pulling teeth

I must go and see mum as she is worried about me since I had a tooth out this morning. The tooth caused me great toothache on and around Christmas Day (and caused mum some anguish too) and now it has been removed at last. It is a tragedy that I have lost a tooth but it has given me too much trouble and was not saveable, according to my very competent - and patient - dentist.

I phoned mum when I got home from the dentist and she was pleased to hear from me after probably having a sleepless night, I know her. It is so touching that a mother of 86 worries about a daughter of 57 as if I were a child. No-one could ask for a better mother. And she will give me a long and very welcome hug.

I look forward to that.

Being a mindreader and burying the hatchet

Mum has been struggling to fit all her possessions into the new flat since she moved in at the beginning of December. I found her loading a pile of folded sweaters into the kitchen cupboard when I popped in the other day.

That's no good, I said, we must make room for these in your wardrobe. So I looked inside the wardrobe and found some non-bedroom items like Christmas wrapping paper, which I moved to the kitchen cupboard, freeing up shelf space for her sweaters. So all was well.

Next day I went off to the furniture store - which has a sale on - to look for a couple of chests of drawers to give her more drawer space in the bedroom. It's a nice big room, so no problem accommodating them. The one she has will collapse on her foot one of these days and wobbles when you open the drawers.

Meanwhile an email from her friend told me confidentially she had been complaining about lack of space for her clothes. yes, I said, I'm fixing it, no probs.

I found some nice units in the shop, and a bedside cabinet to go with it. Took the brochures to her and said the shop would assemble them for free, so no problem. No, she said, I don't need them. You do, I said. (Of course I couldn't say your friend told me in confidence you've been complaining or that would be the end of that friendship.)

So then we had what can only be described as an argument. Why don't you want new storage space? It would improve your room, give your clothes more space, look better, come ready assembled.

No, she said, but you'll do it anyway - you always get your own way. No, I said, I don't - you wouldn't have your eye lens lasered, you won't have a hearing aid, you won't let me put sticky on the back of the rug so it doesn't trip you up, you won't play your TV above a whisper.....

Stop, stop, stop, I thought, what am I doing? Forget it. I'll buy some drawers for my office, I need them anyway so it wasn't a wasted trip.

So we went out for dinner and buried the hatchet, had a lovely time and will book dinner there in a couple of weeks when my brother and family come up.

And another thing, she said, things are so bad that all empty properties will soon be taken over by squatters...........

Ahhhhhhh, I thought, that's what's going on. She thinks her unsold bungalow will be hijacked by squatters and she'll be penniless because it won't sell. Say no more. I'll keep quiet.

Just as well I'm a mind reader.

Parents' wish

This very touching slideshow needs no comment from me, but have your tissues at the ready......

To view Parents' wish slideshow, click here

Overcoming radio and TV silence

I feel very guilty that mum never plays her radio now and won't have the TV volume at more than a whisper. No point in having either of them in the flat if she can't enjoy them.

But it has turned into a source of friction between us, so I don't mention it anymore.

The other day she said she was really interested in the the two late evening programmes about Paul Burrell, Princess Diana's now world-famous butler. We both agreed to watch it in our separate homes and them chat about it the next time we met.

So I asked her 'Did you see the Burrell programmes last night?'.

'No', she said, 'it was too quiet and I couldn't hear it so I went to bed.'

It was too quiet??????

'You mean you wouldn't turn the volume up loud enough to hear it?'

'People would be in bed', she said.

Well, if they were in bed they wouldn't be above or below your lounge with the TV, as their lounges are above and below.

No point in having this discussion. So as I had watched the programmes I had to give her a blow-by-blow account of what went on. Not the same as an equal-sided conversation. And of course, I did most of the talking, which defeats the purpose of visiting her.

'You can get nice headphones to listen to TV and radio, you know,' I said, walking to her laptop and searching on Google.

'Can you?' she said, 'I didn't know that. Let's get some.'

So we did. They are coming this week, and maybe one little problem will be solved.

Afternoon tea out, a wreath, and a roaring fire

Mum and I had a little jaunt to explore the local area today, and visited a nice hotel where we had tea and biscuits in front of a roaring log fire. We were very grateful for the fire as it's pretty cold at the moment, despite fur coats and warm gloves.

It was actually quite a trek down the road to the hotel, but we were on a regular bus route and managed to time it so that we caught a bus for the one-stop distance back up the hill. 70p for one bus stop, we two just standing next to the driver for about 15 seconds, seemed quite expensive. But it would have worn out mum to struggle up the hill with her walking stick in this cold weather. One of her elderly lady neighbours in the flats complex had a funny turn a few weeks ago doing this same steep little journey on foot with her stick on just such a raw, freezing day.

And we met an interesting lady walking quite badly with a stick and carrying a pretty wreath of leaves and flowers. 'Hello,' we said, 'cold, isn't it? Take care for frost underfoot.'

'I'm taking this wreath to my husband's grave,' she said, and she was a Scottish lady, perhaps local. 'He's just been moved here from Pere la Chaise cemetery in Paris. You wouldn't believe the paperwork and red tape! It's taken years and now he's here, so this is my first wreath for his grave.'

I could only imagine the bureaucracy and international to-ings and fro-ings to have a body in a coffin moved from one plot of ground in one country to another plot in another country. A re-burial, that would be. I wondered how complex it would be, and how expensive, too, both financially and emotionally.

There can't be many people who would take the trouble. This lady looked about 55. 'He was 38 when he died,' she said, adding another piece of information for my already active imagination to work with.

So I reckon she must have lost him more than 15 years ago and has wanted to bring him home to Scotland. And today was such a triumph, she wanted to tell two passing strangers.

As she walked by she added, a total non-sequitur,: 'You two are both so slim, aren't you?'. Mum and I grinned to one another, as the lady must have felt the strain with a precious little wreath in one hand, a walking stick in the other and carrying quite a bit of avoirdupois herself.

Making new friends when you're an old dog

It's hard making new friends when you have left precious long-standing friends hundreds of miles away. Mum does a marvellous job keeping in touch with them, but it's necessary to have new friends round the corner to cheer you up in person.

So in her new flat she has to make friends with the neighbours, and she hasn't got 25 years to develop those friendships. Coffee mornings, carol service, Christmas raffle, all helped mum make a new start and meet some new people.

'They won't accept me' she says, 'I'm too old'. Some of her neighbours are much older than she is. We meet people as we come and go and they are so welcoming and friendly and of course they all recognise mum as 'the new girl'.

We have little competitions to see who we think might be a suitable friend. 'I thought that lady in the grey skirt was very nice' she says, 'and her hair was beautifully cut'.

'yes,' I say, 'that chap in the shirt and tie was very smart.'

As she made her way past the front entrance last week, the very same man in the smart jacket and tie leaned over and kissed her gently, 'happy new year', he said. She was quite taken with the kind gesture. Some people are so nice.

Avoiding the doctor

I see that an eminent medical journal in the UK reported that it was not possible to demonstrate any decrease in the statistics on the mortality of elderly people from flu, despite a massive uptake of flu vaccinations among the elderly - from 15 to 65% since 1980.

I won't tell mum, as she will say 'I told you so'. Mum takes a very hardline view of the medical profession, whether the local medical centre or the local hospital.

Vaccines are to be avoided at all costs because 'they make you ill'. Drugs are to be avoided at all costs because 'their side effects are worse than the disease' they are supposed to cure.

'I'm past my sell-by date' says mum regularly, 'and at least I can decide if I am going to damage the quality of my life with unwanted drugs.'

She should know. She spends a lot of time phoning her elderly friends and they tell her about problems with their medication and their blood pressure and their cholesterol levels and she's fed up with it. She doesn't know what her cholesterol level or blood pressure level is, and she doesn't care. If it was up she wouldn't take anything for it, as a matter of prinicple.

Well, you have to admire that standpoint. She's had some bad experiences with the medical profession and she says she can do without any more.

As for me, well I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for the interventions of the medical profession on several occasions, so i keep my opinions to myself. Each to her own.

But if you ring my mum, do not tell her about your cholesterol or blood pressure or you might just have the phone put down on you.

Mind you, her mutiny is not very substantial. She will agree with the GP when he says 'you will take these, won't you?'. But of course once out of the surgery she refuses point blank, and that's her business, she says.

A success at the sales!

Mum is very petite and has tiny feet, so we usually have fruitless searches for shoes.

'no sorry, nothing smaller than a size 4', is the normal refrain. But today we scored a little success. T K Maxx had several pairs of size 3, which is very rare. Mind you, most of them were ideal for 16 year-olds, not the over 80's, so we had a limited choice. However, lucky daughter was lucky today. One particular pair proved both comfortable and the right size, as welll as being in the sale, so we bought mum a new pair of shoes! They will be ideal for indoors so she can save her rather nice court shoes for trips out.

I had recently been delighted to buy some quite nice expensive shoes in an Edinburgh charity shop and brought them to her with childish glee. She was over the moon - a posh pair of shoes size 3!

Alas, we were both amazed and dashed when they were actually too small for her. We don't live in Edinburgh, so I shall recycle them in one of our local charity shops. What a pity.

Size has always been a problem for mum. When younger, she regularly resorted to making her own clothes because the sizes in the shops were too big for her. Many people remark on how small and smart she is, but it has become increasingly difficult for mum to find smart clothes in a small enough size.

She is quite particular about her appearance, and always optimistic when we go clothes shopping. Skirts usually need 12 inches lopped off the hem, coats need 6 inches off the sleeves, it must be so disheartening for her.

Even at 80-odd, she wants to look smart and well-turned out, so the hunt for petite clothes goes on....

Attitudes change, but mum isn't starving now

Taxis don't scare me, but they certainly scare mum. I think it's a generational thing. She's never been what you would call rich, but I think if she was rich she'd still not take taxis in her stride.

If a taxi was ordered to the house, such as on the rare occasion she and my dad wanted to go to the airport for a package holiday - mum would be standing at the window half an hour early, with her coat on. Just so that when the taxi came, she could be out there like a shot and into the car. NEVER keep a taxi waiting seems to be the motto.

One time when I visited, my taxi came early and I said he could wait a minute while I put my coat on and gathered my things. We were in the middle of fixing the video but she made sure I stopped instantly and ran out to the waiting taxi, coat in hand. Even visitors can't treat taxis as a paid-for service should be treated.

After my dad died mum missed the regular transport his car had provided, and additionally she was a bit frail to walk all the way and back from the shops - with grocery shopping.

So she would go to the shops on the bus and carry the very small number of items she could manage, but she would never ever get a taxi to and from the supermarket with a 'big weekly shop'. As a result she ran out of things like milk and bread and tinned foods. When the weather was bad she was like a starving prisoner in her own home, and wouldn't be able to replenish stocks of anything - a taxi would have been an obvious solution, but she chose to virtually starve.

Now don't imagine mum lived in the middle of nowhere, or that she was friendless, far from it. Mum has more friends than anyone I know and they would ask her if she needed anything. But she almost invariably declined these offers, not wanting to be a burden on anyone. I can't rely on other people, she would say, it isn't fair as I could never pay them back for the favour.

A quiet year for us?

hubby and I went to a delightful new year's eve ball last night and enjoyed ourselves dancing strip the willow and the dashing white sergeant into the early hours, a good way to finally shake off my streaming cold of the past few days.

Today I visited mum to wish her a happy new year, but she is full of doom and gloom, and additionally she was watching the TV with the sound on virtually zero. I couldn't hear it, so she certainly couldn't.

She then explained that she doesn't want to annoy the neighbours in the adjacent flats. They are, I know, all deaf, as I have met them and they apologised in advance if they annoyed her with their tv turned up too loud. More than 70% of people over 80 have a hearing problem, so I can't see them objecting to mum's TV. She won't hoover, either, in case they object, so the new carpets are going to get a little messy. hmmm, after a bit of an uneasy discussion I made some coffee and gave her a hug, by way of changing the subject.

She then reminded me of how we will all soon be impoverished, thanks to the recent profligacy of the banks. We will be like the famous German man with his wheelbarrow of banknotes going to buy a loaf of bread, she says.

I tried to reassure her and asked her to explain how she thinks this will affect her but she says if I can't see it then we will have to agree to differ. She watches a lot of TV and there is much doom and gloom on the news, of course. And she had watched Alistair Darling being interviewed by Robert Peston on TV this morning, so she was probably better informed than me.

We have to sell her bungalow now that she is moved into her retirement flat and of course the market value of that will be much less than a year ago, but I still can't see her being penniless. I do wish I could reassure her that she is safe and will remain comfortable and well fed. There is food in the shops and we will be fine.

'You think there will always be food in the shops? - you just wait... I remember the 1930s when people came to our door begging for a slice of bread and my mother giving them a cup of tea and a jam sandwich.' oh dear, I hope she is wrong.

She had an interesting telephone conversation, telling a friend in the south that there are no vacuum cleaners used in the flats and it's 'quiet like the grave', and so she now has a phobia about making a noise.

I explained gently that it's not quiet like the grave, as we listened to the lady upstairs hoovering last week - but mum couldn't hear it, and we listened to the lady upstairs' tv last week several times, but mum couldn't hear it. She's deaf but refuses to have her ears looked at or entertain the idea of a hearing aid.

'They don't work' she says. 'Jack has one and he says it's rubbish, Pearl has both digital and analogue and she hates both of them, so I won't waste my money.'

oh well, after a quiet Christmas, and a quiet New Year I think she'll be having a quiet 2009. No more Classic fm on a Sunday morning. She used to love that and I would often pop in to see her in the bungalow and find her with a tissue mopping her eyes as she enjoyed a little nostalgic piece of music, whether Beethoven's Emperor concerto or Barber's Adagio or the heart-rending Benedictus from Jenkins' The Armed Man - always reminded her of my dad, who fought at Monte Cassino.