The Leaf Blower Extraordinaire Tuesday

Posted on June 6, 2025 by thepogblog

The new jobs are coming thick and fast now.

This Tuesday I became Fixer of Bracelets (I’ll do another post on that as it’s a useful one and deserves a spot on Muddled Life Resources) and Leaf Blower Extraordinaire***.

Mum and Dad have a lovely, very mature garden that they have put years of effort into.  It’s still gorgeous (if a little…shall we say ‘wild’), but it does need a little help if it’s going to look good if summer comes back / arrives.  It’s surrounded by woodland and one thing I’ve not got on top of is clearing the blimin’ leaves.  All the easy bits are complete, but they are still thick on most of the flower beds.  And I can only assume that once I clear one part , the leaves I’ve not picked up multiply and we’re back to square one.  There’s obviously no more falling so they are either procreating or hiding somewhere, waiting for a clear patch to have a lie down on.

In my quest to rid the garden of leaves I put a request out to my circuits class this week to see if anyone had a leaf blower I could borrow.  And one kind soul did, so off I trotted on Tuesday with this thing that looked more like a weapon to be used in war than a gardening implement, filling the boot:

It was like a jigsaw puzzle getting the Tesco shop and the small pharmacy I picked up for Mum and Dad on the way around that…

Obviously, it rained Tuesday morning.  And Tuesday afternoon.  And Although Dad warned me it wouldn’t work well with wet leaves I gave it a try.  It didn’t work well with wet leaves.  I will hope for better weather next week.

I caught sight of my reflection in Mum and Dad’s patio doors at one point.  With the shoulder strap slung across me, my Weapon of Leaf Destruction in both hands, my hole-y gardening leggings and paint covered sweatshirt on I looked…like a menopausal Lara Croft, who had frankly, let herself go. 🤦🏼‍♀️

Luckily for you, I did not do a selfie.

I did capture this chap though, who despite the loudness and movement caused by the Weapon of Leaf Destruction, followed me around most of the time I was out there 🙂

***not quite, but just you wait til next week!

Posted in COPD, dementia, family, gardening, looking after Mum, Pog Life, Tuesday | Tagged , , | Leave a comment

Introducing…:Ray

Posted on June 2, 2025 by thepogblog

Sometimes I think I take after my Dad in that I don’t really like people.

And then I remember that I am also utterly fascinated by people and their lives, and that there are some people I could listen to for hours.

There are of course, some people whose mouths I’d like to stuff with sponge so that they can’t actually utter another word.  I think that’s the Dad part.

Sometimes people stop and chat to me and Mr R when we are out walking together, but this weekend I noticed something really interesting:  Alone (with Percy on guard, obviously), other walkers chat to you more.  It’s a weird thing because in day to day life – at the supermarket say, or walking through a town – I feel utterly invisible.  But on footpaths and through fields, people share a few words, or sometimes even have a conversation.

This weekend I met the two men (one runner, one cyclist) who convinced me I’d be fine walking through a field of cows with Percy and if not, they would come to my aid.  I chatted to a bloke running with six dogs on his harness.  None were his.  He doesn’t have a dog as he lives in a one bed flat with his wife, but he wanted a career change so left his corporate job to work for a dog running service and takes out dogs twice a day, and is loving every minute.

And then I met Ray.  And just typing his name makes my heart lift.  Ray was walking through a field of buttercups that Percy was doing mad circles in, having the time of his life. ‘He’s happy’, said Ray to me.

We stopped and watched the chaos monkey do another lap, and Ray told me that he really misses his dog, Benji who he recently lost.  He’d tried everything he could to get another dog, but nobody would let him.

I need to show you the photo I took of Ray at this point.  He let me take it – I said it would go on my blog but not many people would see it.  He said it was fine as long as he didn’t see it next week in the Sunday Times.  I think we can consider ourselves safe there…

So, this is Ray:

He’d ‘only done 1.5 hours of walking so far’ and from what he said I estimated he had at least another 30 minutes to get home.  He goes out every day to walk the hills.  Doesn’t have a TV; would rather be active.  He proposed to his darling wife Kathleen on a very muddy Woolstonbury Hill over 50 years ago.  He lost her 7 years ago.  He misses her every day.  We sttod and admired the hill.  Top of the world for him too.

Ray’s career was as a professional diver.  I asked what that meant.  He said insurance and things like that.  And that when fancy boats sunk, he was employed to go and fetch the valuables before anyone else got them.  He said he also worked in the Thames too though, and that was not quite as glamourous.

He told me that his nurse wants him to talk to her husband to get him out from in front of the TV and be active like him.  He has the nurse to help with the ‘outside bladder’ he has strapped to his leg because of the bladder cancer.  (He showed me, bless him).  He had cancer in his jaw too, but they took that out and his teeth, so he has no teeth on that side of his face but he’s getting implants soon as the jaw is almost strong enough to take them now.

It was a joy to talk to Ray; so full of life and loving being active.  His sadness over no longer having Kathleen by his side was almost tangible and I felt sad he could not have a new four-legged friend.  I asked why he couldn’t maybe have an older dog, and he said that ultimately it was because of his age.  And then this vibrant man, who walks the hills every day for a few hours, who is on a complex cancer journey, who is full of grief but also light and hope, stunned me.

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Ray: NINETY years young.

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I read a map 😁 (And got it right!)

Posted on June 1, 2025 by thepogblog

When I was little I hated walking.  If Mum and Dad uttered the dreaded ‘we’re going for a walk’ I pretty much instantaneously developed a tummy ache. I’m not sure why I bothered as I’m pretty sure the response was always that ‘a nice walk would make it better…’

It wasn’t just as a child either.  I remember a Boxing Day walk as an adult where my sisters packed their pockets with Celebrations chocolates to entice me around, the way you’d get a reluctant dog to follow you with treats.  And there was a holiday in my 30’s with two friends who loved walking, so I had no choice, but did insist that I would only walk if we finished at a pub or somewhere I could have a cream tea.  I just didn’t see the point of walking for walkings sake.  If there was a reason, that was fine, but otherwise…nah.

It was slightly ironic; my maiden name was ‘Walker’, and I did not get the whole walking thing.

But now – no longer a Walker – I seem to have become a walker.

It might have been reading ‘The Salt Path’.  It might have been that the weather changed just enough for it to be a pleasure, it might be my age, or it might be because all the stars all suddenly aligned, but suddenly the thing that used to give me tummy ache is the thing that lets the knots inside loosen and my head to (mostly) empty of the thoughts that usually circle and circle and circle and circle….

For the last few weekends Mr R and I have packed into a rucksack a round of banana and peanut butter sandwiches (him) and banana and almond butter sandwiches (me), two cheese and pickle rolls, a pack of bourbon biscuits and an apple each (which we pretty much always bring back, slightly bruised).  One small flask of tea to share, three bottles of water, Percy’s walking water bowl and two cans of cider.  Himself has mapped a route on his OS map app, we’ve put on the Percy hiking harnesses and off we’ve gone – at least 10 miles and usually including at least one big hill (top of the world!).  And I have (mostly) loved every minute.

We’ve downloaded a plant recognition app and a bird call app and we’re trying to educate ourselves between our breakfast and lunch stops.  And although it’s taken a good few decades to get here; I’m rather proud of this new part of me.

And today I am especially proud.  Because Mr R is away…and I did it anyway.  I am notoriously bad at map reading (not sure if I mentioned that time I drove from Somerset to Cornwall rather than to Kent?  Right road; wrong direction).  Even last week with Mr R supervising I took us the wrong way twice and had an actual paddy with the app because it was just stupid. So yesterday Percy and I did a 13.5 km loop from home that I mostly knew, but followed the map to make sure I was doing it right.  There was only one slightly awkward moment when I asked some scouts if they were ok with their maps and directions…and then had to backtrack as I’d read mine wrong and missed the turn….

And today.  Today Percy and I got up at 6am ready for a 6.30am departure only to discover ‘all trains will be replaced with a replacement bus until 8.30am’.  So we delayed things a bit, and then we:

Got the bus:

Got the train:

 

And walked back – only 12.5 km, but the first half was entirely new to me…and we didn’t get lost!

And I don’t know if it was the fact that I had to map read and convince Percy to behave like a normal dog on his harness rather than some sort of strong man hefting a lorry along with all his might.  Or whether it was having breakfast in a lovely quiet graveyard of a church so different to others that it has a toilet to use and tea, coffee and squash to help yourself to.  Or having lunch looking at the Chattri, which is a really special place to be. Or whether it’s because I finally got to see a woodpecker as it flew at head height across my path.  But my head was only interested in what was there in that minute.  And that was blimin’ lovely.

Lovely, that was, until the critical care nurse called (yes, on a Sunday!) about  Mum and Dad.  But frankly, if you have to have those sorts of conversations, having them sitting on a hill, looking across the South Downs at cows and sheep while you sip your cider and eat another bourbon, isn’t a bad option.

So yesterday and today was Epic Walk 4 & 5.  There may be a plan brewing.  It might be a terrible plan. But one thing the blog has taught me is that terrible plans do at least make blog posts.  And there might be a few walking exploits in the lead up too, as did I tell you about who I met today…?  I’ll make that a post for another day 🙂

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Where’s the grown up, please?

Posted on May 30, 2025 by thepogblog

This week we had a bonus visit as Sister 1 and 2 went on holiday.

So Mr R came down at the weekend and was the muscle on Mums outing, and while we did avoid the kicker argument (thanks to dad hiding all but one pair at a time), we didn’t avoid the toilet argument:

‘Mum, can you go for a wee before we go out?’

‘I don’t need a wee.’

‘Last time we went out we had to rush back because you needed a wee, so please could you go before we leave the house?’ (Mum wont use public toilets)

<much harrumphing and sighing>

‘I’ve been.’

‘You haven’t, you didn’t go to the bathroom’

‘I went in THERE’ <pointing at the lounge>

‘That’s the lounge.  There isn’t a toilet in there.’

‘I meant in THERE!’ <Pointing at her bedroom>

‘That’s your bedroom.  There isn’t a toilet in there.  The bathroom is here…could you go there and do a wee please?’

<Enormous amounts of harrumphing and sighing>

Luckily, the excitement of going down hill in a wheelchair distracted her from her crossness and teacakes were eaten by all.

Meanwhile, I got another new job.  I’m not sure how I feel about this.  It was as a result of having a conversation with Dad’s doctor where I got very frustrated as the respiratory nurse who used to visit him on a regular basis has stopped visiting as he has ‘had the maximum number of sessions’ and the hospice have taken him off their books as he ‘has not needed to access the services’.  I explained to the GP that this leaves me and my sisters, with no medical qualifications between us – other than a first aid certificate, which doesn’t quite cut it with advanced COPD – to decide at what point dad’s breathing is so bad additional help is needed.  Dad hates a fuss though, so that makes it even more difficult to call anyone as he will argue against it.

So the doctor gave me and my sisters our new job:

We now have to monitor Dad’s blood pressure, heart rate and O2 and if they go down, we shout.  I’m not sure how much they should go down by or at the moment quite who we shout to, as a series of phone calls to various ‘support’ has ultimately left me with ‘call 111 if you’re concerned, or 999 in an emergency’ which doesn’t feel quite right on a lot of levels.  I’m also now doubly confused as one of Dad’s blood pressure numbers seems to have gone down and the other up, so what on earth does that mean?  Quiet shouting,  loud calmness or a total inability to use the blood pressure machine?

Luckily Sister 1 and 2 are back from holiday today and they can do some measuring to confirm…something.  Sometimes I feel like I need an adult to help us.  Then I remember… 😬

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But it *is* a tortoise

Posted on May 23, 2025 by thepogblog

The other week, as I plodded through the woods, I saw a tortoise.

It’s probably important to note at this point that I don’t run with my glasses on, and as a result it’s a little like looking at the word through a lens that has been lightly smeared in Vaseline.

I took a photo of the tortoise from a distance for context:

And approached, wondering how I could best transport it with two running harnesses and a lead.  It could be a marginally slower trip home than usual.  But it tuned out it wasn’t a tortoise…it was – as I later found out – a ‘burr’.  A Burr is a growth on a tree formed by stress.  No wonder I felt an automatic affinity with it.

But I left my tortoise there.

And the next day I was so relieved to see it again, I hid it so nobody would take it and I could check in on it on my plods.

By the time we’d moved on a few days I’d got a bit obsessive and as I approached this time, I decided tortoise or not, it was coming home with me.  I had 4km left…through the woods, an open field, across a couple of main roads, over a bridge , through a nature reserve and down my road.  I wasn’t sure if I might be stealing.  So – having watched a fair few episodes of ‘Caught on Camera’ and therefore having learned from the best -, I concealed tortoise down my top.

It was a bit conspicuous.  So I decided to carry him and if I passed anyone I pretended I was using him as a weight to enhance my plod. I mostly got away with that which was a good thing as the one person who did stop me and heard all of the above suggested that if I’d not started, I should go home and have a couple of drinks…

Anyway, we made it. Mr R and Stepson 2 didn’t seem to know what to make of it, but I just got on with giving tortoise a scrub as I had a plan…

…And this was my plan.  Meet our new pet, Gwynn:

I’ll tell you why ‘Gwyn’ in a post another day.  that’s probably enough for now 🙂

Happy Friday 😁

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A pruning Tuesday

Posted on May 22, 2025 by thepogblog

My Tuesday posts tend to focus on Mum. This is mostly because it’s Mum I’m actively doing stuff with so Dad can have a few hours of (mostly) uninterrupted rest. And partly because Dad reads the blog (hi Dad! 👋🏻) which makes it a bit weird to write about him.

But this week, between shopping, washing, the now regular knicker argument, a coffee shop outing, cooking (turns out my ‘variation on a Cornish pastie’ is liked by both of them!), and a few other bits, I got to do a bit of gardening with Dad.

An elderly man in a blue shirt sits on a chair in a lush garden, using gardening tools while an orange bucket is placed nearby to collect cuttings.

Dad has always been an amazing gardener. At one point he was a gardener for people who lived in big houses with even bigger gardens. I am not a gardener but I do try. And I don’t Google to find things out, I message Dad, because he usually knows better than Google.

Dad’s breathing is not good at the moment. By the time he’d walked up the garden and cut a few bits of the rose he wanted to rectify he’d probably done enough. So after I finished some rather enthusiastic pruning with Dad’s electric saw (something I am not allowed to use at home after a few shall we say…interesting experiences…) Dad directed and I rectified the rose for him. Between us we did a fair bit. And maybe we’ll get to do a bit more together, because I still have an awful lot to learn 🙂

Posted in COPD, dementia, family, gardening, looking after Mum, memory, stroke, Tuesday | Leave a comment

Friday joy

Posted on May 16, 2025 by thepogblog

I think it says something about my mind….and possibly not a good something…that I just squealed with joy over this:

Yes.  That’s a mop and bucket.  but it’s not any old mop and bucket…oh no!  I mean, actually, the mop is pretty standard, but the bucket has magical powers; magical powers dressed up as a pedal.

You see, you do the mop in the water bit, them squeeze it out a bit in the basket, turn it 90°, squeeze it a bit more, then press the pedal and…it makes the mop go round and round really fast and takes all the excess water out and you don’t turn your entire kitchen into a great big puddle that may or may not dry before dinner.

I actually squealed.  I do hate mopping though, and now I might almost like it. And sometimes you have to find the joy in the little things.

Happy Friday 🙂

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The random bits Tuesday

Posted on May 15, 2025 by thepogblog

This Tuesday my new and slightly unexpected job was…wait for it…mattress surgeon:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(New mattresses have now been identified, negotiated, ordered and will be delivered on the Tuesday I have my mattress receiving hat on).

Next I was promoted to shoe pair-er support person when Mum bought one shoe at a time out of her room and against the odds, ended up with these three:

We got there in the end though.

In other news, Mum has a bit of a focus on stealing at the moment.  She had no idea where her brand new shirt with tags that we found in the wardrobe had come from and she wondered if she’d perhaps stolen it.  (She hadn’t; she’d bought it on a shopping expedition with Sister 2). She’d also hidden her handbag to stop ‘the girls’ (me and my sisters) from stealing her money.  Her money is not kept in her handbag.  Her Blue badge is though, and it took a bit of searching to find it in the corner of her wardrobe floor underneath a few random trainers… 🤦🏼‍♀️😬

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The not everything is the truth Tuesday

Posted on May 8, 2025 by thepogblog

Do not be fooled by this innocent, happy looking face:

Below the surface (and this week not very far below the surface), there lurks a grumpy, often shouty, frequently obnoxious old lady who, given half a chance will swear black is white and white is black.  And be warned, she is very convincing and will have anyone not on their guard believing that what she says is absolutely, completely and utterly the truth.

This Tuesday included – among other things – a trip to have Mum MOT’ed.  It was actually a visit to the ‘Community Mental Health Services for Older People’ for an annual physical health check.  We seem to have moved from fighting for Mum to see someone – anyone –  medical to pleading with people not to add any more things to her list of issues.  I think the nurse got that when she commented that we’d been able to answer ‘yes’ to every ‘have you had / do you have?’ question she asked.  The only exception was ‘do you have a respiratory illness such as COPD?’ and I was able to say no; it was Dad with that one.

The nurse and I did give Mum the chance to answer the questions, but she struggles with finding the words to answer…until she disagrees with what you’re saying.  The nurse asked what Mums diet is like.  I said she has a very sweet tooth with a love for biscuits and cakes.  Mum talked over the end of my sentence in her obnoxious old lady voice that ‘I do NOT eat biscuits and cakes’.  Now, there was no way to disprove this, so in these situations I’ve just started to agree with her.  But a little later the nurse asked about mammograms and I explained that having had breast cancer many years ago, Mum only has one boob.  The obnoxious old lady came out again with ‘I do NOT only have one boob!’  I pointed out that it would be pretty easy to find out which one of us was right on this topic and for once it was Mum who went quiet and from that point the nurse checked every answer with me…

So I guess this Tuesdays message is that not everything you see and hear is the truth, in any situation (but especially with my Mum) 😁🤦🏼‍♀️

PS: To keep it real, while I do my best to make light of this, it can be really hard to deal with so while I find the smiles to write this, for me, my sisters and I imagine my Dad…and everyone else who looks after someone whose light is slowly going out…there are tears too.  If you are one of those people, I get it and I send you my love. x

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A tea and cake Tuesday

Posted on May 1, 2025 by thepogblog

After taking Mum to see her sister last week, and Mum then telling my sisters that I went without her (how did she remember that I went but forgot that she came too?!), I did think twice about how much effort should go into her outings.  Apparently she was quite cross that I hadn’t taken her…🤦🏼‍♀️

But I guess even if she doesn’t remember a few hours later, she does enjoy doing things in the moment, and people spend forever learning how to live in the moment, so maybe I should just accept that Mum has actually attained a higher level of…something.

So this week, at Lovely Friends suggestion, we went to  ‘Cafe on the Green’ a weekly event at a nearby village where older people gather for tea and biscuits, a good natter and occasional activities.  This is something Mum would usually hate and walking in I had butterflies in my tummy.  She loved it.  I think it helped that Lovely Friend came to sit with us while we were there, but Mum also loved that the helpers chatted to her (and cleverly didn’t ask her any questions so she didn’t have to do anything other than say hello in return).  It was Valerie’s 90th birthday.  Valerie didn’t look a day over 79.  We all sang happy birthday to Valerie and in return were given a slice of  birthday cake.  That was also a highlight for Mum.  She’s a sucker for a piece of cake.

So we will go back to Cafe on the Green.  I imagine it might be a new experience for Mum each time we go.  I’m just hoping she doesn’t decide that I’ve been going without her…

I also drove Mum to see this wisteria….it’s absolutely stunning.  She’d forgotten that before we even got back home though 🤦🏼‍♀️

 

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