Nearly There

Eileen - I found your comment on Tiny Steps in Circles in the spam folder, but I still felt hugged. Thank you. As for meals - it was far worse when father was here. I'm working on it.

Bless - working around the men has driven me daft over the years. However over the last few weeks I've been changing my mindset. I've spent so much energy on feeding my husband and son that I've been running on empty for me, so I've filled up on chocolate and crisps. I'm trying to change that mindset now, and getting stuff available for me. The men eat at night, but I'm planning on having my main meals three days of the week (when DH has pasta bake) at lunchtime. It's a work in progress, but it's getting better. 

The fuchsia is now as big as my car. I took the pic out of the bathroom window, and I think that the angle doesn't do the fuchsia justice. 

I think that the darned thing is now wider than my car.

I'm worried about it hanging over the pavement, but I think people can still get past. And it is glorious.

It's so full of bees that I'm reluctant to prune it. It was so damp when I took the pics, as you can tell, but the fuchsia was alive with bees. They crawl right inside the bell of the flower, which I guess would be unaffected by rain, and there were dozens of them. If I was going to prune it, I would have to wait until night time or I'd be stung to pieces. As it's now warm and wet, I expect the dratted thing will expand even more, but I can't deprive the bees. By the way, this is what it looked like in May, four months ago. 

I am blaming father. He had a habit of planting fuchsias that got out of hand. 

Today is my late mother's birthday. She would have been 84. I didn't get on with her. Quite a few health care professionals have put my mental breakdowns at her door. When I moved 100 miles away from her, the rest of the family saw that as a minimum safe distance between the two of us. I can remember no encouragement from her, no hugs and no affirmations. If this was fiction, I could paint her as a really bad mother. 

Real life isn't like that. She had a grim childhood, and didn't get to have sweets until they came off the ration in 1953. Her father was a cyclist and raced. All her sweet ration went to him for his training. She should have gone on to further education, but she was badly hurt in a cycle accident and messed up her exams. And she was amazingly knowledgeable. She read biographies and travel books and paid attention. She had a gypsy soul, but had never really been in a position to follow her wanderlust. She was hit by a lot of ill health and bad luck. And sometimes, like everyone, she didn't make the right decisions. She did her best. She fought for me in her own way, and I'm grateful for it.

People are people. Sometimes I talk about a memory to DH and he winces and sympathises, even though it's something that I saw as absolutely normal at the time. He saw how hard it was at times and used to hide when my mother visited. But no-one is ever completely bad. No soul is completely dark. I remember her generosity and her sparkling mind. Next time I am in Tesco, I will put a load of stuff in the food bank in her memory. She would approve of that, I think. 

I know I get things wrong with bear. I just hope that he feels safe with me. I know he got as many hugs as he would permit (not so many now he's a strapping fifteen year old, but I'm sure that I'll get more later). I'm always telling bear that I love him, that I think that he's great, that I'm proud of him. I hope I haven't swung too far the other way (but his teachers seem to think that he's a nice kid, so perhaps I'm getting it right). I hope that the things I get wrong with bear don't hurt him later on. I do my best, just like my mother. Just like any of us can. And that's my rather sombre thought for the day.

Hugs and good health to all.