Thursday began well. Sensible time, no raging pain, a gentle coming to and coffee followed by rice krispies, more coffee and a nap. Thus the morn passed making way for a generous by current standards, dollop of lasagne. Followed by seconds. Unheard of in recent times but welcome. Maybe it was the fact that shadows made patterns in the garden, maybe it looked more springlike than anything seen so far this year. It was just a nice day.
Once the post lunch nap was done the thought of a Dartmoor drive appealed, a visit long overdue to see Dad. A phone call ended abruptly, as it would when words like panic, escaped, wandered off, I'll phone back were the ones left ringing in the ears.
An hour and a half, two? However long once comms were restored calm had descended and I suggested that we'd have visited but it was a bit late, now. No, come, the whole crowd's coming later. Normally I wouldn't have considered it so far from my comfort time zone but today had been a good one. We couldn't stay long as my cataract recovering better half was not happy about having to drive anywhere no matter how necessary.
A drive around the north and western edges of the moor is always a joy enhanced with the roof down but cataract recovery needs a draught and dust free environment so the roof stayed up. It was still a joy as it's almost Lexus silent and by far quicker and more comfy. Arriving, parking, slowly and carefully walking into the kitchen and coffee. Nice. Haven't visited my brother for ages. Remembering that I was there to visit dad too, I dutifully wandered into the front room. Alright? I asked. Where you from? I told him. He said he knew someone who lived there, I was relieved at that.
My brother has a Linn with a Naim and now speakers that do them justice so he put on Bob Marley, not an artist I'd choose to while away hours with but the quality of the musicianship shone through, the mastery of the recording engineers art and the cohesion of the soundstage was magnificent. Decent sound costs. Really great sound costs lots.
The irony of being sat in his front room with my dad listening to Bob Marley was not lost on me, a man who once bought me a copy of Val Doonican's greatest hits on that well known mfp label from Woolworths for Christmas when I bought Led Zeppelin. I still have both. One comes readily to hand. I can still remember Patrick McGinty, an Irishman of note, fell into a fortune and bought himself goat, says he lots of goats milk I'm sure to have me fill but when he got the nanny home he found it was a bill and so on. Doesn't quite have the ring of Been dazed and confused for so long it's not true, wanted a woman never bargained for you. Val Doonican, Robert Plant, I bet you won't read any blogs with those names in the same sentence or even the same paragraph, eh? Happier days.
Dad's tea things cleared away and someone shouted come and get it. I tried and immediately remembered that getting up from a settee is best done slowly but Bob had just shot the sheriff, swore it was in self defence and it was the deputy anyway so the moment waiting for the body to join the head was entertaining.
My brothers do's are legendary. We sit around a huge bowl centrally placed. This bowl begins with a mountain of chips rising above all else. Everyone dives in but the mountain remains constant. I don't think we ever run out of chips we just get so tired lifting them we can't raise the energy. Not just chips. Platters of breads, sliced, rolls, I don't know what else, but seeing as I can't do either any more I just watch. His other frying pan relentlessly fries eggs, beautifully, real farm ones. I can do those and then there's the ham, delicately hacked into manageable chunks and slices, artistically arranged on a platter for seconds. I can do ham too. I just can't do as much of either as I once could. I didn't have to take pills with every other mouth full either. Happier days.
I sit and watch, my brother frying, filling bowls and sandwiches, constantly switching between frying pan, chopping board and deep fat fryer, his wife busily ensuring that no one lacks anything, water, wine, coffee, whatever needs filling she's there.
Opposite me my niece what's appraising her industrially busy husband of all that transpires, or I assume that's what's happening, in between chip butties with mayo, next to her my sister asks if I've seen this photo or that one at which point an iPhone, worn as a ring is thrust to within a few millimetres of my eyes which if I had my glasses on may have been worthwhile but even if I had them I wouldn't have time to look at the photo, merely seeing it would be a struggle for one whose brain has slowed so much, next to me my brother in law recites tweets with short sharp generally disparaging comments, I keep wanting to ask who wrote that, when, to whom, why, what was next, what preceeded it and so on, context is everything but irelevant in tweets it seems. Besides there's photos of a bruised arm and an x-ray of his recently dislocated shoulder to see in between chip butties with added egg. To my left a bloodshot left eye silently asks if I've had enough, is it time to make a move, have I had this pill or that, do I need this potion yet and so on. She, too is failing to lower the chip mountain despite a degree of vigour.
I sit. I watch. I listen. I look. I enjoy. Perfect comfort, perfectly at ease, perfect in our understanding of one another, banter unchanged regardless of the technology. Happy days.
I take notice when my sister wheezes, enough, no more chips, I'm stuffed. She's not, of course, the frying may cease but the mountain remains. Over the next few minutes tired hands let chips fall onto buttered bread as experts all demonstrate the effortless construction of chip butties with an infinite variety of additions, tired hands manage chips directly to the mouth but however it is done the chip mountain gradually diminishes until finally there is the undignified scrabble for the crunchy crispy slivers left and silently even those are dispatched.
Much leaning back, breath catching before the shrapnel of the feeding processes are levered into the dishwasher and then puddings are dragged out. A monster slab of hot brownie and a large dish of pineapple upside down pudding are unwrapped. My niece notices the missing pineapple ring and has the nerve to accuse me of being responsible. Moi? As if. My sister looks up from her phone j'accuse written large in her expression. I feel happy that I didn't let them down. It seemed the right thing to do. It was nice and as long as my chunk did not include the missing ring I was happy. Custard almost floated it but there was just enough sponge to accept a dollop of cream without it sliding into yellow obscurity. Lovely. I tried a lump of brownie, too but a bloodshot eye raised questions, easily ignored. It was rich. Happy days.
Bloated, the withdrawal to the front room saw dad glance up, I hope he knew us all but vagueness overrides all else I think. I had to sit on a kitchen chair opposite him and he seemed content, at peace. To his right an absent husband was what's appraised of the latest move, next to her photos were looked at, fleetingly displayed and ignored by glasses less eyes. Next to me a bloodshot eye told me it was getting near dark and should we make a move? No. To my right tweets continued to be offered as worthy of consideration. My brother sitting next to dad thought he could squeeze in another slab of brownie and his ever attentive wife continued to fill glasses, beakers and mugs. Bloated. Happy.
The bloodshot eye asked the question, my mind wondered how long it had been since I'd driven in the dark and the tiredness of effort made itself felt. I was so happy to feel that as I'm so used to fatigue that mere tiredness is a great feeling. Tired, content, happy, it was time to go. Getting in the car I looked to turn the lights on but was a bit flummoxed. They are on, they come on automatically, you can't turn them off. Oh, yes, I recall that bit of the manual. What a silly idea. The inside looked strange, beautifully lit but we are unaccustomed to seeing it thus. Quite smart actually a very nice place to be.
Driving off gently down the hill and over the bridge back into the foreign land we call home the car glides in as close to silence as you can get. The rain spots the screen and letting them build up I was pleased to be able to select a finger to gently tap the stalk and the wipers silently swept the water to the a pillar and then to the screen scuttle. Is there anything as pointless as automatic rain sensing wipers? I think not, except automatic lights. There's something sadly pleasant about judging the density of rain drops needed to ensure that the wipers blades do their task with silent efficiency. Things like that make me happy, too. Not as happy as being in a car that glides along minor roads West of Dartmoor with effortless ease, allows such delicate control and permits such precise placement that you can start to think that you are a good driver. I'm not, the car is. You are left wondering quite how the last 30 miles were covered so soon but such is the reality of driving a car that far exceeds the ability of the driver. Were it not dark I'm sure a bloodshot eye would have noticed a satisfied grin. Dual carriageway dispensed with in silent efficiency, smooth comfort and awesome confidence inducing happiness home arrived sooner than expected.
A beer, bed and in the pre dawn gloom as I reached for the syringe I came up close to the photo of Paul and his sister as I do every day about this time. Paul smiling, his sister laughing. For the first time I can remember I was able to smile back, no tremors, no moist eyes, just overwhelming gratitude to family, for family and especially today as it's Paul's son's fourth birthday.
The last few years have seen happiness become a stranger, sometimes even feeling guilty for considering happiness something to be searched out but in the last few hours happiness has found me. Family, a bit of crant, some aspects of life as it once was and still is, in all this happiness searched me out and with the able assistance of family and the help of friends, it's found me.
Happy days. Indeed.
No comments:
Post a Comment