A wooden espresso machine and a plastic chainsaw.

The view from the front door, January-March 2018

Christmas Day 2017 began with coffee, ably assisted by a 1 3/4 year old apprentice.  His gran and I were sat with him in his kitchen anxiously awaiting news from just down the road. The building, large, white and centre is Singleton hospital. Top, right is ward 10. Oncology inpatients.

The hope was that post chemo blood infusions would allow my helpers Dad to come home for Christmas. 

He did. A selfie sent about 1000 showed a less pale Paul with a wistful smile.

Late morning till about tea time Paul sat uncomfortably in front of the fire, struggled to have Christmas dinner but managed as well as he could.

 It was, I think, quite a party in a subdued but far from Joyless way. A wonderful day in its way, even if I was required to don certain clothing of a seasonal nature and distribute the contents of a sack! At least it gave Paul a suitable subject to focus on so that maximum embarrassment could be extracted!

Presents were exchanged, opened and pressed into use rapidly as only a 1 3/4 year old could manage. 

Precious time.

The struggle had to be acknowledged and a return to ward 10 was delayed but not past (very) early evening.

Those practicing on ward 10 are amazing people. The sequence was repeated on Boxing Day and gradually time at home increased eventually allowing chemo and blood to be given as an outpatient.

Singleton hospital was very much the focus last Christmas. This year the focus was elsewhere. 

The view of the front door Christmas Day 2018

Christmas Day 2018 and the view from the front door couldn't be more different.

Some things were very similar. "Coffee, Granda" as my 2 3/4 year old able assistant offers his services in the caffeine cause. I say offers but in reality its more of a demand and we're  getting quite good at extracting espresso and steaming milk. He's pretty good at it although he'll improve when two strikes of the grinder dispenser stay at two rather than continuing to three and unless I'm quicker, four. He delights in pointing out the mess to his gran and explaining whose fault it is......... 

This Christmas one of his presents was a wonderful wooden espresso machine complete with coloured coffee pucks, properly fitting portafilter, cups and spoon.

Once he'd examined it closely and ascertained that batteries were not included or needed the noises of coffee extraction were mimicked to a tee.

He was right in there. No instructions needed. He had it down to a fine art, everything in the right order, almost. But not quite. "Frothy milk jug for the steam wand, Granda." Not a question, really, not a demand just a look of one with expertise wondering were such an important part of the process was. It was probably as fast as I've moved in recent days but a suitable plastic frothy milk jug was found and pressed into use.

Proud doesn't begin to describe it. His aunty and uncle were inspired in their gifts, as always.

Next to see the light of day was a Bosch Chain saw, complete with batteries this time so it made all the right noises. After some experimentation it was found able to make the unwrapping process even more fun. 

His dad would have been so chuffed and immensely proud. His dad's dad was doubly chuffed and proud enough for all of us. Now, if we could convince his wonderful mum of the delights of caffeine extraction!

The only view that really matters.

I'm so glad it was Christmas Day. I could have a shower, whether I needed it or not.

Led Zeppelin two, Linn and a life

Last night, Monday, I sat here and listened to Led Zeppelin 2 streamed at 24bit 192hz from a hard disk. It won't stream over the network as there's insufficient bandwidth. From a USB HDD it sounded glorious. I love that album, it is the best example of bass and drums in perfect harmony that I know of. John Henry Bonham and John Paul Jones in perfect sync. The control, the power emphasised and enhanced because of the control. The precision, the speed, the definition, the soundstage, the separation. I could go on but you get the idea. It was wonderful.  . . . and yet.

0s and 1s are amazing and the data being passed, processed and presented makes the mind boggle. I don't pretend to understand but I know what I'm hearing. And yet . . .

I have a copy of the original record, 50 years old next year, I think. I placed it on the platter of a nearly 30 year old Linn Sondek, lowered a Linn Ittok and its attached Linn Klyde into a record groove cut half a century ago. It's been played on a Phillipps record player bought in Aden in 1966, a Pioneer PL12D bought in Comet Gloucester in 1973, a Linn Axis bought in Radfords Exeter in 1984 and now a LP12 bought in Truro 26 years after my brother and I first heard a LP12 through a Naim six pack and Linn Isobarik speakers on a wet Saturday in ETS opposite the cathedral.

The lumps of diamond, real and fake, that have been dragged through those grooves over the years don't bear thinking about. The record does show signs of wear. And yet . . . .

It sounded different, no it sounded better. 

I know modern readership will wonder what I'm writing about. Many will yawn and ignore, some will deprecate, deny and even despise. But I know what I'm listening to.

Trying to explain what it sounds like is pointless. It has to be experienced. Even then a closed mind will remain so but I challenge anyone used to decent sound reproduction to listen to a well set up record player playing a well recorded and well pressed plate of vinyl and not note a difference. Indeed, I'd be surprised if it wasn't acknowledged as better. Not more convenient, but better. There may be a few snap, crackles and pops but I bet you wouldn't notice them as the music overrides everything else.

It is a wonderful thing, music. It deserves the best it can be given to do its thing.

Last night I was lost in tunes, but not entirely.

It's been a hard week. Scans, codeine, tramadol, blood tests in our surgery and in bed, doctor visits to the bedside, sudden debilitating pain for the first time post surgery and then an appointment with our cancer nurse and consultant.

The recent weeks events seem not cancer related, indeed the scans show a reduction in the rate of growth. The view of the horizon is not of medical professionals bringing PICC lines, bags of chemo or boxes of pills. The horizon is clear for three months. No blood tests. No appointments. No contact unless I sense a deterioration or feel it necessary.

Surprised? Initially. But then not really. Apart from whatever happened last week, the doctor thinks gastritis, I feel too well. I get tired. I lose energy quickly but I can still change brake discs and pads! I could probably do some decoration but it's the wrong time of year, isn't it?

It's the power of prayer you know. 

I know it. 

I've had so many assurances of prayer and so many have been praying for me for so long I know that prayer has had its effect. I know it to be so.

But it's not the prayer, it's the person prayed to. 

I know God didn't spare Paul despite prayer intense, abundant, faithful, but He did give him what he needed to die well. And he did die well.

I'm not there yet because of The One to whom so much prayer has been undertaken on my behalf doesn't want me yet, as I was reminded today by a good friend as she left from a visit.

I know many will wonder what I'm writing about. Many will yawn and ignore, some will deprecate, deny and even despise. But I know what I'm experiencing and who is responsible for that experience.

Thanks to all who are praying for me.

Thanks, too, to all who prayed for Paul. Your prayers were answered, too, He was glorified in Paul's life and in his death.

I can't explain it, but I know it.

Some things have to be experienced.

Some things are better than music.

In fact I felt so good that I gave up my ambitions to build a shed and ordered one .......