Eyes and things

 

Grandson and I went to the museum again today. This may seem rather unimaginative but I had him all to myself since Mr Life was at the eye hospital all day so some entertainment was called for. Grandson was wearing rather bright orange trousers, as you see. They were knitted by a friend of Daughter 1 and they have a tendency to sink beneath the little round tum. He could do with a belt or braces.

 

 

Mr Life was at the hospital so that they could take readings of the pressure in (behind?) his eyes at hourly intervals from 9 till 4. The pressure is too low and this may mean that he's at risk of glaucoma, though normally this is to do with pressure being too high.

 

We're getting our money's worth out of the NHS these days, it strikes me. Son had to go as an emergency to the eye place in Perth yesterday because he had another episode of iritis - inflammation of the irises. He's had problems with his joints since he was thirteen - inflammation of the soft tissues round his joints. It started with his hip and now affects his knee, ankles and fingers. Arthritis has some connection with the eyes also, hence the several attacks of iritis. Fortunately he knows to go and get steroid drops, which deal with it. He's very stoical about it all but has to have daily injections to combat the joint pain and swelling.

 

Daughter 2 also has a bit of it, in her fingers.

 

And then there was my dad, who was in hospital for nine months before he died, and my mum, in hospital for two months and on a lot of medication before that.

 

And I had to visit the doctor yesterday for the first time in years, for three little (at least I hope they turn out to be little) problems.

 

So: thank you, NHS. We're very lucky to have you (though I know you're not perfect. But what is?) Though I'd rather we didn't actually need you.

 

It's rather chilly here, though there's no snow. Yet.

 

 

Red

 

On a chilly winter's day...

 

 

... it's nice to go with Granny and Grandpa to the museum.

 

 

I like to look through the railings and see cars, cups and boats in the displays. (These are all things I can say.) I'm particularly interested in cars.

 

 

This notice says "Area closed" but since I can't read and am much smaller than the tape across the corridor I didn't feel it applied to me. I took it philosophically when Granny said it did, though.  I'm such a good boy.

Rhadamanthine

On "Brain of Britain" on the radio today, a contestant was asked for the adjective meaning "uncompromisingly honest or just" which is derived from the name of one of the sons of Zeus.

Pause. Then the chap said drily, "Frank."

I love it. So much better an answer than the actual one, which is "rhadamanthine" from Rhadamanthus. Never heard of him. Heard of Frank, though.

Sic transit gloria mundi

 

This is, or was, Arthur Marshall. He lived from 1910-1988 and though 1988 doesn't seem very long ago to me, I suppose that it is really. I never did read his articles because I didn't buy the magazines he wrote for, but he was on "Call My Bluff" for some years and we watched that as a family.

 

He was quite a jolly chap - a giggler and rather avuncular - but I hadn't thought about him for years till I found myself using the "life's rich pageant" phrase. I remember him saying that it tended to get changed to "life's rich pattern" and he didn't think that was as good, or at any rate not the same.

 

I don't suppose anyone under forty has ever heard of him.

 

It's so odd, this living and dying thing. You're there and then you're not.

 

I watched a bit of a programme about the universe yesterday - with Professor Brian Cox, whom I quite like but someone in the family (is it Daughter 2?) finds smug. I think I'm ok with smugness as long as the smugger has something to be smug about, which he clearly has. Anyway, someone asked him what happened before the Big Bang and he said, well, either there was something or there was nothing - no one knows.

 

There are more things in heaven and earth .... etc.

 

The other thing I remember from this programme (I was making millionaire's shortbread at the time and not really concentrating on astrophysics) was that they showed us an infra-red telescope that was so powerful that it could pick out a bumblebee on the Moon. Not that there was one. But if there had been, it could have.

 

And now Cassie Cat has come and sat on my keyboard so I shall stop typing and go to do some piano practice. Deep thinking can wait till tomorrow. And even then we may concentrate our energies on getting the plumber back. Washing the dishes in the bathroom is becoming less fun by the minute.

 

PS Grandson is on antibiotics but is as cheerful as ever.

 

 

Leaks

 

I loved Mac 'n Janet's comment on my last post: Of course he wants to be a cat. We all want to be cats. Very true. Particularly tonight. I'd quite like to be doing this (above). No, it's not a two-headed feline, but two felines at their ease.

 

Am I at my ease? Yes, temporarily, but I have wet feet. Why? Well, for some weeks the pipework under our kitchen sink has been dripping very slightly so we summoned a plumber, who came on Thursday and replaced it.

 

This evening I've been preparing lunch for Daughter 1, Son-in-Law 1 and Grandson tomorrow. When I finished, I did the washing up by hand because the dishwasher was full. After a bit I decided I needed fresh water so I tipped the basinful of mucky water into the sink in preparation for refilling the basin. 

 

And all the water flowed out of the cupboard beneath the sink and over all the stuff in the cupboard, my feet and the floor. The whole U-bend thingie had come detached from the sink.

 

Did we think that phoning the plumber at 10.30 pm on a Saturday would do us much good? No.

 

While we were mopping up, Daughter 2 phoned to say that Grandson had developed a leaky and smelly ear. She had a phone consultation with her doctor brother, who advised taking him to the emergency doctor in the morning. Grandson is now peacefully sleeping but one can't go around with smelly ears in polite company.

 

Ah well. I suppose it's all part of life's rich pageant, as I believe Arthur Marshall first wrote - though I can't find confirmation of this on Google. I wonder how many people remember him now.

Animals and children

 

These are the cats in their doughnut-shaped beds: nice and cosy in front of the radiator.

 

 

Spot the difference.

 

 

And the second difference. Poor old cats.

 

 

Luckily, Mr Life had ordered some software from Amazon so they had a refuge in the box it came in. Not quite so comfy but - any port in a storm.

 

 

He doesn't just pretend to be a cat. He also switches on lights. Here he is, admiring the light he's just put on through that door in the bathroom.

 

 

And - off again.

 

 

Look - there's a cat in the sink, having a peaceful drink from the tap. Well, it was peaceful until a moment ago.

 

 

Yesterday we went to visit Son. He was very hungry but paused for a second to pose helpfully for my blog.

 

 

Grandson gave me a sidelong look and continued eating grapes. At home, presumably, Cassie and Sirius enjoyed having the place to themselves.

He's improving!

We had Grandson today because Daughter 1 went back to work. He's a bit better - still runny of nose and rather hoarse, but on the whole very cheerful and much more energetic than of late. We went for a walk.

The walk is as much to give us all a rest as for any other reason because he spends most of his day walking round the house. His specialities are: switching lights on and off; and picking things up, wandering off with them and laying them down in another room. When he goes home we have to put them all back again.

 

 

 

Mostly he's very good at not touching things he's told not to - as I've said before, saying "A-a-a!" tends to stop him. But today he reached for this little cup on the right. "A-a-a!" I said, but he picked it up anyway and, with a big smile, daintly pretended to drink out of it.

 

"Awwwww!" I said to Mr Life. "Isn't that CUTE!" And I beamed approvingly at Grandson.

 

Yup, that's the way to instil a sense of discipline into the young. Consistency.

 

 

Small people

 

This will be of little interest to anyone else (but hey, after much grinding of teeth and assistance from Mr Life, I've managed to thwart Blogger's evil machinations and post pictures) - but this is something I found among the study archives and, after photographing it, am stalwartly throwing it away because I Can't Keep Everything The Children Ever Made. Also it takes up a lot of room and is somewhat falling to bits. So I'm recording it for posterity, or whatever passes for posterity in the world of Blog or digital photos. I apologise for the self-indulgence of this post.

 

This is the packaging for a Mother's Day present from Daughter 2 in 1993, when she was 11 and a half. The pink bits are added by me, today, to hide my name, which isn't really Isabelle. Or at least, Isabelle is my middle name.

 

 

The photos aren't very good but it's in the form of a home-made book entitled, "The Reasons Why [Isabelle] should not be "the best mum in the world". Yes, not a very good use of inverted commas but she was only 11.

 

 

And here's the title page. Same title. Same inverted commas.

 

 

On the next page, the first sticky note is (purportedly) dated the year of Daughter 2's birth and says, Publication postponed. Researchers could find no reasons. Then, dated 1993 (the actual year she made this), it says Publication cancelled. The researchers could only find one reason. The second sticky note says, She's too good to be true! Note the correct apostrophe.

 

 

And she signs her (nick)name: Scooshie Boots. (Yes, and I criticise people who call their children Carver.) Another good apostrophe in Mother's.

 

 

Keep turning... it says...

 

 

And then the - surprise, surprise - hollow book contained a present, though I forget what it was.

 

And you all thought that you were the best mum in the world (if you're a mum. Otherwise you might have thought that you had the best mum in the world). Sorry to disappoint you. It was I. (Not actually sure about that.)

 

Anyway, I've kept it all these years and it's got more and more bashed so in order that the children don't have to weep over it when they find it after I'm dead, I think I should send it on its way now. (Three correct uses of the apostrophe in this paragraph and one example of writing its rather than it's - again correct.)

 

It brings a tear to my maternal eye, though. It must have been the result of much labour, especially as she is a bit dyslexic and there are NO spelling mistakes. I think Daughter 1 must have been the spelling advisor.

 

Grandson is still very unwell. He's had this feverish cold for nine days now. However, surely tomorrow will see him turn the corner? How I love him. And her. And them all.

Blooming Blogger

Well, thank you, kind commenters, for your suggestions re my sudden inability to post pictures. I got Technological Daughter 1 to do what ShiftClick suggested but alas, it made no difference (though we didn't do the changing to Firefox bit because she had to go home. I might get Techological Husband to have a go at that).

Blogger told me some months ago that I'd run out of photo space (though it subsequently changed its mind) but it's not telling me anything this time.

So I suppose I'll continue the wait-and-see policy. Or possibly get Technological Son-in-Law 1 to have a go.

It is annoying when Blogger won't work, though since it's free I suppose one shouldn't expect anything too efficient.

Poor little Grandson is still pretty unwell: croaky, requiring frequent nose-wipes and a bit emotionally fragile, though in between times still jolly. He's had this terrible cold for ten days now. What a shame.

I was listening to Radio 4's Book of the Week last week, on and off. It was about this girl who decided to hike the Pacific Trail (was that it?) after her mother died and her marriage broke up. She was very inadequately prepared but, predictably for an experience that turned into a book, after many travails her feet toughened up and she walked herself happy. So that was all nice. Then she ended by saying that things became even nicer because she later met a good man and they married and had two children, a boy called Carver and a girl called Bobby. (Or possibly Bobbie or Bobbi. It was radio.)

And I, who had been feeling quite warm towards her up to that point, thought - Carver???? Why would you call your child Carver? (Not a huge fan of Bobb-whatever either, but at least she wasn't called after a knife or chair.)

Mr Life once had a colleague whose first name was Turnbull. Can you imagine anyone looking at a sweet little person with fuzzy hair and big puzzled eyes and saying, "We've decided that he looks like a Turnbull." Or indeed a Carver.

Well well. It is, as my granny used to say, a funny wee world.

.............................................................................................................................................

PS Aha. Have just found this on a Blogger help page -  might try it but must go and practise piano at the moment:

Katney - Blogger Top Contributor

22:09 (1 hour ago)

Other recipients:

Are you using Internet Explorer? The problem of the missing browse button arose in IE in the last couple of days. There have very few reports of something similar happening in other browsers. It happens in Compose, but the uploader in the html tab of the editor will work. You can upload using html, then switch to Compose to work with the pictures.

As it is not as likely to affect Firefox or Chrome, using one of those browsers is another option.

The problem has been reported and is now listed in the Known Issues. We hope for a quick fix.

Ticking off

Ok, O wise ones of the bloggy world - why can't I post pictures? I'm doing what I always do: clicking on the little photo thing to the right of the word Link on the new post page, and then usually I get Browse in a little square (I think) up at the top. I click on this and it offers me my pictures in Picasa. (Gosh, it's like driving - I can do it, but if I try to describe what to do to someone who doesn't know, I can't quite remember.) Anyway, no Browse. Gah. Any ideas?

We've just been marking off our Christmas cards, ticking off on our list the ones we received. This must be a record early date for it. Normally the pile of cards sits in a tottering heap till about April because it never seems an urgent task. As usual, there were some from people to whom we hadn't sent them. And I think - will I add them to the list?

I have a friend - who used to be a very good schoolfriend - who lives just over the water, less than an hour away - whom I've seen twice since we left university (the last time was when Son was a baby and he's now 28) and yet we still send cards. Hers has only her and her husband's names on it: no news, nothing. I send a bit of news but seldom get any in return. I would quite like to see her but the impetus to meet up always, latterly, came from me and I rather gave up the effort. I like her but she was always a bit... well... odd.

Every few years I think, this is silly, sending cards. And I strike her off the list. Then her card arrives and I put her back on. This was one of the years. And then after Christmas she sent me a really nice letter about my mum's death, which she hadn't heard about at the time. I've no idea how she heard about it at all, since I don't think she's in touch with anyone from school, though I am. It was a very kind letter but still said nothing at all about how she was doing.

So: do I write back? Will I suggest meeting up? Or do I take the fairly obvious hint that she's doing fine without me? These are rhetorical questions; I'm not really asking, just wondering.

Grandson is still choked up and coughing but maybe marginally better, so I'm told. We hope to see him tomorrow if he's well enough to come with his mum and dad to lunch, as on usual Sundays. So I'll go and make some macaroni cheese. He likes that. And then: piano practice. My first lesson since before Christmas is coming up on Tuesday. Have I been practising? Yes. Enough? No.

Yes, Anna, I hadn't forgotten about that patchwork! I just need to sit down and think about how to do it and have a spare day and be feeling strong! I will do it!

Spluttering

Unless I've suddenly forgotten how to post photos - not at all impossible, considering my lack of techy instincts - there's something a bit funny about Blogger tonight. So, no photos. This is not a great loss since it's just been us and the cats today, apart from a brief visit to Daughter 1, Son-in-Law 1 and Grandson just before they were about to take the little chap to the doctor again.

The verdict from the doctor was that Grandson is still just suffering from a virus: his chest and ears are all right. Which is a relief, but he's really not well. They got back from visiting the other grandparents down south last night and came to tea. Grandson smiled when he saw us and croaked "Ga-ga!" with the enthusiastic timbre of a 90-year-old who's been on sixty ciggies a day since the age of fourteen. He staggered unsteadily into the house. "Dight! dight!" he wheezed, tottering into the back hall and switching off the power shower outside the bathroom. "Pussy!" he rasped as he held his hands out for the tiny knitted black cat in the dining room. His little face was white with red blotches under his eyes but he was pleased to see us and his toys.

He's slept most of today; I hope he sleeps at night as well, poor little crumb.

It's amazingly mild here. The shoots of snowdrops and crocuses and daffodils are poking through the earth. I have to keep reminding myself that two years ago we were surrounded by deep snow and it's not actually spring yet. But still: the days are getting longer. Good, good.

I feel I must achieve something in 2013. But what? And am I going to do it fiddling on the computer? Possibly not... .

Faces

 

Ever since I was a little girl I've loved looking at portraits. Well, faces in general, but painted portraits especially. One of the books I got for Christmas was the one above, which I can't recommend highly enough. It's about self-portraits, and the writer, Laura Cumming, points out all sorts of things that I would never have noticed about the pictures illustrated in the book. The one I'm trying to forget is that Michelangelo portrayed a distortion of his own face in the flayed skin of St Bartholemew in the Sistine Chapel.

 

 

Today we deChristmassed the house. We used to leave it till Twelfth Night, but nowadays I get fed up of tinsel and cards rather earlier than that and it's a relief to be able to dust again. I actually quite like dusting: picking up my little bits of glass and porcelain and rearranging them. Anyway, we rewarded ourselves by a visit to the as-yet-undeChristmassed National Portrait Gallery - above - to see the exhibition of the BP Portrait Awards. They were WONDERFUL. I know that fashionable people admire paintings which consist of a blank oblong with two red dots, but I don't understand why that is art. Today's portraits varied a lot, but they all looked like people and some of them were so realistic that we could hardly believe that they were painted at all. Remind me, however, that if Grandson should ever become a portrait painter and suggest painting my (by then) wrinkly, craggy old visage, I must suggest that he should do a nice impressionistic effort rather than making too much effort to render every furrow, sag and pore, like some a couple of these people did for their grannies.

 

 

We made the mistake of going to the gallery shop afterwards and Mr Life unwisely urged me to treat myself to this etched glass vase. I love it but I do not need more stuff. Sorry, children. Something else for you to deal with when I'm deceased.

 

 

Afterwards we were not tempted to go on the Christmas big wheel. There in the background is the Scott Monument. As I think I've mused before, who reads Scott now? Yet there he is in Princes Street: a big white statue in a huge Gothic edifice. Ah, the fickleness of fame.

 

 

Look! Santa Claus, in mufti, was on this bus. He looked a bit grumpy but I expect he's tired.

 

 

These were the other books I got for Christmas. All so lovely! I'm only just at the end of my (July) birthday books, though. Must get reading... . There's not enough time!

 

 

In other news: the guinea pigs are fine, Daughter 1 and SIL 1.

 

 

And Cassie sat in a box.

Cammo

I was somewhat dreading New Year, which we've always - or at least since we were young and partying - spent with family, very much including my parents. However, we had a lovely time last night at the house of friends, where there were 21 of us, of whom we knew 20, and we were all very jolly. Luckily our friends have a big house - we ourselves would be hard put to seat 21 for dinner! There was a quiz, which Mr Life and I (and the other chap in our team) won. (Modest bow.) So by the time we got home and were switching the light off at about 3 am, we didn't feel too oh-gosh about the momentousness of 2013 arriving without our having solved some of the fairly worrying problems of 2012.

Today dawned sunny and we went for a walk round the Cammo Estate on the western edge of the city. This used to contain the house above...

... of which these are the sad remains. The ground has been built up round the first floor entrance but you can see that there used to be steps up to the front door...

which still has this triangular thingummy over it.

The house dated from 1693 but was greatly extended in the late eighteenth century. This is it from the back.

But from 1930 it was owned by a lady who lived there with her son and lots of dogs. They were very reclusive and allowed the house to deteriorate - here's the drawing room in 1975 shortly after the son's death. He left the house to the National Trust, but it was targeted by vandals and twice set on fire. It would have cost far more to restore than the Trust had at its disposal so in 1978 it was demolished, leaving only what can be seen today.

The property now belongs to Edinburgh Council and anyone can go and walk around. There's not much left of the formal gardens, but they were beautifully landscaped in the eighteenth, nineteenth and early twentieth centuries.

It's very sad in many ways. However, now instead of giving pleasure to one, privileged family, the grounds are full of ordinary families and their dogs enjoying the fresh air.

Here are the remains of very fancy stables.

And here's the water tower. I read somewhere that this is a man-made hill but I don't know why it was made. It would have taken a lot of chaps with shovels to make it, anyway.

It was rather muddy in places. This is a path!

This is a canal which once provided a vista from the back of the house.

And this is the view from the front. I suppose it was once an avenue. In the distance now are the flats of Wester Hailes, which weren't there in the house's heyday.

Things change and we have to accept this. But wouldn't it be nice to wave a magic wand and see it in its glory?

Little Grandson had to be taken to the emergency doctor last night at 11 because he had a very high temperature. Luckily his Worcester grandparents were at hand to offer advice and comfort. He was pronounced just to have a virus (sorry if we gave it to you, baby boy) but he had a very restless night and his poor parents are exhausted. Hope you're better soon, little N.