• My Mum and me
    Living Between the Lines,  Mum is the word

    Thank you to a Guardian Angel

    Saying goodbye to my mum was the saddest of any tasks I’ve had to face during this Covid crisis. Yes, she of the dancing shoes, high heels and sparkling dresses, has left us. She was funny, nowhere near as prim and proper as she appeared and the master of the disparaging look. Am I like her? It is not for me to say. Aren’t we all a little like our mothers? I did not take after her for dancing, nor for singing but my creative talents do come from her and my grandmother. Both talented ladies, painted and sewed a fine seam and my grandmother wrote many short stories that…

  • Living Between the Lines,  Mum is the word

    Guardian Angels

    We are at the very beginning of this 12 week (??) stay-at-home—be-extra-careful gig. Already, conspiracy theories abound on the reasons we are all going through this turmoil right now. Any could be true. I won’t add to speculation by dwelling on the cause, be it Alien intervention, God, Greta Thunberg, nature, one of the super powers… because we are in it and despite the sudden panic that sent people rushing to the shops to bag the last rolls of toilet paper and pasta (??) we are managing quite well under the circumstances. For my part, I have a plentiful supply of lollipops, pasta, waffles and fish fingers because my grandchildren…

  • Mum aged 37
    Living Between the Lines,  Mum is the word

    A Mission, A Storm, A Delivery and A Sofa …

    The Mission For the past several months, my mother, now 94 and a half years old, (“I’m nearly 95, Debbie!”) has complained that her sofa has been falling to bits. On our last visit, we had to agree. The cushion covers had torn and were exposing the seat pads which were, themselves, worse for wear. The sofa itself was not in good shape and though the jury is out on exactly how old it was, the general consensus is that it must have been about 25-30 years old. We were staying in the gorgeous, Shire Stables, an absolute gem of a place only a mile or two from my mother…

  • Living Between the Lines,  Mum is the word

    Is it me or is it you?

    The phone rang at an unusual hour considering it was my mother at the other end. Our phone calls tend to take place late afternoon unless there is something wrong. So, it was with some trepidation that I picked up the phone this morning saying, “Hello?” “Oh, who am I speaking to? Is that Debbie?” “Yes, are you ok?” “Oh, yes I am fine thank you, not too bad at all but I have two parcels for you…I don’t know what they are of course…” “Oh, that’s odd, I haven’t ordered anything…” (thinks, oh no, not again!) “What sort of parcels?” “I’ll look, just a minute, just got to go…

  • Mum is the word

    Mothers, Dogs and Teeth…

    The hospital car park is full. It is not just full, cars are double parked at every turn. We crawl round the multi-storey, us and others with the same hope of finding a vacant spot. As one, we form a shiny metal snake, slithering round the levels. Occasionally, one lucky person spots a vacant space and slides into it as another slides out. This happens perhaps three times in half an hour. The rest of us continue our slow descent to the exit. There are no spaces in the local roads, just double yellow lines and tantalizing permit bays. Steven and I explore the surrounding area to no avail. Other…