• 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…

  • Living Between the Lines

    From bad to worse and back again…

    I can only blame myself and yet… It began like this. Charlie Brown was limping on Saturday. On Sunday he seemed better…then he began licking his paw and limping again. Nothing for it, a trip to the vet was in order. Monday morning… My 93-year-old (“I’m almost 94,”) mother is staying with us. Lovely to have her here but tiring as her memory is going and the day begins with question – answer, same question – same answers etc.. There was the incident in the Black Dog where she asked what “WIFFI” was when reading it on a card on the windowsill. We explained that it was wi-fi. There followed…

  • 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…