Seems to be a clematis. I saw it in a garden in our village, so naturally had to take a photo.
Seems to be a clematis. I saw it in a garden in our village, so naturally had to take a photo.
What could be more radical than a 72 year old golden oldie who travels by wheelchair since a year, with a camera to take photos almost daily. Not quite every day, it depends on the weather and rain does not mix with wheelchairs, at least not with mine. I like to have something to do. Reading the newspaper and watching TV is not my thing. I make an exception for a British television soap which is based on the East End of London, where my origins are, I also like a good cookery programme, but otherwise I get my news online on my iPad where I can combine it all with other useful stuff. Mr. Swiss likes to keep up with the political developments and I get a lot from him.
At the moment I am typing on my Apple Macbook in the living room whilst Mr. Swiss is watching one of his German soaps. It is Sunday early evening and there is a storm outside. I am now writing my third computer prompt of the afternoon. I also have regular challenges with photos that I like to do. Every morning I write a Good Morning blog, about this and that. I get up, prepare breakfast, fire up the computer and write. There are times when I really do not have a clue what I want to write, but somehow I find something.
I do not really want a planned life, things happen. When you no longer can do things you used to, you have to find another way, and I have found it. I do not have to do what I do but I want to. I have discovered the joy of writing, of photography and of nature. I am surrounded by trees, farms, and a river even runs through it and I like to explore and discover. I enjoy every moment of my day, no matter what I do. Even shopping can be an adventure, just look on the positive side of it. And there is always a book to read somewhere, on my Kindle. If it is electronic and cyber I am interested, and as long as the interest is there, I am OK with it.
I am lucky, how long I can do what I do I do not know, but life takes care of itself. It might be radical, but it is fun.
Growing old is not so easy
No longer so agile, even wheezy
I got new code from the bank last week
But I cannot find it no matter where I seek
The bank tells me not to write it down
Someone might see it, but now I must frown
If it do not write it down, how can I remember
It was a new code, hope I find it by November
My iPad is telling me to construct an entry code
No way will I do it, less I forget the new mode
Life if full of codes and passwords all so bold
There is a big problem, I am getting old
So I made an offline list and put it on a stick
Not wanting it on the computer, it just needs a click
but now I have a problem, my list was so good
Where did I put it, not where I should
I have my secrete places that no-one should know
But cannot remember where they are, they are lying low
My mind is in a mist, I am living in a dream
Life is made of codes and passwords, it really makes me scream
And so I asked a friend, he did it all for me
Now I am 72 years old and he is twenty three
Brain cells die, do not renew and we must not forget
so take a walk and enjoy life, it is not lost yet
We are really getting super weather for end of September. I took this photo yesterday afternoon on a wheelie into town with my chair, of the Jura mountains. Not a cloud in the sky, just the trails of planes from Zürich Airport. It is a view towards the top half of our village. The big building on the left is an apartment block. It was a factory many years ago, but they rebuilt it and transformed it into a combination of house and apartments.
And so I wheeled on into town. On Saturday there is always some action, and we still have the town trade fair until today when it closes. I quite enjoyed my visits, and sometimes there were some interesting events.
Yesterday I stumbled upon a kick boxing event from a fitness club. It was quite interesting to watch, especially when we saw the young lady doing her thing. She must have had elastic limbs. The men involved all seemed to be muscle and power.
There was also stand from an optician where I now and again might get my eye glasses. The guy gave me a competition form to fill out and win a pair of new glasses. I told him the frames were never so expensive, it was the examination that cost the money. When he told me that the examination was include in the prize I sat comfortably in my wheelchair and filled out the form.
As I wheeled on further I caught this picture on one of the screens hanging around. I was astonished when I saw it. That was me and the first full sized photo of me in my wheelchair (with the camera ready of course). I was taking he photo of the screen. I never realised what a monster my chair is, but I love this chair. One of the best buys I ever did and when people see me coming they make room and greet so friendly.
Outside they were having a folklore session.
I heard the sound of the alp horns playing so got a little closer. In the arena there was a demonstration of the Swiss sport of “Schwingen”. Two men with short trousers over their normal trouser grip each other by the belt on the shorts in a sandy circle and try to pull the other one down. The winner is the one left “standing”. It is a unique Swiss game, a sort of a farmer thing I suppose, but quite good to watch those stately men doing their thing. Unfortunately no photos as there were too many people in the way and I could not get nearer as the slope in front was not made for wheelchairs.
I also discovered the stand for Radio 32, our local radio station, but it was empty with just some music playing a some guys organising the electronics. I will go again today. My No. 1 son said that now and again they have live music, and he should know. He is known by all the musicians in our town. He might be autistic, but he finds his way perfectly.
Today is his birthday. How comes that I have a 49 year old son? Next year is the big celebation. Mr. Swiss will be 80 years old in October and No. 1 son 50 end September. Today is also St. Urs Day: no big deal but it is the patron saint of our local town of Solothurn. It used to be a days holiday for the town people, but a few year ago the idea was losing strength and the shops were open. When my son was born it was still a holiday.
And now to celebrate Sunday by cooking, a little bit of cleaning and some blogging: a woman’s work is never done, but in the afternoon I will again be wheeling my way in the area. Just to say I only really can use the wheelchair outside. It is not for the apartment and I can still manage at home with a stick for support or a vacuum cleaner. I am just a bit wobbly on my legs because of my MS.
I will leave you with some music before I go, although you have to use your imagination. This bloke was playing in town and quite good. He also seems to have a wheelchair in the background.
It might be Sunday, but I am sure you will enjoy the free day. Those that work for the others to enjoy, you are doing a good job I am sure. Am now off for some cleaning, oh what fun.
Each time I take a photo of a passion flower it is somehow different.
A do-it-yourself signpost in a local garden
An oddball seen at the local trade fair.
I hope the horse saw the chicken in time
I grew up with cheap for the plain and simple reason that we had no money. It was end of World war II, dad came home and got married to mum. Dad was not trained for any special job, we were working class and so he took what he found. His first job was working on the railway. We were living in three rooms above another three rooms where grandad lived. A slum in the East End of London, no bathroom, no running hot water and a toilet that you shared with spiders and other unknown insects in the garden. As I grew up in that house I never really noticed that it was cheap, because I had never known expensive.
Our furniture all had so called “utility” marks which was a black stamp on the wood to show that it was made from recycled wood as that was all you got in the war years and above all it was really cheap. I remember one piece of furniture my parents had to throw into the garbage, because it had woodworm. We had a radio that was held together by string on the dials, a devious method from dad. Mum always said if you have food on the table that is important. Mum could not cook and of course it was the cheap cuts. No, I was not spoiled as a child.
We had a daily market and that was where you bought anything you might need. Mum and dad paid on the weekly when possible. My shoes all came from the co-op shop because she could buy cheques from a guy that called once a week. I would see shoes in other shops, fashionable and modern, but no, mum took me to the co-op to get my shoes for school. They had to be brown for the uniform and co-op shoes in brown were not exactly the last cry. I was then about 12 years old, approaching the modern teenage years, but mum had no idea of what I really wanted. Luckily I had to wear school uniform which you had to buy from a certain shop, so I did not have the problem of having to wearing modern stuff which we could not afford. The uniform was probably good quality, but she soon found that she could pay weekly. I lead a weekly life as a kid.
She would knit me pullovers, but buy only a few ounces of the wool and the rest she would reserve because she could not pay for the complete amount. I must say that I went to grammar school and stayed at school until I was 17 years old which was a privilege for my working class background. Other kids went sent to work at 16 to earn their keep, but I stayed on at my grammar school, took my GCE exams and stayed an extra year for a commercial education – typing, steno, bookkeeping etc. and had my first job in the City of London. I was on a monthly wage paid into a bank account., something unknown at home, as dad was still getting his weekly pay packet in cash. Mum had then also started to go to work, her dream job she always wanted as a shop assistant, working in Woolworths.
I know what cheap is and today I still compare prices and think about it before I buy it, but I pay cash for what I want. If I cannot, I save until I can. I think that was something I got from growing up on the “never-never” as we called weekly instalment payments.
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