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.
This is a reblog, Tabby is sleeping, exhausted again after her annual fight with the leaf soldiers: read on
“I will open the window for you Tabby, so that you can go out.”
“No Mr. Human, I am only observing the situation.”
“That is obvious Mrs. Human. They are gathering in strength, they are forming an attack. Look how they are just laying there, waiting for the moment to pounce. They are planning an ambush, I can hear their murmers, Kill, kill, kill.”
“That sounds quite dramatic Tabby. Who are we talking about?”
“The leaf soldiers of course. During the night they have decided to attack: have formed bataillons, there are hundred, no thousands, perhaps even millions of them. What chance does a Tabby feline with a MacDonalds “M” engraved on its forehead have, against such a ruthless foe. They know no mercy. There are too many of them to be trampled to death.”
“But they are just dead leaves Tabby.”
“They are not “just dead leaves” they are a threat to the feline existence. They are lying in wait to pounce when I make a move. No, Mrs. Human, there is only one solution, to have patience and wait. On the other paw as the famous feline General Whiskers Patton meowed “battle is the most magnificent competition in which a feline can indulge. It brings out all that is best; it removes all that is base. Felines are not afraid in battle. The coward is the one who lets his fear overcome his sense of duty. Duty is the essence of being a feline”. And he was the best fighter we had.”
“What happened to him?”
“He had bad luck in his last battle. He was already on his ninth life and that was that.”
“But you still have enough lives Tabby. Look the wind is becoming stronger and the leaves are disappearing.”
“Yes, I am saved. Perhaps there might be some leaf soldiers still alive. I will now leave my home and fight against the remainders. Prepare a dish of tuna fish for my return and warm my bed. It is a far far better thing I now do than I have ever done. I will be a hero in the annals of felinedom.”
“Yes Tabby, definitely, didn’t you steal that quote?”
“I wrote the original, the guy that put it in his book borrowed it from me.”
Autumn reminds me of visits to London
Reminds me of dad, already 90 years old, still living in his council house
A tree in his garden in the working class suburb of Dagenham growing its mushrooms surrounded by the fallen leaves
London Streets with the leaves swept to one side
Days of brown and yellow
Dad was then in the winter of his life 1915-2016
This is one of those mystery photos – where is the mistake? There I was looking forward to toast for breakfast. The machine was ready and I was ready, but the toast was still thinkng about it. No poblem, the golden oldie forgot to put it in the toaster, although the toaster was switched on. Getting older is not fun. So I dropped the toast in the machine but forgot to lower the cradle. I did it again and the result was almost two pieces of burnt toast rescued at the last minute. In the meanwhile Mr. Swiss was searching for his walking stick again. Yesterday he lost it twice. Once it was in the car in the garage, and the second time it was leaning against the garage wall. He has only needed to depend on the stick for a few months and is still learning. I am a professional of course, after walking by stick fo a couple of years, he will soon get the routine.
Yesterday was interesting in the supermarket. They have the bread baking part towards the back, but they decided to bring a table to the front for everyone to see. Most were admiring the work and walking past, but I naturally made a stop and took out my mobile phone camera for a photo. Mr. Swiss had already moved on and was waiting impatiently for me to finish my photo session. The baker was preparing our traditional platt bread that is a week-end custom in our part of the woods. I have made them myself in my younger years, but not as well as he could.
We actually got some clouds yesterday, the sort I like where they float in the sky with some good colour effects. I was sitting outside on the porch searching for inspiration to write and my telephone rang. It was Mr. Swiss, although I only saw his name. He was at the local hospital for a CT scan, nothing too bad, but I could not hear him and he could not hear me. This went on for a couple of hours until he arrived home. It was really frustrating and we both realised how dependent we are on having contact when you need it. Someone somewhere had pressed a wrong button. All’s well that ends well and now and again we have a telephone check to see if it is still working OK. In the meanwhile Mr. Swiss has found his stick, it was in the shower room.
I did not go places yesterday so did not see very much. I was thinking of visiting our local trade fair on its last day today, but now we have again high winds and a grey lid on the sky, so will have to see how it all develops. Wheeling around in a wheelchair is not fun when the weather does not play with you, especially if it rains.
And now to begin my master chef work. I decided today on a Hungarian goulash today for lunh, which is no big deal, but I like to get it cooking early in the morning for lunch time. I have a kilo of onions to prepare so it will be a tearful time. I bought a new supply of paprika so what could possible go wrong.
Everyone have a good day and enjoy. I will be back later with more tales to tell from the Swiss forests where the cows and chickens say hello to each other. It is pansy time again at the local burial grounds.
Je gratte, donc je suis
My "bump" was in 2016, aged 48, when I suffered a stroke. This blog charts my recovery. (Header clipart licensed by pngguru.com.)
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