Help. I’m Losing The Plot

Or have I already lost it?  Friend Who Knows Too Much pointed out to me today that not only does she not mind moths but that she and Artistic-Daughter raised a moth from a caterpillar once and were delighted with the resultant moth even though it turned out to be a little on the drab side.  Why, when I wrote that in the post about the Northern Wattle Moth, did I confuse moths with spiders?  I am getting worried.  I should know the difference: moths don’t have 8 legs and spiders don’t have wings.  Leastways I think I’ve got that the correct way round. 

Mum didn’t like moths.  I know that.  She really didn’t like moths.  Well not when they were flying around.  I think CJ showed her the beauty of moths – as he did me.   But then even if I did get it wrong about Mum she may look down and shake her head in bemusement but she won’t be sending me an email!  Unfortunately.

Actually, and here I digress as is my wont,  Mum (whom I, of course, would have said was a prime candidate for heaven) always said that she didn’t want to go to there.  Too cold.  She felt that Down Under would be much better from that point of view.  Mum could stand most things but not the cold.  How Mum and Dad managed to live in the same house all those years is beyond my understanding.  Mum liked the living room at the temperature at which butter would turn liquid instantly.  Dad liked it at, well, the temperature most of us humans can cope with.

Playing The Glad Game

On 15 March 2002 Mum died at the age of 93.  She chose to die whilst she had all her mental faculties although she reckoned that she had a forgettory and not a memory.  If that was a forgettory then I’m not looking forward to what I might have as I get older.  In the period before Mum died I was staying with CJ and Jo.  Mum was still living with them although she went into a nursing home for the last few days of her life.  She was not in the slightest bit afraid of dying and wanted to rejoin her family and friends who had already passed on.  I trust that she is happily united with them.

It was a very sad time but also a time of understanding.  When I returned to Lewis, among the many cards of condolences was one from an acquaintance whom I knew only fleetingly.  It rested upright in front of me on the breakfast bar for some time – longer than it should have done – without me responding.  Then one day I had an unexpected piece of news which prompted me to ring.

So as a result of Mum’s passing I received a card.  As a result of that card I made a phone call.  As a result of that phone call I made one of the most important friendships of my life.

Some would say that God moves in mysterious ways.  Some would say that it just happened.  Some would say that it was fate.  Some would say it was karma.  Whatever.  I offer no opinion.  All I know is that if that simple chain of events hadn’t happened my life would have been very different and very much the poorer for it.

In what seem to be the very worst of circumstances one can still play the Glad Game.

I Still Miss You, Mum

Flora Edwards née Body died at the age of 93 on 15 March 2002. Forty years earlier we had been on holiday in Scotland: it rained a lot when we holidayed because we did so amongst hills and mountains and in August during, of course, the school holidays. August was also the wettest month of the summer. As readers know photography was a family pastime and rarely were we to be seen without a camera in hand. Which was how I managed to get this photo. I had no time to focus, properly aim or indeed think as I walked towards Mum and she struck the pose. I had the camera at my side and just pressed the button. That I only managed to cut off Mum’s feet was a miracle. It is one of my favourites amongst the very many photos I took of Mum.