That was a good day

Sunday was a good day. My elder son was busy marking exam papers, his wife was working, so I took the children to church with me. They were sooooooo good. It was a family service so the percussion instruments were out with a vengeance. As it was Trinity Sunday there was the usual problem with explaining the Trinity with lots of visual aids and at one point when the preacher was getting a in bit of a mess with a kettle, a voice from the back (I think her husband!) said loudly " You look like Tommy Cooper".
Afterwards we went to play on the common among cowslips, buttercups and dandelion heads/clocks.
At three o'clock we went to the Vicarage for a tea party to celebrate the Vicar's 60th. It brought back memories of my 60th in a Vicarage garden. Such a happy day! My birthday is in December, so I took a leaf out of the Queen's book and had an official birthday in June on an absolutely scorching day!
 

Just in case we forgot!!

Our Vicar likes photography so his present was an album (do we still use them? ) and a digital photo of us all in church that morning..My present was to swap services with him next Sunday so that he can go away!!

Funny how memories come flooding back so easily. I have pictures of that day, my 60th but that was before the digital camera era so I can't show them.The setting at the Vicarage was idyllic  and remains so  but feelings chage and that was before Mum died, foot and mouth and distressed farmers, and then the first bout of cancer. Although that was difficult because of the length of treatment, chemo (why do we shorten it - to make it sound more friendly like uni and telly) and radiotherapy and the ferocity of the drugs I always felt something was happening and treating IT. A complete hair loss (no eyelashes) was most uncomfortable. and you have to have the bone structure of Sigourney Weaver to have a bald head and look good.).

as I said in aprevious blog, It was held at bay, told I was clear for12 years. This time however I am reliant on a little pill once a day. I am finding it difficult to get my head round that. No cure, but treatment. which seems so minimal. My younger son, who comes with me to hospital and charms all the staff says I need to think of it as something BIGGER and offers to make a lead lined cabinet, with a ginormous lock which needs metal cutters and thick gloves to get in to it. Make a drama of it!!

Well think of me at six o'clock every evening with my version which is to toast the pill in hot blackcurrant and swallow it with great ceremony. I'm trying hard. Also building up a regime - as I get tired I have lunch (ceremonially!!)

My kitchen and sanctuary - tidied up for the occasion!

at 1 o'clock, followed by half an hour with Doctors (BBC 1) and 5 mins with Escape to the Country (BBC1) before falling asleep. This happens in my kitchen/ diner where I spent most of the winter, bcause it is nice and warm with the kettle and TV close at hand.
Anyway, sun is shining and the birds are singing and I feel in need of coffee and toast. No ceremony about that- just hunger!!!
Till the next time.

Beth