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I started out with a sore back and hips but soon forgot them once I was underway. The benefits of a walk are too numerous to recount. Not least the greenery washing away the blues. Despite the traffic, I am incredibly lucky to have such rural surroundings.
I have just met my new neighbour. For the first time to speak to. She seems very pleasant with excellent English. There are plans for horses to enjoy the field which lies between our homes. As did the previous occupants.
I am sensing a change in my overall mood over the last two days. After
the initial burst of activity I now realise that I am in it for the long
haul. The "novelty" of having the freedom to make changes, to suit
myself, is wearing off. It was inevitable I suppose. I was hiding myself
from reality by obsessive discovery, sorting and clearance.
To keep "out of her hair" I'd spend lots of time on my hobbies outside the house. It must have worked to perfection [for me.] Because it kept me from being lazy. Without my even having to think about it.
Once I retired our balance of responsibilities was what kept the place and our relationship going. We each had our unspoken list of duties. Or so I thought. The heaviness of guilt, at not ensuring my wife's comfort in her own space, is creeping back with a vengeance.
The ease with which I can now keep the house warm, with the new stove, is painfully obvious. I should have talked her into a new stove many years ago. If only I had known! Right up to the end she did not want the new stove fitted. I went ahead only because she was in hospital and could not argue. The stove had been blocking the hallway for months! She would not relent!
Then there is the ease with which the tiny, new, oil-filled radiator keeps the former chill off the kitchen. This further racks up my sense of guilt. Unfortunately I cannot wind the clock back. To understand why she so resisted change. Even when it was in her own best interest.
Is hoarding masochism? Or insecurity? Is it the result of our former lack of income to own "nice things?" Coming to Denmark provided lots of new and novel items for mere peanuts. If you knew where to look. It became our main interest together. To go out in the car to visit charity shops and flea markets over a wide radius.
The Danes placed no great sales value on things which were much too expensive for us in the UK. We shopped for clothes at charity shops in Britain but it was more out of need. My wife's vast "wardrobe." Accumulated over here. Is ample proof of easy and inexpensive excess. Her glassware and ornament collection was the result of novelty, lower prices and better income over here.
We eventually stopped going out to gather "more stuff" from these "resources." Sadly I can no longer remember quite why. We would both moan about the charity shops being suddenly stripped bare by "newcomers." Who were "shipping lorry loads back home" to eastern Europe.
This was not remotely racism. How can you possibly claim territory or rights? When you live in a "foreign land" yourself? It was merely an overall observation at the time. The charity shops were suddenly full of foreign accents. The goods were being "picked over" and bought by many more hands.
We both complained, to each other, how the vast, annual flea markets were suddenly stuffed full of mass produced tat. Many "stalls" displayed items which would have been discarded by most charity shops. The secondhand, vintage and antique stuff, which we liked, was suddenly gone. This made our previous, longer journeys seem completely pointless.
Perhaps were were both satiated? Our collections exceeded our ability to admire, display, store. Or much more likely. Made us unable to access them. Stuff, hidden in boxes, is not the same as the novelty of first ownership. It becomes the "valuable painting in a vault" syndrome.
Real ownership is about sharing your good fortune with others. The warmth of the admiration of others for your own good luck. I had the advantage of sharing some of my my "haul" on my blogs. Even if nobody bothered to read them.
My wife had no such luck. She embedded herself in her gardening. It became her passion. Filling her days with shopping lists for plants and seeds for "next year's garden." She researched hardiness and ideal soil conditions online. Searched for varieties of her favourite plants. She spent hours outside when the weather was fine. Until after dark sometimes.
The winters were cruel and often killed off her carefully raised plants. She would often tell me how she had lost something raised from seed. The latest winter tipped her into deep depression. She said later that she had stopped eating around Christmas: "Not intentionally but almost by accident." I was completely unaware of this until three months later.
By the time her cancer had been diagnosed she had not the strength to fight a cold. She remained in complete denial until the very last. Complaining bitterly when I persuaded the doctor to call. Claiming consumption of imaginary meals to the doctor which never existed. By that time she was down to a 1/4 of a currant bun and half an inch of tea in a cup per day! She blamed a blocked nose for spoiling her appetite.
This denial was kept up despite her inability to climb our steep stairs. She would take several minutes and would resist any attempts by me to help her. Or to follow her up. To protect her from a fall. Then, finally, she had a fall in the kitchen. I was outside so have no idea how long she lay there on the cold tiled floor. She couldn't or would not say. It took several hours just to get her onto a foam cushion! I covered her in lots of down duvets to try to keep her warm.
She was far too weak and in too much pain to do anything at all by then. There was no longer any choice but to involve the doctor. Even against her wishes. She was gently talked into going into hospital for a check-up. It was already far, far too late. She died within a fortnight of his visit from widespread cancer. Leaving me alone with my guilt.
I don't believe that earlier intervention would have altered the outcome. My pushing her to talk to the doctor was strongly resisted for months. Earlier diagnosis would only have caused her intense suffering. As she was subjected to "treatment." That she died so soon after diagnosis was probably a blessing for her. Her last days were under the protection of minimum doses of morphine. Yet still she protested that she had eaten something earlier in the day.
The months leading up to that point are my eternal torment. How I could have saved her from making my own "boring" meals. Then her standing in that cold [unheated] kitchen doing the washing up all winter. While pretending to eat "something else." Before coming upstairs to watch TV and complain about Netflix. As if everything was perfectly normal. How could I have been so blind to her suffering? Does the fact that she hid it so well relieve me of my guilt?
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I now have the TV hung from a ceiling bracket on the landing. It is flush with the front edge of the open stairwell. Why? You may well ask. Well, because it opens up a much larger area/volume of storage on the raised TV "stage." I also offset the TV to allow much freer access behind the TV.
This entire storage area has been blocked from proper access for probably 20 years. Meaning, that anything placed there was immediately inaccessible. It instantly became a hoard. If I am to house my wife's collected treasures there. Then there would be no point in blocking access.
I can literally walk in from both ends of the space now. Previously it was impossible to do anything beyond arm's reach. Having the TV hung from above completely removes the need for supporting furniture. Now I can safely bring my wife's [kitchen storage] collection upstairs. This may not sound like much but it is very real progress for me.
Clearing the kitchen was a priority. The bulk of her collection was housed there. Making the kitchen into a narrow corridor for over two decades. It was actually difficult for us to pass each other in the narrow space available. This is not a complaint. I only needed to reach the kettle occasionally. Now I can barely reach the opposite wall with my fingertips. While touching the outer edge of the work surface.
When the kitchen is clear I can consider a much better layout. Probably have a proper washing machine in there. Which will expand the space available in the bathroom. The spin drier would become superfluous with a washing machine offering a "proper" spin speed. This domino effect cascades on down from clearing all my "stuff" from the TV stage. Then taking it all to the recycling yard.
This afternoon I dragged my wife's heavy, oak [former storage] bookshelf upstairs from the kitchen. Alas it would not fit on the stage. So I removed the doors from her wardrobe in the bedroom and pushed it out of the 1st floor window!
Not quite as dramatic as you might assume. I had set up a ladder at a gentle angle. Added a paving slab at the bottom to stop it sliding away. Then made a bundle of tarpaulins to brake the fall. The wardrobe sailed down the ladder dug into the tarpaulins and then did a perfect somersault into the hedge. Hardly a sound. 🙄 It is now waiting for me to regain my strength. Beside the trailer for the next trip to the recycling yard tomorrow.
Now all I have to do is drag the heavy oak bookcase into the bedroom. Then place it where her wardrobe was once standing. I had better have a rest first! It will have to be flipped over my bed to reach its rightful place. My own small wardrobe can be pushed back against the bookcase. Taking up much less room beside my computer niche in the dormer. Which reminds me to drastically downsize the contents of my own wardrobe. Nobody likes a hypocrite!
I avoided the book case flip over the bed. By sliding the bookcase through the triangular gap between the sloping ceiling and my own wardrobe. I had to clear several more, large boxes of wool in that gap. My wardrobe is now 20cm/8" further in. Being right beside my computer chair it leaves me tons of extra space.
The bookcase is now resting firmly against the back of the wardrobe and facing into the bedroom. I can drop a curtain over the front later for tidiness. The bookcase is filled to the brim with my wife's boxed, "Kitchen Collection" of china and glassware.
What a day! I started off moping and ended up achieving several important goals. I have no idea how I survive all this exercise! The sweat was dripping off me as it reached 70F indoors without the stove. Up and down stairs, countless times. Carrying heavy boxes upstairs.
Dragging that massive bookcase upstairs. Lifting the TV on and off its stand and carrying it about. Carrying the double ladder back and forth. My wife used to scold me for carrying those double. Climbing up to the 1st floor window to unscrew the old tarpaulin frame. All this activity is excellent therapy. I haven't felt sad all day once I began my walk. Now I have to think about making something for dinner.
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