A Tilly Moment while living with ME - Sitting On A Bunch Of Keys

ME is Myalgic Encephalomyelitis

PEM is Post Exertional Malaise

I had packed the car ready for the two-hour journey for my son to have treatment. I have 101 things to say about that but will leave that for another day. Going anywhere for my son Angus, is like getting ready for the Olympics, so much training has to be done in order to do an event and should be an Paralympics sport as a ME triathlon event. Event 1: getting out of bed Event 2: dressing Event 3: travelling in wheelchair of a distance of 100 meters, not self-propelled but pushed.

It sounds far-fetched and when I explain about this to any medical professional, it is met with utter disbelief and lack of understanding. How can simple movements; innocuous as they are for any ill person, have such detrimental effects that it takes weeks, months or never to recover from. The science is there but is complex and too much money is to be made from “Cognitive Therapies” to ever look at the truth.

The only problem with those who have ME entering an event is that they may never recover from even the training. You think I am over exaggerating, sadly I’m not. Look at the overtraining of the Olympians and you will find ME symptoms. In fact, there was a paper that showed the similarities, there is also a paper that explains PEM when doing a hand gripping test. Fluff, I broke my promise - to save the science for another day. Back to the event of the Key sitting.

Angus had struggled to wake that morning and this alone in enough to make the next week a bad week for him. He knew the importance of the tests and treatments so tried not to moan too much. I had to help him get dressed; he finds this so hard to accept. For any 14-year-old privacy and dignity are keenly felt and how do you honour that when he is so incapacitated on some days? The physical exhaustion was taking his ability to be mentally alert and is the first sign of him reaching the over training state and I knew we were in for a quiet drive. My heart sank to my boots and it took all I had to pull those bootstraps up. But pull them up I did, with my stiff upper lip.

You know that dreaded question about who you would invite to a dinner party - alive or dead, well very often at these times I think a lot about this. Among my invited guests would be an alert Angus. You see he can, at the right time of day and when he is not suffering PEM, be full of conversation, asking questions that only a quantum physicist could answer; like what Dark Matter is and how did the big bang theory start. I normally retort with who wrote the big bang theory for the TV series. Only I have to quickly go on my phone and find out their names as I’m not good at remembering names “Chuck Lorre and Bill Prady”, I respond. We both giggle; which is not good for Angus and this pushes him deeper into PEM, due to laughing being like a physical workout and his aerobic capacity reached. There is research to prove that laughing can be part of your exercise regime – I kid you not.

I have my own way of explaining complex matters which Angus finds both funny and exasperating. I tend to break them down to my level of thinking and use everyday objects I’m familiar with. So here goes for a Tilly Moment explanation of the big bang theory (not the program).

In a dark room, void of all matter I flack my duster which causes a bang - we have particles and static electric - the beginning of life starts. It takes a few minutes for his stunned silence to explode with his indignation of “you cannot be serious mum”. The joy of it has to be experienced at least once in your life; seeing someone so depleted in ability and suffering, to still be able to laugh and put a good forceful counter argument together, of how wrong you are, is so delicious. However, the guilt after the event is very hard to cope with and it is Angus that then pulls my bootstraps up and reminds me, it is not my fault.  

On our 2-hour journey we normally stop for something to eat, another simple pleasure that most people take for granted.  A break from the movement, cars flashing by and the rolling countryside that makes it so difficult for his body and brain to cope. He can’t get out of the car so a drive through is the only option. Those few minutes have become precious to me, a few seconds of normal life and to glimpse at the growing understanding of the complexity of the life my son now has. I don’t think anyone could be prouder than I am on these journeys, even if he won the Olympics or world events, I don’t think I would feel the way I do on those few precious moments. To know and truly appreciate the complexities of ME, you have to live through it to understand why I am so dam proud of him and why this young lad is my ME hero of epic proportions.

When we arrive at the centre, we all eagerly await for him to recover enough from the journey for his banter to start. His unfolding personality and his humour that brightens up their day is another rare joy that we want more of. We can all see the incremental improvements and with just a blood test to go we then make our way out to start the journey back home. This is one of the handful of times my son in the last 7 years has had outside his home. There are no charities that showcase his illness by sending him to swim with dolphins or to theme parks. No personalities that want to go on catch phrase to support my son in any way. He has no elevating carefree times, just an expanse of time like ground hog day, where the only thing that changes is his age - going from child to young man in the same state.

Navigating the doors with his wheelchair we treat the journey out of the building and into the car like a slalom, which I am happy to report I am getting better at. Time trials next. He has to sit for a few minutes before he attempts to get in the car; because we have laughed so much his body goes into a whirlwind of refusing to do anything but keeping his world dizzy and crippled with chest pain.

While he summons up the determination to move again, I put the bags in the backseat and busy myself so he can take the time he needs. I have to wait for him to move trying to engage with him at this point puts him under pressure to do things against his bodies better judgment and causes more problems later on. When he has got himself in the seat of the car, I pack and lift the wheelchair in the back and tie it down. As yet I have been unable to get a blue badge; again for 101 reasons but mostly because just trying to get proper healthcare for him is like taking a Mensa test while doing downhill slalom at speed. I have found I have needed a fully operational office and know a system that is as fragmented and hidden as Dark Matter. Getting a wheelchair in a car in a normal parking spot is difficult, two herniated discs prove that.  I then proceed to find the keys that I have put in the endless pit of doom I call my handbag. No keys. I know I’ll empty it onto the backseat of the car. I find everything I have lost in the last 6+ months much to the amusement of Angus. But no car Keys. It’s not as though they are easy to lose either for the love of plucked feathers where are they.  I must have put them on the folded seat in the back of the car while putting wheelchair in? No keys near the wheelchair? No keys, In the bags, they may have dropped in there? No keys.

We start to giggle as I look all around embarrassed, in and out of the car using my phone as a torch. Taking my own advice that I give to others; I start to think and visualise what I had done since unlocking the car. Where did I put the keys? Did I definitely unlock the car; self-doubt creeps in. Could I have left them in the building? By this time, we had everyone looking for them. I eventually asked Angus to get out of the seat so that I could look under the seat to see; in a vein hope, if I had dropped them there. Knowing this would cause him more physical problems I apologised and felt so guilty. However, there on the seat were the keys. “How could you not feel them” I asked? It’s not like there was just one key, there was a pile of them. We giggled about his insensitive behind and remembered when he forgot the chocolate, I had brought him one day that he sat on and which melted and made such a mess.

The elation of the everyday is a short-lived joy but one that I hope, in time, we will have more of without the PEM. For readers that do not know the ramifications of ME and PEM probably do not appreciate what a day out like this means to me and Angus. Angus has been 95% bedbound for the last 6 years and ill and house bound for 7. The next morning, he could not wake until 11.30 and it took him until 1.30 to be able to speak to me. His lips looked as if he had gone in the dessert with no water for days and the pain was painfully written on his face. He asked me to leave him, to let him recover he needs solitude, quiet and no interaction.

Living through these times is the hardest to cope with for me. This is compounded knowing what my other two children were doing at his age. For Angus like all athletes it is part of his discipline and the price he has to pay. Unlike athletes he has no one patting him on the back saying he is amazing.  The feeling of inadequacy deepens for him. His bodies inability to live frustrates him beyond any endurance training.

This enforced solitude hurts beyond any words I have found or any analogies to equate it to. It takes all our strength of character to get through these dark times and he manages it better than me.

It can take weeks or months for his body to ease the grip it has on him and we both know from experience it may never come back. With the new treatment it fades in just over 2 weeks and back to the normal pain and difficulties that most of us would find intolerable, that he has had to learnt to accept as his new normal. We get ready for the next outing and one day; soon I hope, we will be going out to something he would like to do instead of doing something that he needs to do.

Like the opening of those glorious spring flowers now popping their heads out in the bitter wind, he starts his conversations and my heart leaps with uncontrolled joy on the inside and a loving smile on the outside.

The banter of a mother and son can be heard once again. The subject of my inability to keep safe hold of keys and his inability to feel those keys while sitting on them becomes a verbal tug of war and one of those family anecdotes you keep hold of and love the retelling of and long may that continue.

 

Needles in a Haystack

They are looking for tinny needles in a ravaged haystack! Jostling for funding making claim and counter claims, while people struggle to gain some sort of life. I thought to myself as I plunged the toilet brush down and around the u-bend, giving the toilet another good dowsing of cleaner.

This is defiantly going to be a defining Tilly Moment, I smile to myself. I took a few moments to watch the vortex suck the cleaner away. It’s like needles in a haystack on a farmyard of disgruntled animals, I considered with the loo brush suspended in thought. There are a lot of fluffy ducks; I chuckled as I attacked the floor with gusto, a Cockrill, a grumpy donkey that is flogged for being slow. A picture of an idyllic scene popped in my head as the idea gained momentum. Where there are animals, there is normally a lot of… well stinky manure to clean; that’s the story of my life I shruged as I turn on the shower with my determined furrowed brow. I pull up my rubber gloves.

This analogy sums up our knowledge of ME/CFS, Fibromyalgia, MS, coeliac and Alzheimer’s, I continued thinking as I rammed the double duvet in washing in the machine. The salesman had said it would take a king size duvet, but it don’t, frustration started to set in, coupled with my anger, I decided the best cause of action was to sit and write.

If you take the haystack as the central nervous system with the many complex issues hidden inside, that haystack contained within a farmyard (the body of the patient) with many animals (cells, organs, glands and limbs) around it, that are being damaged by ME/CFS (the needles). Even though it has been proven beyond any doubt the needles are there, not everyone accepts this – they cannot see/find the needles, so dismiss the damage being done, choosing to impart the blame to all sorts of behavioural disorders. I purpose it’s not their fault? They don’t appear to possess the intelligence to understand we still do not know all there is to know about the human body. I sip the hot coffee and think. Perhaps they are like the pre-Socratic philosophers who; bless them, believed that the world was flat. Philosophers are full of barmy ideas, but you cannot reason with them, they are all knowing.
Unfortunately the people that have proven the needles exist don’t know what the needles are made from, or how to find them. This means they cannot find the right magnet to locate or get rid of the needles before long-term damage is done.

The poor farmer (the brain or in our case Angus) has been running around shouting about the danger, but no one has been listening. His animals are being hurt (animals being the organs, glands and limbs) are in pain as the needles surge through his/their body. I hold the steamer in mid-air as I once again try to get rid of the toffee on the cooker. I think the Philosophers are barmy, I giggle as I start to write my outline of a story. Here I am thinking in terms of sheep and pigs as though it would make ME more understandable, well it makes it more fun, so I make a coffee and give the story my full attention.

The farmer, I thought needs all of his animals to be fit and healthy, as they make up the ecosystem which makes the farmer’s beautiful and diverse farm. But the longer this situation carries on the more dishevelled his haystack becomes, no matter how hard he tries to rebuild his haystack, another wind comes and blows it down. The animals then are left to forage around picking up bits of hay, and are then in danger of finding the tinny needles and consume them or roll around in them. No graphic illustration needed of what could happen to the animals.

Now the Mother of the farmer has being witnessing his plight, and has watched over a long period, helping as much as she can. She understands that the best thing for the farmer and his animals, is that a huge magnet, but knows the right one has yet to be found or made. Maintenance is the only option open to her for now.
She constantly runs around all the people she can think of to find out how and when the winds will come and bring yet more needles. Some dismiss her and don’t understand about the needles and the winds, which she is surprised about. The concept of winds carrying needles are not new – coughs and sneezes spread diseases.

The wind however is like a swirl of nature that hits at unreasonable times and by the time the disbelieving people come and see the farm; her farmer son has cleared up and hidden the damage. He is a very proud and hardworking farmer, which loves his ecosystem and wants it to work properly. He wants everyone to see the beauty of his farm and not the chaos. His ecosystem runs around plugging gaps as best they can, but they are fighting a loosing battle.

For now the farmers mother has put a huge cover over the haystack, she knows it’s not strong enough if the winds come down again, she knows the animals will nest, pull at and rummage through the haystack, but it is the best she can do for now. The ecosystem shows its determination, but how long can this now flimsy covering contain those sharp implements of destruction? She also knows the cover keeps the haystack dry and brittle and at any moment could burn out! Then how would they be able to sustain the farm animals? She has taken the farmer inside the farmhouse for a rest. But the farmer is all forlorn without his farm and the friends that help him to maintain it all. His mind wont rest, he needs to get on.

People come and go with their new brooms and sweep, taking all the good hay away with them. She shoos them away, but they come back with bigger brooms. She is a strong and determined Mother but that does not bode well to the people who still believe the world is flat and that, positive thought techniques is the only thing that could possibly drive a body to wellness.
At last it’s time to put the animals away for the night and the farmer and his mother start to run around the farm trying to catch chickens, the three Billy goats gruff, geese, fluffy and the not so fluffy ducks, find and catch the errant pig, convince the stubborn donkey it’s time to go in its stable and cuddle daisy the cow. They fall in a heap and laugh about their topsy turvy days. They dream separately for a while of the farm they know they could have.

When  the farmyard falls quiet and the farmer is asleep at last, the farmers mother goes out to the haystack and has a closer look, ties down, as best she can the flimsy covering. Sweeps the debris and pushes it under, hoping it will be contained and out of harm’s way. She walks slowly to the hill near the duck pond; her favourite spot. Her faithful dogs by her side, she starts to wonder at the magic the farm holds, as the sun sinks on another exhausting day, where the animals have ran rampant through the haystack.

She reflects on when they found a beautiful butterfly struggling to fly in the wind. How they both giggled with joy when they caught it, and put it in the huge greenhouse full of plants so that it could be free to fly without the winds hindrance. How it danced and bobbed around on the warm breeze of the ventilation fans. She hopes they will be able to see it tomorrow. But you can never tell with butterflies, fleeting beauties as they are. Perhaps she can draw one. She looks across the sky to see the stars and the silvery moon, there are a lot of things to marvel at and a lot of people that will never take the time to see what happens to be in-front of them. She hoped that she was not one of those people.

We had once been told that the world was flat and if we set sail we would drop off the end, and look how that ended, she smiled to herself. What if we just took the word of those people who said our world was flat? She remembered she had been told that infants didn’t feel pain when they teethed, and that nappy rash was most defiantly not caused by the infant teething, when it was so clearly the cause, she started to giggle. Scientists said it was impossible that Bees could fly, due to the aerodynamics of their shape, but they do. ‘I love honey’, the farmer’s mother laughed to herself. ‘Sometimes’ she whispered out loud, ‘we see and we don’t look, we hear but we don’t listen, we think we know, but simply, we don’t understand.’

Most people choose not to listen to her, for she is just the farmer’s mother, and no one will listen to her farmer son, as he is considered too young to know what the world is about. Worst of all, some think he would rather have a dishevelled farm with no ecosystem. How little some intelligent people want to understand, or open their mind to. But as always there is money to be made in muck. She sighed and her shoulders sagged.

She had read that Katerina Netolicka, a Prada Model, died from working out too much, she was only 26. Rowing as hard as he could didn’t do Andrew Marr any good either, and that Henry Worsley died after developing a serious gut infection, when he had pushed his body to the point of no return, he was only 55. He thought he just needed to rest and recoup. Why is it that we think we can push our bodies so hard with no detrimental effects? She mutters as she looks across at the purple huge that covers the slumbering farm, they don’t see the chaos because they don’t look for it, they can just deny it happens, because we all cover it up.

She looked out over the flat land with its shades of purple darkness and up to the moon, now plump and round in the sky, if only they lifted their chins and really looked at that the silvery moon, they would understand that this world is round, full and slightly surreal, and that’s ok! If only they could offer a blanket to keep her warm, so that she may enjoy the moon and not fight the cold of despair, it would be a help.


Change what you can, and learn to live with what is left, she softly said to herself.

Prof Julia Newman has found some very interesting needles

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0UFTngBp7ek

And here with Simon Ellis they give a good understanding to the full round picture emerging of the complexities of ME.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=auFEYiDrJts

They need all our support and encouragement! One day I feel sure, they will come up with an answer for us. A day where we can go to a doctor and feel confident they will understand, and do no more harm to us!

The Joy of Her

A while ago a very dear friend wanted some help writing down a story that contained her thoughts. She had cared for her mum through her illnes and as often happens when someone you love and depend on leaves you - so many emotions curl you up into a tight ball of sorrow, called grief.

Like the roses here (taken from Pearl's garden) as the tight buds opened up the beauty wrapped within the flowers uncurled, you could see the love blosom.

The Joy of Her

I see the joy of my mum in roses, her gentle ways, the way she wrapped us up in petals of love but I don’t think she knew how to nurture us as she nurtured her garden. I think that was our gift to her.
 
She was brought up in a time when no encouragement was deemed necessary I suppose, but it would have been nice to have heard the words ‘you did good!’ I sort of took it personally until I decided to plant the rose bush in celebration of her joy. I got to thinking; which is probably my problem of over analysing life, it’s the times we live in I think. We have to be accountable for each action we give a child these days, not the same for mum. She just wanted a family, it was enough and I guess we didn’t have to achieve to make her happy and being proud just wasn’t her thing, giving love was more my mum’s style.

As I dig the hole to bury the strong roots of the rose bush I have chosen and as I look at them I see my foundation from which my family has grown. Each branch strong and sturdy with shoots of beauty ready to flourish if I tend to them. It was then I understood why she loved gardening and arranging flowers so much. Lovingly you put everything you have into it, and at a distance – you admire. With us it was the same she watered and fed us, our every needs were met, and not until now – as my hands feel the earth have I given it a thought. She nurtured her grandchildren because she could not love them as she had us. She had to stand back and enjoy her love blooming through us to our kids. God I hope I can learn that lesson – how to back off and let my boys grow, enabling them to find their own roots so they too can bloom.

She had an acceptance in life that many of us take a lifetime to try to achieve, scholars spend decades trying to reach the Zen like state she found so easy. I’m not sure how deep the resentment of that quality goes actually. She had a profound inability to tell us off as children, I saw it as a weakness that always ended in laughter. Through her illness – that took her away from us bit by bit, she refused to try to understand it. That simplistic acceptance made me so angry at times. I now see it as a strength I envy.

Cooking, being with her family, holidays to Portugal, playing cards was her enjoyment but it was the looks and words she gave her grandchildren that was her joy. It’s what I miss the most and as I stand back and look on at all the rose bushes that glisten in the summers rain, for the first time I can see my glory. So why am I so angry? I have so often thought about this while in my garden tending my flowers and I think it was because I never told her or allowed myself to see it…. that I have finally seen and understood what she saw so clearly…. my beauty.

To Pearl and her family

X

I hope you  agree she did 'do good' and I'm very proud of her. Lots of love

Walking along to the linnet’s song feeling the pulse of nature beneath her feet, Clair’s smile was as warm as the sun. This is what she had worked so hard to have. She had made a dash for some tranquillity in her life and had found it here in a small village in Suffolk.

She had reached the old oak tree her three dogs already knew the drill, and were wandering off sniffing the ground for hares, rabbits and deer. She was eclectic by nature and it showed in her assortment of dogs. Bear, her chocolate mastiff, Peaches, a Chihuahua and Fox Terrier cross and Scruff an apricot assortment that looked like a Jack Russell on stilts ­­– all from broken homes.

The mornings haze, slowly evaporating by the sun made a shimmering glow over the landscape. She had soon reached her destination, pulled Bears holdalls off his back and carefully emptied some of its contents, arranging them on the bank of the natural pond. In the distance, four deer stood, acknowledged their presence and nonchalantly walked away.

Clair knew most walkers had been and gone so she could paint in solitude. For her painting at this time had become her compulsion and her passion. It was making her quite antisocial – if she didn’t start talking to someone soon she would forget how too! She reflected on this point as she drew in the bulrushes and mixed her paint.

Her dogs with their noses to the ground in contentment, gave her comfort. She captured the beams of light, and picked out the differing lush greens of the leaves and grasses, all mixed in with the deep brown yellow of the growing corn. This background made the deep velvet of the bulrushes shine with lustier. Something was odd; too many dogs, a black Lab had joined her pack. He had calmly and without bother just taken up his place. Where there was a dog, meant there was an owner. Clair’s panic rose.

Her paintings were immensely private to her. She started to hyperventilate as she went into the now familiar uncontrollable, fever pitch of anxiety. A soothing calm voice apologised for disturbing her. The blood that had flowed to her ears muffled the words as she franticly looked round, but the sun glared her vision, so that only an outline of the man could be seen.

‘Gosh you’ve captured Rip!’ She looked down at her work and there in the foreground, was the character of him, captured by his demeanour, which burst out through his velvet eyes and glistened with innate intensity. She was stunned that she had been so absorbed – she had painted a dog she had never seen before. Rip must have been there for sometime, watching her through the long reeds. She stood back and agreed – she had done a mighty fine job!

The man slowly came and sat by her on the bank, slipping off his rucksack. In London, she had been hidden by the constant flow of the masses, she found in the country she became more prominent and felt exposed. It had over whelmed her and gave her panic attacks. For the first time she felt her breathing became more controlled, less frantic on its own.

“Sorry for startling you, I didn’t mean to pry but I would like to know if you would consider selling me your painting?”

“Oh!’ Clair fumbled not knowing what to say. She actually believed he meant it.

“I like the way you’ve shown his humour.” Clair smiled – she had somehow painted a mellow chuckle in the dog’s eyes. “Are you from around here or just visiting?” He asked.

“I’ve just moved into the little cottage, on the bad bend – back there.” She pointed in the vague direction.

“Oh I heard there was a young townie just moved in there.” He chuckled, a mellow and congenial chuckle to match his dog’s expression. She could also tell he had sized her up, understood her straight away. He accepted her for her, now that was refreshing.

“I’ve a couple of rolls” would you like to join me?”

“Love too, would you like a slice of quiche?” He started to laugh as she brought out the full picnic she had prepared – including half a bottle of champagne. She started to laugh with him. Bear’s bags where like the magicians hat, a feast fit for a table slowly emerged. Normally she would never have shown anyone, afraid of the ridicule. She liked picnics to be special, just for the sense of occasion. People thought her silly, over the top but to-day she turned fifty, and well there was something different in the way she felt, to-day she didn’t care quite so much what people thought, helped by John’s enjoyment of her little foible.

The Linnets took to the sky, Bear lay down and Peaches curled up for their lunchtime snooze, while the other two dogs went looking for anything that moved. The Linnets song hit the serenity note as two new friends talked about life in general and the village history in particular. There they sat amongst the grass, Clair with her tall elegant champagne flute, and John with his thermos flask cup.

As she loaded Bear’s bags up, John with natural ease called the dogs, and they all walked along the side of the fields to the road. It was no surprise to her that he was a dog trainer, his ability to command respect through his soft encouraging energy, was inspirational.

She got a girlish sense of fun at his face as he saw Peaches climb up into Bear’s backpack. Peaches face poked out periodically with a comical twisting to-and-fro to see what was happening and then she would pop back inside. Peaches now twelve deserved a rest. John was impressed with her agility and energy and instead of making a fuss or poking fun – he took a picture and set it as a screen saver.

“Most people would not believe a fighting dog would ever behave that gentlemanly way. I have to go to the local school and give a talk about dogs, the children would love to see Peaches and Bear” Clair visibly shied away, her pulse racing. John held her elbow while she breathed through it. “I would have to lead them, if you don’t mind, for insurance purposes – you know how it is these days.” He let go as soon as her breathing was normal and held her gaze until he was sure she was calm again.

Each time the insurmountable happened, she had coped and enjoyed the elation of overcoming, the awkward reaction to meeting new people ­– thanks to John’s warm and perceptive personality.

When they had gone a little further, he asked her if she would consider taking on a commission for him. One of his closest friends birthday was coming up and he wanted something special for him. Could she paint a dog from a picture? She said she would give it a go. He nodded and looked at her sideways and his expression made her believe that she was good enough for the task and his faith in her made her anxiety abate.

As they walked along the little birds hovered and soared, singing all the while. As Clair looked up she felt her new roots beginning to be set down here, amongst this year’s ripening harvest and the Linnets unwavering song.

Parallel Universe Part 3

We all visibly sighed, for different reasons.

‘She is quite a young lady’ Francesca turned bemused and looked at me. I took it as a compliment but too exhausted to really comment. Zara squeezed my hand, her eyes were electrifying and she made me smile a deep and proud smile that buzzed.

‘I’ll take mother’ as though her mother was a misbehaving child. ‘And ring you in the morning’ looking at Ian. ‘Do what your daughter tells you.’ She scolded Ian. ‘That sounds so good, doesn’t it? I’m an aunty!......Now look after Jane.’

‘I think I will have a coffee, one of those nice coffees please Ian, I just want a word with Jane before I go’.

Zara had come back in with their coats. Ian stood smiling at his sister and his mother, one of those smiles Henry uses when he finds me and Sophie funny. I could feel myself swoon a little with the fatigue a sharp look from Ian to me that was swiftly conveyed to his sister, who gently manhandled her mother out of the house with efficient ease. Ian bringing up the rear so that Francesca could not double back and escape her departure.

So here I was in that other place that I so could have occupied. With a broken ankle late at night with no change of clothes, not even a toothbrush, desperate to get home and in my own bed. I started to text David about the dog and one came straight back at me that I knew was from Sophie. David would never use ‘OMG’ and he wasn’t that fast at returning texts.

‘Would you like me to carry you up stairs?’

‘No’ Was my short and startled reply. It was an amusing idea though.

‘Do you think you could make it up the stairs with help?’

‘I want to go home.’ There was a longing in my voice. At this ungodly hour, on a cold and bitter night it was a silly idea, totally impractical. Ian picked up on the vulnerable need and we made it to the door without too much effort or problem but when he drove his vehicle to the front of the house, my will to go home fell like an icy cold waterfall. How the hell was I going to climb, with a plaster on my leg and in an increasing amount of pain into, a chrome fitted black Hummer?

‘You have to be kidding.’ His eyes were full fun! How could he do this to me after the day I have just had. Fun was not what I could cope with and as the tears started to form into dew drops he held out his arm and somehow I trusted him! Him, of all people in the world as soon as he pulled my arm and swung my body expertly as a fireman, he carried me to the Hummer like a sack of potatoes. Had I decided to wear trousers that day? No, Short skirt and red knickers! They cut my thick denier tights off.

I felt like those sack of potatoes being loaded onto a lorry. He was not short but neither was he very tall so as I slipped missing the seat by a few inches, he grabbed my arse to hoist me into the seat. With an innate reaction, I slapped him around the face. Fuelling my indignation and in his good humour he took the slap with a low rumbling chuckle. Loading me in was one thing getting me out was going to be another and then there was the fact he would know where I lived. Swimming thoughts, sickening feelings and the worst thing of all is that we only lived ten minuets away from one another. How had that happened, I would like to know!

His house was in the centre of historic Bury St Edmunds, a short walk to the shops but quiet enough to be enjoyable. Mine was a two up two down clipper house as our finances had tumbled through Bill’s illness; we had to move just before he died. I wasn’t ashamed of my circumstances but I didn’t want pity. But as we drove up to my home, his face held it anyhow.

‘Jane I can appreciate you would like to sleep in your own bed and you need a few things but…’ I knew before he uttered the words. ‘Don’t you think it would be best if I grabbed a few things and took you back to mine?’ I don’t think your leg would take me swinging you up your stairs.’

I closed my eyes determined not to let my dew drops fall, they abated after sensible thought. I handed him my keys. Looking reassuringly into my eyes and he squeezed my hand. He went in my little universe. I visualised him ransacking the pictures dotted around depicting my life with Bill and the kids, opening my intimate draws, finding private things about who I have become. His eyes would scan every detail with his photographers and philosophers thoughts rummaging through and finding out about me. I had started to shake, for the first time real sadness bubbled within me, why was life so cruel.

I had just started to find my feet, now there was the ironic joke but I had started to stand alone again. Bill’s illness and his eventual death was new, I still woke forgetting he was gone and when I started to think of all his needs my body would sink and then I would remember that he had slipped from me, I would, with relief take a painful breath. But me and the children were forging a life together and to have had that without other complications, just for a few years would have been good.

He emerged with Holly my sweet little shaggy dog. Who was sick every time we went out in a car! I thought of my book and the wine again and my collision with that other universe. He went back inside and emerged with a holdall Sophie used for sleepovers. Its pink and purple flowers were not out of place in his hands and I wish the years of pain that man had caused me would flood my indignation, as they did in my mind when I had visualised our meeting again. I felt nothing though just so very, very empty.

He was back in the car and we were off and my thoughts turned to how I could possible get out of the car by myself. People had gathered around the streets as Christmas parties had come to their climatic end. Great! With my short skirt, red knickers and bulbous painful leg, and on the other foot was high heel shoe entertainment for the crowds no doubt. To add to the torment a friend of Ian’s came over to find out the story behind the new lady. Slightly drunk he slapped him on the back ‘you found her then.’ He looked down to my leg and slightly puzzled, hazily processed the fact I had a cast on my leg ‘What happened to you?’ slapping Ian on the back again. Before Ian could explain, I without thinking remarked with a hoity shrug

‘I tried to run away but fell for him and broke my leg’ He immediately sobered and laughed. I liked his laugh, it warmed me.

‘No wonder he has been looking for you, I like you.’

‘I like you too.’

‘Do you think you like me better sober or drunk?’

‘Sober!’

‘Bugger, better sober up and I’ll see you tomorrow.’ He turned to Ian ‘You going to keep her?’

‘Rafe, would you help us out?’

‘With pleasure.’ His smile flipped my butterflies, enchanting my senses with his genuine pleasure at seeing me. Like a pair of crutches they helped me up the stairs with Honey in hot pursuit. Innuendos flew around as I was guided to Ian’s flamboyant bedroom and they sat me down on a Chaise Longue. Ian went to fetch the bags and Rafe kept staring at me in a very pleasing way. His short thick blond hair, stubbled chin and sparkling blue eyes played with my face lingering on my mouth and eyes. In his mid forties and slightly drunk, inhibitions were set free and instead of bravado there seemed an earnestness about him that I liked so when he came and sat next to me I started to gravitate towards him.  

Ian walked in with a face like thunder when he looked over to us both, but Rafe just smiled over to him and put his arm around me and tugged me close.

Rage is spontaneous and rather uplifting I thought.

Parallel Universe Part2



A Short Story to go with your coffee

Ian who had made it to the door was greeted with.

‘Hello dad where’s my mum!’

Accusation or statement it was hard to tell. Ian’s mothers face was trying to catch up with her thoughts and she looked down at me with accusations and miss understandings flying from her eyes like a blame seeking missile.

Sophie stood there and you could almost hear the cogs turn her thoughts. Her face set on questions and connotations made as her grandmother was taking in how she could best manipulate the situation to her advantage.

Meeting each other for the first time, Granddaughter squared up to Grandmother both looking as though they were choosing their weapons. Sophie had the advantage as her defence could be used as a weapon. Somehow I pitied her grandmother but not enough to stop the shoot out, after all I had a ring side seat.

Because of my daughter there were a few things I would’ve loved to ask and never would, a lot I wanted to say but couldn’t, sometimes the sacrifices are hard as a mother. I was hoping the long talks we had had about my other life and finding her farther gave us a good foundation of understanding each other. So as the battle began my fingers, legs and toes were all crossed.

Francesca stood with her indignant upper-class distain oozing from her face and her passive aggressive nature turned to max. Sophie visibly braced herself, not with the teenage angst of earlier that morning but a growing experience supporting her strong determined youthful face. It was Francesca’s undoing to try to intimidate my daughter. Choosing the love of a new family as her weapon of choice was a silly mistake and Sophie rebuffed it, she wasn’t going to miss something she never had, now was she! But her attach on me acted more like a sharp boomerang she was incapable of catching.

‘Why has your mother never bothered to tell us about my granddaughter?’

Ian moved forward to deflect the verbal blow, but Sophie held up her hand to them both, new dad and auntie she was in this fight on her own. I held the cushion ready to duck behind, this was not going to be pretty I could tell by Sophie’s locked jaw and the intent stare the hunter was about to be hunted! Thrilling and sickening all at the same time, I waited with heart pounding.

‘The day my mum found out she was pregnant with me she came to you for support. She had just found your son in bed with her look alike’ Oh that hurt, I could feel the rebound from all three of them. The brutal truth hit them all at once. As they came back from the recoil she metaphorically hit a left jab thrusting and lifting their upper jaws to a pursed lip position.

‘My mum could have pleaded for you to listen, but you, without a thought, told her your son was better off without her. Her pleads would have been futile.’ Ian looked over to me; I hadn’t put it quite so brutally. Did he deserve the truth? Well Sophie thought so.

‘If she had asked for help’ her voice was now grown up and authoritative as though she was some psychologist reporting on an issue. ‘She would’ve been beholden to you’ calmly each statement was delivered. ‘Your disrespect brought about you being ostracized from me, at least until my mum thought I could cope with the rejection.’

‘I would never have rejected you.’ Pleading and appalled played to perfection for the most effect a sympathy vote but Francesca pained face made no impact on Sophie.

‘But you did, you rejected my mum!’

And for your information my mum didn’t just throw herself at the next available man, she loved my dad too much for that.’ Looking over to Ian, who to be fair was coming to terms with a daughter in his life quite well. ‘Oh no, she met her responsibility and concentrated her whole life on me. In fact if I hadn’t set her up with Bill she would have never had another man cluttering up her life.’ Sophie intercepted the next blow from ever leaving Francesca’s lips ‘and for your information he didn’t leaver her by choice… she paused for effect and for her grandmother’s one sided thoughts to catch up ‘He died!’ I didn’t tell Ian that either. Gasps were let out as the gut punch made impact. ‘Bill was a proper dad, he thought of me, of mum, of us! You have a lot to live up to and a lot to make up for if you want to be any part of my life.’

She turned to me as if I was the child and she the parent who had to tell of the hardship of life. ‘He has to be part of it mum, he exists now!’ I knew what she ment, for a long time now she had thought of him as this mythical character, a one sided person who lived in a story that I told her when she asked me too. I had to sever a little of the umbilical cord that held us together. Another frightening snip towards not needing me for her life support but just for advice, whether she took it or not was now her decision alone.

‘The thing is I have to make up my mind what I want from our relationships.’ My eyes and ears rang out with her word structure. ‘You see I have a little brother and we all come as a package.’ My heart pounded with their meaning- this I was not prepared for.

There was a kafuffle going on at the door again. I heard Henry’s little voice and a mellow humoured voice full of apologies over not being able to keep the little fellow any longer from his mum. Henry hugged me and peaking from beneath my arm he asked a simplistic question of Ian.

‘Are you going to be my new daddy? My daddy left me. He went over the rainbow to heaven. He can see me but he won’t come back. I miss flying my kite.’

What a mess my life is, I looked down with my burning eyes.

‘Sorry mum but you’re no good at kite flying. Dad said you’re better at dancing like the kite than flying one. But that was our secret.’

He embarrassingly buried his head in my chest while a rally of giggles rang out.

‘How are you mum, he muffled.’

‘I’m fine and dandy I whispered in his ear.’ He giggled his comfort giggle.

‘Well we have to go,’ Sophie looked at me coming over to cuddle us.’ I suggest you stay and have a well earned rest mum. You and Ian can thrash out how you feel but my mind will not change. He can bring you back home tomorrow and then we could get to know each other. We need help with getting ready for Christmas at least he could do is help me with that! But I don’t want to see you gran until I get to know my dad on my own’. Then down at her aunty Zara ‘and if you don’t mind I’ll give you a call when I’ve got my head around it all.’

David came in his face had a satisfied look about it with admiration. As Sophie bent down to kiss me goodbye she whispered.

‘How did I do mum? David was listening in on the phone so he could make sure we were ok. It was his idea for you to stay so you could talk about it all. Will you be OK?’

‘I’ll be fine and dandy.’

As they walked out the door though I wasn’t so sure, I was tired, in pain and had to explain/defend my life to people who I didn’t know anymore.

 My life was really shitty!

Health and Safety in the Writing Room

I should come with a health warning. I contemplate this as I look out of the office window and consider my predicament while trying to focus. Taking in the ramifications of such an innocent manoeuvre, I’m astounded at the damage that I've caused. All I did was pivot on my seat while trying to roll closer to the bin and lean; that was the fatal error, I leant between the spokes at the bottom of my office chair.

The fall was in slow motion but the ‘shit, shit, bugger, bugger’ was in rapid fire. I bumped my head on the way down on the corner of the small metal filing cabinet. One arm is now in the broken plastic wastepaper bin, where I had thrown the troublesome short story. I had fallen on a stacked pile of box files that had crumpled under my weight. The irksome chair spindle with its rotating wheel had trapped itself on the desk I was sitting at and the angle of the seat made it impossible for me to move. The arm of the chair dug deep into my rib cadge and the only thing I could think of was how ugly my legs were! They’re like ham hocks, I thought.

With every move I tried to make, came more pain and clearly I’m in shock as silly thoughts whizzed around my dizzy head. It had been a long-long time since I had a fall. Now I understand why old people get so anxious about being unsteady, it is undignified, painful and as you get older and less agile, slower to recover. My husband and I share the office space and his desk was trapping me by the draw I had opened to take the paper out to load in the printer. So I turned to the left and even though my face was being squashed into the box files and my ribcage complained, I wriggled to try to get a grip of anything. My head was down my bum was taking flight and my little legs were scrabbling to get a grip but to no avail, they spluttered and I collapsed.  A quick round of expletive fire shot from my mouth, muffled by the paper debris spread underneath me on the floor.

I now found that the chair was wedging me against the velux window on the sloping ceiling and as looked out the blackbird looked in, with bemusement or pity I couldn’t really tell. But enough resolve surged through me and like the Hulk I emerged from the fragments of my novels.  Triumphant I went to have a coffee, nursing my several bruises, scrapes and aches.

I do suffer for my art!

My husband's reaction to this was 'Oh you fell of the chair then! Why didn't you just put that.'

Perhaps I should've, who really wants to know about my antics?

On the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month We Will Remember you!!!

On the 11^th hour of the 11^th day of the 11^th month

We Will Remember you!!!

Mr Spring told me of the time that Colonel Dick Pedder rallied his men around before the Litani River raid in Syria, where over 120 men gave their lives needlessly due to a mix up with a map.

Colonel Dick Pedder said to his men as he formed them into the 11^th Scottish Commandos “you must be ready to fight against all tyrants and oppressors”.

Tyrant meaning: - absolute ruler who uses powers cruelly and unjustly, an exerciser of authority.

Oppressor meaning: - dominate harshly or cruelly, to be a source of worry, stress or trouble to somebody.

Those words are as poignant, true and rousing as they were when he stood in front of his men in the Second World War, and just before he died fighting for those words. Mr Spring would say that you did not have to be fighting a war against tyrants or oppressors, as they walk amongst us. Over the years I have thought back on Colonel Dick Pedder’s chosen words.

There will always be tyrants and oppressors of countries and governments, local authorities, in our work place and around us in our everyday life; it is a frailty of human nature. It is up to us all, to ask questions and to strive to have humanity in our societies. That humanity is hard fought for and guarded by a few who pay the ultimate price.

History in general and Europe’s History in-particular, shows us what can happen if one group of people believe that they are more intelligent, or more worthy than any other. Disrespect of others breeds War, greed, pain and suffering.

No one human has an absolute right over another. Against the frailty of human nature democracy is all we have. But democracy comes at a very high price and is hard to keep. So on this day on the 11^th hour I will remember every child, woman and man, civilian or soldier, who has or is striving to hold onto humanity through the adversity and give thanks for their bravery, grit and determination.

This year 2016 more than any other in my life, Mr Springs story of Colonel Dick Pedder gathered more meaning, and never have I truly understood what this could mean. It is a very strange time to be a woman, and a mother and it is not just Donald Trump we fight. It is the injustice done to those who fight to support those less fortunate, the ill and infirm, those that are left to fend for themselves while our tick box society, leaves their morals in rhetoric and justify their actions by sanctions. When the powers of government, establishment and media, that think they can hoodwink us, make us fight each other on all sides of a tangled web of lies. We are braver than that, we are stronger than that!

I will ask questions, I will strive for justice and humanity and I will remember you!

One moment can change everything

Here are series of short stories about one event. These are dedicated to a very special man, my uncle Pete. He was raucously funny and had the best bear hug imaginable and I miss him still x He once gave me a huge compliment. He told me I never changed, that I always had a smile somewhere inside just waiting to erupt even when I was angry.

I got this idea when my uncle was knocked down and killed. It was an accident and all those concerned couldn’t make sense of it at first. We still can’t. It has affected us most profoundly and always will, with its far reaching tentacles.

            Soon after I began to wonder why we do things, that is to say send our children to school or work hard and never spend time enjoying life. I came up with no real answers just open thoughts really, a see-saw of life’s off beat balance.

            I will post these little stories at the top of the page so if it’s the first time you have read these start at the bottom and work your way back to the top. If you have been to this before welcome back and I hope eventually you will see the smiles.

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The Beauty of Her

It was the most beautiful face I have ever seen, not in the glamour model sense of beauty but of the kind that lasts, an inner quality that you would never grow tired of looking at so deep was its richness. Serenity oozed out of those eyes that held my gaze and would not let it go. She always had a smile that you envied, one that enjoyed life’s simple pleasures that most of us never achieve, someone who would take time out of her day to brighten up yours.

Unwittingly she came between my wife and me; she crept through my thoughts as a ghostly wisp, a thread of silk that held a belief in me that my wife could never share. For my wife had gained the material things that we had dreamed about and instead of enjoying the benefits she had relentlessly pursued the next must have dream. She wore me out.

I always tried to cross Rachel’s path in the mornings to get my daily fix of her but that morning I was too late. I tried to bump into her in the car park but she wasn’t parked in her usual spot and time was running out. I had an important meeting to get to and wanted to put together a few last thoughts. I knew they would consolidate all we had to offer our client, making it hard to turn the deal down. As I drove this familiar road I saw a harassed mother with a buggy, a dog on a lead and a little one on a bike. Unsteadily they came around the bend and down the hill. I knew instinctively what was about to happen and swerved just in time as the little one fell at an awkward part of the road, right into my path. Relief shuddered through me as my evasive action saved a young life. I looked in my mirror to see the mother who now was tied up by the dog, the buggy tipping while franticly trying to retrieve the bike and child. When the most horrendous jolt spun my head in time to see the face I loved for so long crumple.

I was out of the car and at her side within seconds. Aware of people around me shouting and swearing one was on her mobile explaining the scene. I held this most precious life as it escaped its bodily cage and drifted around with an atmosphere of calm, as deep inside me, carnage warred. Not taking in what was reality; I looked for any signs of hope and took her hand that held a hair. For some reason that held my attention and its one thing I will keep inside of me.

            For the first and last time I held her close and as her warmth seeped out, a gust of wind blew the hair as though it was her wisp of life. It took off hitting a ray of sunlight swirling on a thermal ever higher, stopping time and when no longer I could see it, reality came crashing down.

            My flash backs are relentless, the image of the child crying looking for its mothers comfort and that singular hair making its assent to the great unknown. To have saved the child I had killed my love.

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It was just one hair; she had just ran her fingers through her long glittery soft ringlets and one single hair danced on the breath of the breeze as joyfully as its owner went about her life. Time had not yet matured her out look on it and fun was the only thing time should fulfil, it landed back on the seat it’s donator had departed from as though to take her place. I refrained from lifting it gently up and letting it free to explore the out-side world alone. As I privately shook my head at my own exasperated need to get the day’s timetable done, I took her to school.

She was fine in the playground talking to her group of friends. I passed the precious minutes in friendly chatter as the bell went, she came over to me and a hug pursued that broke my heart as the uncertainty vibrated from her body and through my flesh, I looked into the eyes of youth that asked the question why; for which I had no answer and smiled with all the radiance of motherhood and gently kissed my beautiful butterfly as it took flight upon it’s fragile and oh so gentle wings. These wings would be dented, crushed even before this day was out but I told myself it was for the best. Did I believe this, no, I was not convinced, as my history had none of the battles for knowledge that my ancestors have had, no I had not gone through the humiliation that ignorance of the world around you brings. I forced her grasp to slacken and propelled her towards her day of education. Have I regrets? Yes many.

Should I teach her from home? I could through my own understanding, books and the World Wide Webb. All she needed to know without the statts and tests, the worry of how well she should be doing and how much more I should be teaching. Life would be so laid back and how it is meant to be.

As I pull the car out of its resting place to one of its journeys for the day. First to the part time job, shopping and back home to the house work that always seems to get the better of me, I think to my self could I give up again the freedom of a job and the financial independence, to become a full time companion, teacher and mentor to my child and as her hair was lifted by the air conditioner and landed on my hand, a gentle kiss so much appreciated, so much loved. This simple part of the day made the vivid memory of her group of friends, embrace me and I started to relax understanding it was the best way, the only way open to me.

She needed people to interact with in a fragmented society. Isn’t this what life is all about the ability to communicate your loves, likes, dislikes, concerns, your ideas and opinions and this is what I hoped she would truly be learning.

I breathed in the solitude and with the reassurance that I was truly right to have stayed at home for the first few years at least, even though my career had suffered and people had made me feel a lesser person, I forced a smile on my face and got on with the day. It feels as though I have two full time jobs now to fulfil; that of housekeeper, the supporter of the family unit and a job I took for convenience but would never reach my full potential in. Those first few years had been her foundation on which her life would be built on; this had been a sacrifice worth paying and with a picture of my dreams of the life to come, calmness washed over me.

In the distance of this long and fraught road, full of hidden turns, I saw the cars that had no time for steady drivers and groaned. You meet them all the time they say, what is the point of slow speed limits, it just encourages people to overtake, with disregard to the actual road its self, hidden turns and all; “anyway I’m a good driver I can handle a car.” But in reality the car is not the problem it’s the fact that other people have a right to be on the road and they are not all in cars.

There was nowhere for me to go, to over take on such a road is so irresponsible and as the crush of metal came; as I knew it must, so did the pain. I lifted that single hair to my lips to whisper that last farewell to my precious gift of life and as the crumpled car came to a stop, life was lifted out of me and that single hair and me dance on the breeze a sorrowful ballet entwined together, lifted, then gone though perhaps not forgotten, especially by that one single gentle butterfly.

A Good Day for a Tilly Moment

Oh to sleep on a decent mattress!! I was so excited. Suffering from a trapped nerve was no joke and this new foam mattress was going to help, if not solve the lack of sleep by moulding its self to my body, supporting it where needed. Just thinking about it eased my joints.

            Well as soon as we ordered it I went and brought new covers and was pleased with the results. Just by changing the covers the room will take on a whole new dynamic. The mattress was due to be delivered between eight and four. So I had organised a friend to take the children to school and pick them up if needed. We had managed to get the old mattress propped up against the wardrobe and I had taken the opportunity to give the room a good clean. Just as my friend arrived and we were getting bags and children in the car the mattress arrived, you just know when you’re going to have a good day. My son shouted out that he would help me when he got home and not to try and take it upstairs. I didn’t promise.

            As soon as I had cleared the morning’s usual eruption, I took a closer look at the packages. The mattress had been rolled up. I looked at it and then I looked at the stairs that were straight in-front and I reasoned. The mattress being made of foam would smell so I would need to air it. I could give it a go getting the mattress upstairs and if it was too much leave it for later. If I did manage it, I would have the room ready for my husband, who like me was dead excited about having a decent nights sleep. I didn’t need any more convincing to give it a try. Well I pushed, tugged and hauled the cigar like package up the stairs, promising myself that if it got too much I would just leave it. But of course I couldn’t.

            Standing in the playground later I stretched my aching back, when asked what I had been up to I excitedly told them what I had been doing, they laughed and asked if that was possibly why I was suffering now with a bad back. Hadn’t given it a thought, how stupid am I, my mind was able my body incompetent, never mind it was worth the effort. All the children now aboard, we went home in a flurry.

            After the children had tried it out, I sprayed it again with fabric freshener and made it up. I just had time for a shower before I started dinner. Perfect!

            It was a good day everything falling into place. Oh that makes me laugh ‘falling into place’. You see at this moment in time, I’m wedged in the en suite. The mattress that we had taken off and lodged against the wardrobes had indeed fallen, right against the opposite wall the one containing the door to the haven of my dreams. Scented candles waft relaxing aromas across me but don’t have the desired affect, so I snuff them out! I was trapped not knowing when I would be released.

            The children have been told not to disturb me so are playing music at full volume, playing a game on the TV and talking to their friends while u-Tubing with their ear phones in. The one day they choose to do as there’re told and not to interrupt me in the shower, they choose to day.

            I have no idea what time it is or how long I’ve been here already. I’m now lying on the floor looking through the sky light looking at the clouds go by and reciting in my mind ‘Leisure’ by William Henry Davies, a gentle poem written by a colourful character. I lay there and contemplate that great mans life. He was borne in Wales and became a vagrant who lost his leg trying to jump a train in America. He came back to England and married a lady of the night and by all accounts had a good marriage and later life. Writing a novel ‘Young Emma’ but at the last minute decided not to publish it as it was a based on his life before and after Helen with dark and deep tones. Knowing a little of how a writers mind works dipping into and out of reality it was probably best that the publisher kept a copy under lock and key until both husband and wife had passed. People would wonder what was true and what was supposed fiction.

            In his roaming he met all of life’s trials and human sides and yet he still wrote with a childlike simplicity which I love but as his words wonder around my thoughts they give me many complex reasons and ideas.

            This experience would have been great if I had only had a glass or two of wine and had a copy of the poem. I can hear the door going and finally the noise of the house has subsided as everyone is now looking for me. Well they must be getting hungry by now.

            Now this leaves me with a dilemma; do I call out to be released and laughed at for the rest of my life as this story is recounted time and time again. Or do I take a few more minuets of considered contemplation and enjoy hearing their banter rise into concern as to my whereabouts? I may be too hopeful on the concerned front. In hope that my husband will find me first and he too respectful to make fun of the situation I’m in so decide to wait a while.

            I hear my husband laugh quietly to himself and close our bedroom door. He lies appreciably on the bed and I know this will be a mistake and soon, I hear his gentle snoring floating on the tranquil air.

            I bide my time as soon the hunger and the loss of both parents will intrigue the children enough for them to come and find us. And sure enough the shouts start to rise. They remind me of baby birds squawking for their food. I call gently and hear him stir, he raises and moves the mattress that was pinning the door shut with the rebound action that I could not fight against, though I tried and have the burses to prove it. He opens the door and jumps six foot in the air with fright. I smile and walk serenely out of my prison. I had got away with it quietly waiting had done the trick, embarrassment avoided.

            In the kitchen  I open the bottle of chilled wine and finished off the evening meal I had prepared and as we all sit down to eat my husband starts to ask questions. It was a mistake to believe my husband could resist the urge to have fun at my expense. Would I have saved his blushes, probably not?