Everybody wants to rule the world...
Words from a Bird. Day 47
When the question of 'Home Care' cropped up last week, I was wondering whether this was something that the children were considering as the husband and I clocked up the years, but thankfully not. There have been occasions when nursing homes have been mentioned in the past (we are relying on daughter number 2 to fund this). There have also been times when I have asked if it is too soon to move into one yet....usually when all four offspring are stampeding through the house leaving a trail of food debris and dirty washing. The idea of having someone look after me can be quite appealing at those times.
But this was something much better. My lovely mum offered to look after me in the husband's absence, her aim to make sure that I sit quietly in a peaceful environment, giving my rib a chance to heal. She told me that she would not let me lift a finger, and promised that my stay with her would be the equivalent of floating on a pink fluffy cloud, with PG on tap (for me that is, a bottle of red would be her choice of libation) and the dog walked at regular intervals throughout the day. Poor Percy, if it was down to me at the moment, we'd probably only make it to the end of her drive before turning back.
The husband dropped me off at my mum's (or The Retreat, as it is now known) a couple of days ago, and you won't be surprised when I tell you that it has been quite a revelation.
My mum is a gentle soul, with leanings towards needlework, gardening and historical novels, or at least, that's what I thought. On our first night together, she suggested we watch a film, the discussions went something like this:
Mum: Die Hard? (She didn't specify which one, but it appears that Bruce Willis is her Tom Hardy)
Me: Mmmm....Beauty and the Beast? (My favourite Disney film ever. That kiss.......)
Mum: What about The Terminator? (I'm sensing a theme here)
Me: Bridget Jones?
Mum: Ooh look, The Expendables! (Suspicions confirmed)
Me: Nothing said, just raised eyebrows.
In the end, we watched Night at the Museum, the only reason being that we both find Ben Stiller quite dishy.
Night number 2.....dear God. I had only popped out to the kitchen to feed Percy, and when I came back, all hell was being let loose from the telly box in the corner. Expressionless face, black clothes, bad acting...it could only mean one thing. Keanu Reeves. She was watching a film called John Wick, where Keanu kills half of the Russian population because one of them killed his dog. Now, I know I would be just as upset if something ever happened to my dog, but I can't promise that I would weapon up and go on a shooting spree across the Chilterns.
After watching 90 minutes of this, my pink fluffy cloud had been blown to oblivion in a puff of mini explosives (Keanu had those too. He must have very deep pockets in that coat). The film thankfully drew to a noisy climactic finale (I can't tell you exactly how it ended, as I was trying to regulate my breathing in the kitchen at that point).
I can honestly say that having watched this film, I was like a coiled spring, and felt like I wanted to go and punch someone (anyone, actually).
It took a hot chocolate, some Bach Rescue Remedy and forty minutes of whale song to bring me back to my 'quiet place'.
I am hoping that tonight's choice of film might be a little more sedate....otherwise tomorrow may find me with a couple of Kalashnikovs and a flick knife in my pop sock looking for world domination...
When the question of 'Home Care' cropped up last week, I was wondering whether this was something that the children were considering as the husband and I clocked up the years, but thankfully not. There have been occasions when nursing homes have been mentioned in the past (we are relying on daughter number 2 to fund this). There have also been times when I have asked if it is too soon to move into one yet....usually when all four offspring are stampeding through the house leaving a trail of food debris and dirty washing. The idea of having someone look after me can be quite appealing at those times.
But this was something much better. My lovely mum offered to look after me in the husband's absence, her aim to make sure that I sit quietly in a peaceful environment, giving my rib a chance to heal. She told me that she would not let me lift a finger, and promised that my stay with her would be the equivalent of floating on a pink fluffy cloud, with PG on tap (for me that is, a bottle of red would be her choice of libation) and the dog walked at regular intervals throughout the day. Poor Percy, if it was down to me at the moment, we'd probably only make it to the end of her drive before turning back.
The husband dropped me off at my mum's (or The Retreat, as it is now known) a couple of days ago, and you won't be surprised when I tell you that it has been quite a revelation.
My mum is a gentle soul, with leanings towards needlework, gardening and historical novels, or at least, that's what I thought. On our first night together, she suggested we watch a film, the discussions went something like this:
Mum: Die Hard? (She didn't specify which one, but it appears that Bruce Willis is her Tom Hardy)
Me: Mmmm....Beauty and the Beast? (My favourite Disney film ever. That kiss.......)
Mum: What about The Terminator? (I'm sensing a theme here)
Me: Bridget Jones?
Mum: Ooh look, The Expendables! (Suspicions confirmed)
Me: Nothing said, just raised eyebrows.
In the end, we watched Night at the Museum, the only reason being that we both find Ben Stiller quite dishy.
Night number 2.....dear God. I had only popped out to the kitchen to feed Percy, and when I came back, all hell was being let loose from the telly box in the corner. Expressionless face, black clothes, bad acting...it could only mean one thing. Keanu Reeves. She was watching a film called John Wick, where Keanu kills half of the Russian population because one of them killed his dog. Now, I know I would be just as upset if something ever happened to my dog, but I can't promise that I would weapon up and go on a shooting spree across the Chilterns.
After watching 90 minutes of this, my pink fluffy cloud had been blown to oblivion in a puff of mini explosives (Keanu had those too. He must have very deep pockets in that coat). The film thankfully drew to a noisy climactic finale (I can't tell you exactly how it ended, as I was trying to regulate my breathing in the kitchen at that point).
I can honestly say that having watched this film, I was like a coiled spring, and felt like I wanted to go and punch someone (anyone, actually).
It took a hot chocolate, some Bach Rescue Remedy and forty minutes of whale song to bring me back to my 'quiet place'.
I am hoping that tonight's choice of film might be a little more sedate....otherwise tomorrow may find me with a couple of Kalashnikovs and a flick knife in my pop sock looking for world domination...
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