWASHER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

We had it partially fitted - the plumber came and hooked it up to the clothes washer inlet supply using a Y splitter thingie. The dishwasher waste drain line is now clamped to the wall of the half-sink to drain into the half-sink. The electrician took one look at the current wiring in our desperately-in-need-of-complete reno and suggested we use a rated extension lead to power the machine via one of the mains outlets on the wall. That afternoon I had a fully functioning dishwasher. 

It's basic - no macerator so I continue (happily) my life-long habit of rinsing the dishes before loading into the machine. It has two - COUNT 'EM - two hygiene cycles (oh wow, sanitary clean dishes without boiling my skin off doing the dishes by hand - yes please!), it shuts itself off at the end of the programme and the dishes come out SO clean and dry.

 

I love that dishwasher so can forgive (a bit) his taking over MY garden. I also love the worktop 'mini-oven' that is so big all my bakeware and casserole dishes fit - the two appliances make my life nearly perfect. 

 

OK, the kitchen is not the prettiest room in the house but the dishwasher and 'mini' oven make it SO much more efficient, SO much easier on my back, and means future acute flares will not result in piles and stacks of dirty dishes and little cooking while I'm essentially out of commission (during a flare the very last thing I need to be doing is bending into the integrated under-worktop oven and standing for long periods doing the dishes by hand).    

He planned it, I know he did. While I lay on the sofa counting the hours-days-weeks to recovery, he was in the study planning his garden-theft. He knew surprising me with a dishwasher would silence my (ahem) disappointment at losing any hope of happy hours working in the garden.

He was right enough - I am so pleased with the dishwasher that I am managing to keep my garden grief to myself. BONUS: the more time he spends in the garden, the happier and far less grumpy old man he is. He is now 65, he was spending too much time online (mostly playing video games like Elder Scrolls and Fallout New Vegas), the exercise he's getting out there is good for him and to my complete surprised, he's 'tasked' me with finding evergreens that flower. 

So, ok, no roses for me - where I'd planned a rose bed is now marked for lilacs, but his lilacs will be balanced with dwarfs that keep colour year round. Can't complain. 

 

Much.

 

 

Friday 26th May 2023 1017hrs BST

 

My sister would have been 79 today if she'd not passed away in 2018. She was 12 years older than me and was a major player in my upbringing thanks to a wicked witch of the west stepmother whose sole contribution to my upbringing was to deliberately work as destroying not only my childhood but our entire family. 

 

Valerie and I had been officially estranged since 1986 but unofficially all my life - she hated me, blamed me for our parents divorce, and convinced herself I was only her half-sister, going to her grave, I'm told, insisting our stepmother was my biological mother. (she wasn't, a fact proven when my brother needed a kidney donation and the tests proved we share such complete dna that the medics said we could have been fraternal twins. He ended up not needing the kidney, btw)

 

And I think a large part of her hate (couldn't be described as anger, it was clearly out and out hate) was she was forced from a too early age to essentially raise me from infancy. There were times she expressed her hate via physical violence I am convinced only divine intervention kept me from full-on death rather than 'simple' broken bones and bruises our stepmother routinely covered up by claiming I'd self-harmed. 

 

OK, the beatings hurt physically and mentally, the lies I'd done it all to myself hurt mentally but to be honest what hurt more than anything else was the way EVERYONE from family (who bloody well knew better) to school to the occasional doctor I was reluctantly taken to when the injuries were so severe they were afraid I'd die and they'd have to come up with a very convincing lie to explain how I'd died OR bury my body out on the desert and then claim I'd run away. 

 

From nursery school through high school NO-ONE EVER CONSIDERED I MIGHT BE THE VICTIM OF SOME SUPREMELY HORRIFIC ABUSE AT THE HANDS OF MY SISTER AND STEPMOTHER. NO-ONE.

 

But. But I was heartbroken at Valerie's rejection. I idolised her. Until 1986 I knocked myself out trying to win her approval knowing full well I was only ever going to be kicked back (often physically but heigh ho) but oh I did keep trying. 

 

From 1986 to the day I was informed of her death in 2018 I cherished hope one day we could sort our (her) issues. 

 

I don't even know where she is buried. Where ever her physical remains are, I hope her soul has finally found peace. She was almost as much a victim as I was.