Thursday, 1 November 2007

Al makes a Profit

I had a few errands to run in Norwich today. I trotted around happily - I hardly seem to have visited Norwich entirely for pleasure and without engagements (for lunch with Dave was certainly a pleasure) all this year. It's been a beautifully sunny day. Al said the shop has been busy. He was busy yesterday too, but the supply of pumpkins held up until a quarter to five. Anxious little children and their sheepish fathers continued to ask until Al shut up shop, however. He shut early, to get rid of them. Actually, for the first time ever, he put up the price in the afternoon. He said to Tim that if any regular customers came in to sell them at the lower price, but someone who was only giving Al custom because the supermarket had sold out could pay for the privilege. He made an extra £25 and received no complaints...

I then went to shop at Waitrose. To my surprise, the Sage loves the rose-petal tea I bought there, so I went shopping for everything I needed. That included some cheese, because one of our helpers doesn't eat wheat, so can't eat sandwiches with the rest of us. I bought a piece of Stilton and a piece of Wensleydale - and found myself salivating uncontrollably. I'd also promised her crisps - and nearly picked up a bag of Twiglets. I didn't, but I've certainly found my Achilles' heels.

Since my unexpectedly emotional encounter with the doctor, to his surprise and mine (I should add that I didn't actually blub all over him, but was unable to speak for a few minutes and was then a bit wobbly), I've found myself tearful several times. Only when alone, fortunately, but it's something I need to work out and through. It's every time I think about my mother, and it seems that I am not quite as sorted as I thought I was. I believe I've worked out why I'm unhappy, specifically, but that's only the start of it. I've always found it better, on the whole, not to look back too much - if past times were better than the present it makes you wistful and if the old days were not good then it only depresses you to think about it - but in this instance I hope it might do me good. So I'll continue with my 'family story', which I had meant to abandon once it might become 'the story of me'. It'll take a day or two to start, though, as it's our auction tomorrow and we're then having a jolly family weekend.

10 comments:

martina said...

My Dad passed away 23 years ago and I still have those weepy moments when I think of and miss him. It is only natural to continue to mourn the loss of a loved one for the rest of your life.
Best of luck with the auction, hope you make a fortune!

Z said...

My mother was unwell for several years before she died and our relationship suffered, and that's not easy to get over.

Dave said...

I was going to say something mildly supportive here, but then I started thinking about my own father's death, and now I've gone all maudlin.

Z said...

I apologise, Dave. Is that a polite way of telling me to get a grip? That's quite fair enough.

When someone becomes unwell and unhappy, it is easy to lose the feel of the person she used to be long before she dies. I knew that and wished it was not so, but that regret has hit me again. I'm aiming to re-find her.

The Boy said...

I can imagine Z. My father didn't have the long stint your mother had, nor was I the primary carer the way you were, but when I think of him I still see the intensive care ward.

The last memories shouldn't be the strongest, as they are often the worse. Yet they are. Loosing your grip will happen, and its funny how one jolt will reverberate for far too long in your mind.

Z said...

The last six months, funnily enough, were great. But my children have not the memories of her that I wish they had, because she had changed so.

How do we know said...

:-)

Dave said...

Have a fun auction today.

luckyzmom said...

My Mom had a stroke in 86' that changed her from someone I leaned on to someone who was needy. It is bringing tears even now tho she died a day after our mutual birthday almost 12 years ago. It was like I lost her twice.

Z said...

Yes, it hits you like new once in a while, doesn't it?