In 1987, when the ‘Great Storm’ ravaged many parts of the UK, lots of great trees were damaged or lost completely in Heavitree Park. This is the park where I grew up, part of my daily walk to school through infant and junior school years, and a place full of memories both good and bad.
My children also played there in the late 80’s, and we walked Jassy, the family dog, a golden get-it-yourself. Over time, new trees were planted, some of which are now fully grown. Grandchildren have played there, Dido and Daisy walked there for 13 years, and now it’s Flora and George’s turn.
Time passes, fall arrives every year bringing short days and damp weather. In the park several more trees have fallen over the years and have been given a new lease of life. Like this meeting bench standing near the skate park, it’s somewhere for the kids to hang out, make and break friendships and generally do what teens do, each one imagining they’re different from the generation before.
This is my post for Paula’s Thursday Special, ‘Fall’. You can join in, there’s always a warm welcome!
I was walking through town yesterday, enjoying the crowds, and the great atmosphere. It was Exeter Pride, a vibrant, colourful event with a long parade of people wearing rainbow colours, flying the flag and bursting with excitement.
Everyone was happy, or so I thought. Then I saw this lady, she was leaning on a trolley shopper thingy and heading towards the bus stop.
It may be that she was just wondering when the buses would start running again. Perhaps she was reflecting on the loss of youth, a samba band were passing, so everyone was jiggling about. I really hope it was nothing worse.
Yellow is an optimistic colour for me. It means one thing in particular – SPRING, my second favourite time of the year. Here in the northern hemisphere we are just two days from the winter solstice, a day that fills me with joy. While I know that we have several months of cold, wet weather, I am reassured that each day will be longer by a barely perceptible minute and in a month’s time the sun will rise before I walk to work. I know that one day in February I will stop in my tracks, t smile at a primrose smiling back at me, its sunny yellow heart blowing a kiss. Before long, yellow signs will be everywhere. “There came a time when the risk to remain tight in the bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.” – Anais Nin
The year’s at the spring,
And day’s at the morn;
Morning’s at seven;
The hill-side’s dew-pearled;
The lark’s on the wing;
The snail’s on the thorn;
God’s in his Heaven— All’s right with the world!
Before we know it, the temperature will rise a few degrees and my favourite spring flowers will take on more passionate yellow hues. The equinox will insist on equality, and I, well I will leave off my gloves, happy that winter has departed.
Oh, to be in England
Now that April’s there
And whoever wakes in England
Sees, some morning, unaware,
That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheaf
Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf,
While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough
In England – now!
This post is in response to the Weekly Photo Challenge, where Krista throws out a yellow curve ball as a change form the festive colours lots of us are surrounded by. You can join in here,
me, I’ll just wait for spring and its glorious golden yellows!
It’s been hard to go and take photos recently. Relentless rain and gales, flooded roads, high tides and fallen trees have kept the gypsy indoors. Yesterday lunchtime at work the sun came out, so I grabbed my coat and went to feel it on my face!
Even so, signs of spring were hard to find.
Signs of Spring
A thousand buds are waiting
to burst with golden pride
beneath tender hawthorn
it’s zenith months away
but first to bloom are snowdrops
a promise rising from the underworld
but now stop wait
don’t miss Mahonia’s fragrance
it will make your senses sway
This post is for Bastet’s ‘Signs of Spring’ challenge, perhaps you ‘d like to join in? http://wedrinkbecausewerepoets.com/2014/02/17/bastets-pixelventures-february-18th-2014/
To let you know that Bill’s okay! It was pouring with rain yesterday morning when I saw him at the top of my road so I dashed up and we nudged umbrellas.
‘Don’t nag’ he said grinning from ear to ear!
‘You look well dear,’
‘Yes I called the doctor after I saw you last time, managed to get a cancellation. I’ve been on loads of tablets.’
I laughed, ‘So you’re better then? You look good.’
‘I haven’t felt this well for ages but now my (lady)friend has got it.’
‘Has she been to the docs?’
‘No she won’t go.’
‘Not another stubborn one!She’d rather be ill too would she? What do you think doctors are for? Well I’m glad you got some sense in your head at least’ If that sounds harsh it wasn’t, we were bantering and he loves it. We chatted for a few more minutes and then I told him go on home out of the rain and stay out of trouble. Laughing, he pootled off, shouting out ‘You’re looking lovely today.’
‘And it’s nice to see you looking so well, take care’ I said.
Bill looked completely different to when I last saw him all drawn and stooped. His face was plump and the sparkle was back in his eyes, I’m so pleased!
At the top of my road on my way to work this morning, I spotted Bill, he’s a lovely old guy who I told you about here https://lucidgypsy.wordpress.com/2012/03/19/a-contrast-of-elderly-men/ and here https://lucidgypsy.wordpress.com/2013/01/12/january-small-stone-twelve/
Once again I hadn’t seen him for a couple of weeks and I dashed up to him with a smile.
‘How are you, it’s lovely to see you?’ then up close I noticed his face, and knew he wasn’t well.
‘Not too good’ he said, ‘I’ve been coughing all night and sick with my stomach as well.’ He looked grey and didn’t have the energy to flirt with me, as he does with all the ladies. He was walking home from the local shop – about two hundred metres – with a loaf of bread and some milk, leaning heavily on his stick.
‘It looks like you should go home to bed today dear and take it easy, give yourself chance to recover.’
‘I can’t do that, I’m going to see my friend.’ He has a lady friend who lives about a mile away and it isn’t on a bus route so he walks it.
‘Maybe wait until tomorrow and just take care of yourself today, it’s a bit of a walk’ I said gently.
‘I’ve got to walk my legs will go otherwise, got to keep moving like Felix,’ his first smile.
‘Felix the cat keeps on walking, so I’ve got to else I’ve had it, I’ll be stuck in my chair!’
‘You stubborn so and so! well just be careful’ I watched him walk on slowly.
I know that Bill’s daily trip to the shop stops him from being lonely, because he speaks to everyone. Apart from seeing his lady friend weekly, I don’t think he has anyone around. He is a very private person and doesn’t know that I know his name even, hopefully the shop keeper would notice if he didn’t show up.
The last time I saw him he was dispensing advice to some students whose car wouldn’t start and he was very perky and cheeky. I really want to see him bounce back quickly and keep on walking like Felix.
Felix keeps on walking, keeps on walking still.
With his hands behind him,
you will always find him.
I’ve just been out with the dogs and along the way I noticed an elderly lady in front of me. She made me think about luck, health and loneliness. Her clothes were an outlandish mix of brightly patterned leggings, old lady sandals and astrakan coat. Just as I caught up with he,r she stopped a young woman and asked her if she would pull her shopping trolley up to the traffic lights at the junction. I paused a second and caught her eye, eyes with those drawn on eyebrows and bright red lips, but she ignored me. She probably wasn’t as old as I had thought, but she was razzled and had a cigarette dangling. The young woman talked to her so I carried on, wondering if she got the help she needed.
Around the next corner was my lovely old man, https://lucidgypsy.wordpress.com/2012/03/19/a-contrast-of-elderly-men/ chatting to a van driver. It’s been a couple of weeks since I saw him, so I was relieved and asked how he was. He assured me he was fine and turned to the van driver saying ‘Hers boodiful’, I laughed and tutted at him and carried on. My last encounter was with another really quite old lady, with her dog, who stopped to talk to Daisy and Dido. I’ve seen her before, but only exchanged Good mornings. Today she wanted to chat so we started with the weather. She had a walking stick and told me how she woke on Christmas day, in agony with her knee. She is having knee cap replacement surgery on Tuesday coming and was quite anxious. I tried to reassure her with stories of friends who had similar work done and said I’d see her in a couple of months good as new. Brave lady, I hope she makes a good recovery.
These lovely people make me so aware of how isolated the elderly can be, but I really enjoy talking to them and I know it makes such a huge difference to their lives. They may not have as many opportunities for chatting as I do – or as you do! If you come across people who may be glad of a smile and hello, I hope you will. We will all be old one day, if we’re lucky.
When you’re young, skirts and trousers with elasticated waistbands are just ‘old lady clothes’ and you take it for granted that they need the comfort, while knowing that it will never happen to you. Wrong. Elasticated waistbands are manufacturer’s way of making some money from older ladies who are not catered for by designers. They fail to cash in on the silver pound, sticking instead to the young, slim or even emaciated because they make their clothes look better. What they fail to take into account is that even really slim women change body shape with age. You can be small but still have a bug tummy, no waist, no bottom and that hip spring – the difference between waist and hip measurement – decreases from about twelve inches when you are twenty five and a size twelve or fourteen to about six inches when you are fifty even if you still have thirty eight inch hips! So your choice is whether to buy skirts or trousers that fit your waist and balloon out like a parachute around your hips, never, ever do your top buttons up, or . . . elastic and crimplene.
Your eyelashes start to disappear, what happens is that they grow inwards. They creep down through some special internal follicles until they reach your upper lip and chin where they multiply like cell division and burst out forming a lush growth to warm your face in winter.
Old ladies can’t wear pretty brassieres. Pretty ones are aimed at young women whose breasts have not yet become matronly. Matronly bosoms appear around your late forties. Oh yes they do, even if you always wore a 34A you will suddenly need a 36F, and the wide straps that go with bras in those kind of sizes. Woe betide those of you who successfully seek out The Thin Strap, because you will have deep chasms in your shoulders. Nope, to contain your new found pitta breads you will require inch wide straps and side scaffolding.
Now, we expect to gain some lines on our faces don’t we? They are lines of wisdom and character of course, and a way of keeping the beauty industry going with our futile attempts to stay young. But what is this crepe like thing happening to my forearms? No one told me about that. And why don’t the magazines recommend that you wear gloves twenty four seven, to stop your hands looking like some haggard witch’s? Because they get paid to advertise hand cream!
Granny shoes. How could they wear such ugly things? This generation didn’t invent ridiculous – oops I mean delicious – heels, platforms and wedges that you need a mounting block to climb into. No, I had them too and could walk miles, dance all night and then walk home again in them. I didn’t live in them, I loved flip flops too. They were never as lovely as the ones around now. I have some gorgeous jewelled and sequined ones, in fact several pairs; I keep buying them in the hope that some will be comfortable enough to walk miles in. If I try that, the impact of every step I take resounds its painful way up through my calves and knees, leaving me hobbling slowly the next day. So, it’s nice comfy cushiony soles for me, little heels on occasion, but even then they would have to be Footgloves. What’s happens to our feet? Well apparently we lose subcutaneous fat from our soles as we get older, who knew that? What I do know is where mine went. Around my middle.
If anyone can warn me of any other little surprises I have to look forward to I would be deeply thrilled to know. Meanwhile, where is my foot spa, my feet are killing me.
I’ve tried to speak to an elderly man who lives around the corner and walks to the local shop most days but he doesn’t make eye contact with me at all. I always smile hopefully. He leans heavily on his stick and is slow as if in pain. He must be well into his eighties and seems so miserable and alone. I wonder if he has anyone in his life. It’s not just me that he ignores – there is another man his age that he passes by without any acknowledgment.
Elderly man number two is a darling. He has a beaming open face with a warm smile and I also see him most mornings, in fact if I miss him for a few days I start to wonder. He also has a stick because he has very bad joints. He’s very happy to talk about his ailments, he has chest problems and recently has had eye surgery and has a very tenuous hold on his sight, but he just keeps smiling. And everyone smiles back. I walked along a little way with him today and he joked with me about being late for work because we were chatting, ‘they won’t pay you’ he said.
I don’t care if I’m a few minutes late, it’s a sad world if I can’t pass the time of day with him. I know his wife dies many years ago but he spends an afternoon with a lady friend sometimes; he twinkled when he told me! This morning he also spoke to a pretty school girl who smiled back and then headed into the shop. I know they love him in there; he hangs out with the dreadlocked shop guy putting the world to rights, getting his milk and bread. Despite his physical problems he still keeps moving, he walks to town – fifteen minutes for me – even if it takes a while, he doesn’t need to rush and I suspect he chats along the way.
So I wonder why elderly man number one is so different, he could just be more reserved, I hope it’s that and nothing worse. But I also hope that I’ll be like number two when I’m getting on a bit (if I’m spared), as we sow so we reap and I really want to keep on talking with anyone who will!
None are so old as those who have outlived enthusiasm, Thoreau.