17.04.2022 75 not out.

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Sunday 17th 30F, light frost on the grass and all day bright sunshine promised. Up at 6am from a 10.30 bed time.

 Well, I made it to 75, not out. There were umpteen times I might not have made it this far. My life was twice saved from drowning. Once by my older brother and once by my wife. Then there were all the times I could have fallen to my death off a mountain, a cliff, a rock, my bike or trike. Or crashed on a motorcycle or in a car. I never owned a cycling helmet until well into my 60s. Or, I might have succumbed to any number of illness which fancied their chances. 

 The odds were always against my ever reaching this ripe, old age. I smoked for twenty years while still immature. Got drunk too many times in my youth. Walked on thin ice on frozen rivers. Was attacked with a knife by a complete waster. Thrown over a high wall by a rocker.

 Electric shocks, brake failure, no brakes, black ice, falling off ladders, falling off the roof. Scrambling under cars to fix them. While they rested on blocks. I have probably forgotten many potential, "deciding moments." If only due to all the times I have banged my head. Despite everything, I survived.

 My wife never smoked. Ate vitamins every day for decades. Ate only organic foods and drinks whenever there was a choice. Never ate crap. Was fitter and stronger than probably 90% of those a quarter of her age and twice her size. She never made it. So there is no card this year. No chocolates. No hug. Just tears. 

 8.50 46F.  I walked to the village and back. As it was warming quickly I wore my lighter jacket. Cold on my hands at first. Then increasingly sweaty in my pointlessly thick jumper. The wind turbines were still again. That will save the Germans some money.

 I took my secondhand TZ7 and my binoculars. Just for a change. A day of persistent vapour trails and only a few, high, pretty clouds. Three ducks were paddling on the church pond and [unusually] remained as I passed close by. A cyclist was out training but avoided my eye.

 I have no plans yet. The shops and the local, recycling yard are closed. I still have boxes. Lots of boxes to dispose of. I fancy another trike ride but it is impure escapism.

12.00 Just back from a gentle, tricycle tour around the back roads of the village. About 8 miles in all. I still have a gnawing tummy ache. It could be too much bread and bread rolls. Goggle suggests it could be spicy foods. I have been eating Sandwich Spread on rolls for the first time in years. Trying to cut down on my daily cheese.

 I found the other pickaxe with a handle. It was hidden under a hedge. Along with a bicycle and a large, outdoor, clothes drier. I spotted the bicycle first. Then the clothes drier. Finally the pickaxe. Which had a tin placed on the upright wooden handle to protect it from the rain. It hadn't.  

 No lunch today to see if that helps the tummy ache. I only had a cup of tea. No change so far.

14.30 56F.  Mid afternoon and I went around cleaning most of the windows. They hadn't been touched for years. No point when they all had net curtains. Or so many ornaments inside that it risked a row.

 Many of the panes are blown. Meaning there is moisture inside the double glazing units. It is possible to drill ventilation holes in the aluminium spacers. That means removing the glass. It also means making ventilation holes in the wooden frames. Too much work for such elderly windows. I'm not paying to have them professionally replaced. The next owners can replace them if they feel the need.

 I am having a lazy afternoon. Another cup of tea at 17.00. With only a digestive. Fingers crossed the pain subsides. Or there will be no dinner either.

 Risking everything I went with a fish pasty, peas and tomatoes for dinner. Apple juice for refreshment.

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16.04.2022 Am I in denial?

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 Saturday 16th 35-54F. Up at 5am. Low lying mist. With the full moon hanging low in the west.

 I have just been outside, at 5.30, to get some fresh air. I have no real idea why I broke up the slab yesterday evening. It is a very low priority in the grand scheme of making things tidier. Perhaps it was a reaction to finally having the slab cleared? Seeing it in all its true ugliness.

 Crazed and moss covered. Dirty, from where soil had built up under and between the detritus of plant growing. The loaded pallets, the pots and the various hideously mismatched, shelving units. My wife's long term "additions" had hidden most of the concrete from view. Was my attack on the slab a reaction to almost total denial of access for so very long?

 Or a vain attempt to erase the painful memory of her constant activities out there? Her pottering about in the complex art of gardening. Was there some residual resentment at my own exclusion? Even when I brought back heavy bags of soil it was difficult to reach the stack. Which was often arranged on various levels. Piled on top of items now safely lost to the ever welcoming, recycling yards. 

 Talking of which: I have my own hoard to reduce. Bike frames and partial bikes and trikes. Cannibalised for parts. Their true value measure only in fading memory. Why have they seemed a lower priority than my wife's "stuff?" They are certainly lower profile. Bing largely hidden from view.

 Despite promises made on her deathbed I still cannot get into my shed without effort. The floor is covered in plywood offcuts. Of little value to anybody. Including myself. I took them down, from on high, to be rid of them. Yet still they remain. Am I too in denial? Am I being disloyal in removing only, her stuff? Before even considering my own?        

 I keep wondering why I didn't stand up to her more. If only on territorial grounds alone. Were we really battling for supremacy beneath the surface? She with Her inaccessible greenhouse. Her inaccessible slab and Her "don't you dare touch it" entire garden. Myself with my outbuildings. One shed was partially shared and rarely accessible because of her mowers and rechargeable gardening tools. Or, more often, their empty boxes. 

 I now see lots of signs of her hoarding even my own stuff. The area under the big chestnut with rusting, old plumbing pipes. Taken out 25 years ago when I dismantled the lunacy of the oil fired central heating. With large pipes across every interior threshold. The unused greenhouse components. From way back. 

When I built two lean-to greenhouses into one long one. 8'x22'. She filled it with shelving and bamboo furniture. Planted her seeds and did her pricking out, on the corner of a pile of who knows what. Piles of ironwork with no useful purpose. Except for somewhat doubtful decoration.

 All those offcuts of timber and plywood. Which I can guarantee will never, ever be used. I keep finding more and more boxes of these offcuts. Fitted together with a level of skill worthy of a mention in The Guinness Book of Records. Was she thinking of providing firewood in hard times? She knew we shouldn't burn plywood.

 There is this huge hole in my understanding of her motives. Things we never, consciously discussed. There were so many things which went unsaid. Perhaps to be brought up in a heated argument? We argued all the time. Including on our first date. Unlikely clues were dropped about something completely different when voices were raised. Was I simply not listening well enough? Or not paying attention? 

 6.30 Bright in the NE. Calm. The sky looks clear. Not too early for breakfast now. There is still just enough porridge to make my "muesli." I have been having stomach aches for several days. Eating too much bread and rolls? I am not usually known for having tummy problems. I am being careful over "best before" dates. Ensuring I eat in variety. Being careful with the washing up and hand hygiene.

 7.00  I had better have a walk to straighten myself out. Early walk, almost no traffic, mist still hanging about low down.  Still not identified the trilling bird. I have heard it in the garden trees  several times now. I now most of the common bird's songs. This distinctive trilling doesn't show up on the birdsong websites. We have even had escaped budgies in the garden but it's not one of those. The wind turbines were at a standstill today.

 8.40 44F and bright sunshine. Now to go shopping. I keep wanting to go for a ride on my trike. My wife was worried about me having an accident and leaving her behind. Tricycle shopping? It has been a very long time. Can I still find my cycling shoes? No plated shoes and SPD pedals is not a great idea. 

 Shoes found. Track pump found. Oiled the trike with chain spray. Found the key and oiled the U-lock. Now to find gloves and a wind proof, cycling jacket. Though it isn't as cold as earlier. I shan't bother with cycling shorts for such a short ride. My helmet is falling to pieces.

10.00 51F. A lovely day. Just back from 7m tricycle shopping. None of my favourite rolls at either supermarket. Bit of a headwind coming home. No problem maintaining low 90s rpm cadence. I wore a T-shirt and noticed how sweaty and cold they can get. It needs a cycle jersey next time. The narrow, fleece trousers were fine for such a short trip. 

 Plans for today? The trailer is empty. Just for a change.

 12.00 I have picked up a secondhand, Lumix TZ7 to replace my non-functional camera. My TZ7 served me well for years before the screen stopped working. It felt very odd going out without it.

13.15  I have just returned from delivering three bikes and a mobility trike to the scrap metal container at the nearest, recycling yard. Lunch first and then I shall gather the plywood off-cuts on the shed floor. The stray cat was trying its luck for the cream again. My wife still isn't here. I don't think either of us can quite believe it.

15.15 54F. Just back from the recycling yard. Having left the plywood off-cuts, loads of bubble wrap and yet more cardboard boxes.

16.40 I have managed an hour's nap to catch up on my missing sleep. 

 20.00 I have just realised that my recent behaviour is like ADHD on steroids. [Instead of dopamine.] I am totally focused on novelty. As I push the more urgent tasks to the back of the queue. I can no longer concentrate on "boring old" clearing up indoors. Having achieved the clearance of the TV stage, of my own hoard, my motivation has gone. I carried the boxes of my wife's glassware and china carefully upstairs and placed it on the stage. No further effort was expended in arranging it most efficiently.

 I keep looking for novel tasks which inspire me to get them done. Giving myself a reward [self praise] for 20 trailer loads delivered to the recycling yard. Even driving to the more distant yard. [Novelty again!] I could blame my procrastination on depression but that would be a feeble excuse. 

 Bragging about my rapid progress with the concrete slab was self praise for novelty again. The slab is totally irrelevant to my tidying up outside. In fact it made matters worse in the short term. The car would have to run over the rubble while I turned the car around in an already, very limited space. I need to move the rubble immediately. To gain more space. Not less! 

  I can see this pattern of behaviour repeated in everything I have done so far. The absence of planning. The reward for making the most visible changes. Even rewarding myself by blogging virtual self praise. Instead of actually doing something useful or constructive to optimise my conditions for living alone. 

 Like reorganising the kitchen worktop layout. Small changes which are working well for me. Instead of the alternative of providing resistance to food preparation. Which might well have tipped me towards failing to feed myself properly. Particularly in moments of sadness and sudden mood swings.

 21.00 Now I have emptied one wheelbarrow I can use that to move the concrete rubble. The rubble has now been moved away.

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15.04.2022 Erasing Her legacy?

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Friday 15th 44F. Overcast. Up at 5am after a 10.30 bed time. My back hurts and I have an occasional wet cough. I found myself trying to suppress the cough so as not to waken my [late] wife. I even looked round to check she was still asleep. Not a good start to the day! 

6.00 Breezy from the north. The cough stopped once I was safely upright. The plan is to continue clearing the patio/slab. Not sure I want to drive to the further recycling yard with the latest full load. It could wait until tomorrow for the local yard.

 I'll see how I feel later. The shops are still shut. So no real point in going out. Not unless I need to fill the trailer again.

 The concrete slab's outer corner/narrow edge adjoins the drive. Which has always [severely] limited the turning space available. Clearing the slab will allow me to turn the car far more easily. Particularly when towing the trailer.

 My wife used to have polystyrene boxes of plants and saplings sitting there for years. To mark the edges and corner of the slab. She would get very cross if I accidentally ran over her boxes! Which were in a total blind spot on the offside of the car when leaving. I couldn't open the car door. Because then the door would hit her saplings! She would raise a variety of oaks from acorns. Some of her fastigiate red oaks are now 30' tall!

 All Her plant boxes have now been moved to the lower garden. The stack of compost bags is awaiting a decision on placement. No point in leaving it in the the bags. Nor on the slab. So I might as well spread it somewhere. Or just empty the bags onto the compost heap. I have no use for them. 

 8.00 The compost bags are now moved to a spot beside the compost heap. Down behind the shed out of sight. They weighed twice as much as I remembered.

 I am at a loss to know what to do with her worm farm[s.] Consisting of two, large, inverted, plastic water butts with their bottoms removed. To allow fruit and vegetable waste to be fed to the worms in the soil inside. They are then covered to keep the rain out. The tubs are sealed at the bottom to stop the worms making a run for it.

 It seems cruel to leave them unfed. Just as cruel to imprison them without food. I will try to topple the tubs. Though I imagine they will weigh a ton. Suggesting a splitting of the sides to release the hungry worms. 

 8.30 Rocking the tubs allowed them to be easily lifted clear. Voila! Two perfect, soil-castles. Nearly three feet high and two feet in diameter. I ran out of steam. Now enjoying morning coffee. 

 I am very unsure how I feel about removing all my wife's outdoor paraphernalia. Every single item was placed there by her. Every single pot was filled with compost and seeds or plants placed in them. Before being carefully placed on shelves to grow on. Every single thing in the garden has been touched by her.

 Am I erasing her legacy and ultimately eliminating her presence? Or getting closer to her by handling, sorting and tidying everything of hers? The place is far too untidy to allow things to continue as a frozen shrine to The Head Gardner. The entire garden would soon be covered in weeds and self-seeded saplings!

 She had no need of tidiness. Because nobody except we two would ever see it. I asked her about her isolation recently and she said she preferred it. Better than having: "People coming around all of the time." I am not sure whether to agree with her sentiment. Or feel terribly sad that nobody ever did "come around."

 Yes, she could live her own private life. Do and wear exactly what she claimed she wanted. But at what cost? I was her only company. Was that enough to avoid the ache of loneliness? I had the "social life" of going shopping and saw other shoppers. She hardly ever saw a soul. Except for the postman.

 I have so many unanswered questions. Memory of her presence is still so very close. Yet so far removed from the simplest communication. I must remain grateful that I had the chance to talk her ears off for her last few days. Even when she could no longer respond verbally. To tell me to shut up!

 Her last few blinks and tightly squeezing my fingers, that morning. Was the very last thing she said to me in 55 years of constant discussion. I cling to that moment as the tears flood down my cheeks. It felt like forgiveness and a true expression of the unfailing love we shared for each other. 

 10.30  I have just returned from the distant recycling yard. A cold, grey and breezy day.

 13.00 Just finished lunch. I have been clearing up a stack of rotten timber. Another trailer full and I can see another trailer full coming from the same heap. It has been lying there for years untouched. I wasn't allowed to touch it. No idea why. The stack was half empty under the very basic, corrugated roof. It only held rotten and wormy wood.

 When the heap has gone I will have direct access to the northerly garden. Which is mostly, closely planted trees. My wife had a thing about willow varieties at one point and grew lots of them from sticklings. 

15.30 I am just returning from yet another trip to the more distant recycling yard. The trailer was filled to the brim again with old timber up to 7' in length. 24km round trip. 72km today plus a detour. It kept me busy but is hard work throwing hundreds of bits of wood to the back of the concrete enclosure. Most "donors" just drop stuff where they stand. Including planks with nails facing upwards. Until I moved them back to get my trailer closer.

 I have made a serious dent in the boundaries of the parking space. Moreover, I have discovered another stack of old bricks my wife had hidden away. These can be added to the foundations of my latest building project. As will the concrete from the slab. If I can find a handle for the pick.

 My wife was helping me to reinforce the mound by stacking old bricks herself. She had such tremendous patience and skill! These bricks will eventually be covered in self compacting gravel to make a solid mass. The rain would otherwise have washed the gravel down the steep slope. Without this extra, outer, support ring to flatten the top of the mound. 

 It's all about critical [slope] angle. The self-compacting gravel has an addition of clay to bind it together. I have used about 23 tons of it so far. [According to the supplier.]

 My wife volunteered to help to load barrows of gravel. After a lorry dumped 12 cu.m [~22 tons] outside the gates. While I went back and forth the 25 x 2 meters to the building site a barrow at a time.

 She was already 72 by then. How many wives would [or could] have done this at any age? She was a petite 1.5m or 5' tall but had amazing fitness and stamina! The shovel was almost as tall as she was. So she used a garden rake instead. She leaned the barrow against the heap. Then pulled the gravel down, using gravity, into the barrows. As fast as I could empty them! It took us two whole days of solid work. 

 The boss of a local building ground-working company had promised to bring a skid steer machine with a shovel. But he couldn't be arsed to turn up as arranged on the day. I rang him and he dismissed me. Said he was on a course and hung up.

 He had plenty of other workers, than himself, according to his posh website. Which was full of lavish photos of important jobs. He had bragged that my job, moving the gravel, would have taken only a couple of hours. Instead of which it took my 72 year old wife and I two days working entirely manually all day long. I bet he can't get workers like us!

19.30   Just in case I hadn't had enough exercise for today I decided to tackle the concrete "patio" slab. Using my gloved hands and the pickaxe head as a lever I lifted 1/3 of the entire slab in under half an hour. The concrete was mostly weak, crazed and varied between an inch and four inches thick. 

 The ground had not even been roughly levelled before pouring the concrete. Most of it lay on bare soil. So adhesion and ground support was very poor. Larger patches were treated to a wallop with a splitting maul/sledge hammer. Just to save me having to lift very large and heavy lumps of concrete. They lifted, but I didn't want to hurt myself dragging them away. Large lumps are difficult to use efficiently anyway.

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