23rd November
I know I wanted to dispense with life’s trivial and trifling matters, but since I was diagnosed, it appears that even the smallest things are going wrong.
Take our kitchen boiler-tap for example. A modern extravagance, deemed necessary once the kettle gave up the ghost.
Fitted only six months ago, the blasted thing needed a new filter already. I duly ordered the part and it was delivered shortly after. So far so good.
A couple of days after fitting, all was running smoothly until an unexpected leak sprung forth from a different part of the contraption, causing my self-pity and frustration to bubble up like a frothing brook.
Trying to take it in our stride, and after several phone calls, a new washer was ordered and plumber arranged after the weekend. These things always happen on a Friday.
After waiting in all day, the plumber arrived at five. I gritted my teeth, hiding mild irritation with a friendly “Hallo.” He fitted the washer and immediately announced it was still leaking.
My wife, who has infinitely more patience than I, took matters from here.
I, on the other hand, had thrown my hands in the air and said, “Oh well. In the grand scheme of things it doesn’t matter.”
Trying to be philosophical did not come easily for one usually so keen to voice disappointment at today’s shoddy workmanship. I reminded myself of an alcoholic, chanting his mantra in order to fend off a particularly violent urge to binge.
Ramming an ill-fitting cork on the bottle of my frustration, I decided to simply ignore this inconvenience and get on with it.
I set a pan of water on to boil. My Dad’s cure for all ills- “a lovely cup of tea, Jimma.”
In my exuberance at seeing the water boil, I thrust the cup and teabag towards the pan and sloshed the lot over my hand.
Apparently, the ensuing shouts were audible from my daughter’s bedroom upstairs.
I ran my hand under the cold tap and repeated the exercise, this time decanting the boiled water with a ladle my wife had thoughtfully placed next to the hob, before going to work.
After marvelling at the wonders of cold water and the application of some aloe gel, my hand throbbed a little less.
Yet more phone calls by my wife, secured a new tap, as I perfected the pan technique. As we had a Doctors appointment, and to avoid the inconvenience of the postman being unable to deliver; I logged onto the website and indicated that they might leave the parcel in the log store around the back.
I gave a detailed description of the door and side gate and offered an alternative location should this prove too difficult.
On return from the doctors, a note in the letterbox indicated a successful operation.
I retrieved the boxed tap and opened it at the kitchen table, with all the zeal of a five-year-old on Christmas morning.
“It’s got the wrong bloody handles!” I announced. But l wasn’t surprised.
Footnote;
I heard that one of my favourite actors died this week- Andrew Sachs, aka Manuel. He died on the day my tap was finally fixed. In homage to this great comic genius, I declared; “he-ven-tually!” in my best Catalonian accent.
Thank you for sharing your thoughts and feelings with us. I admire your eloquent and honest writing style. I have been told many times (mainly by Anya) how shallow I am and having read your blog I tend to agree. Your description of what you and your family are going through brings ones own life into very sharp focus.
I look forward to reading many more.
There is something that always seemed so ridiculous to me, to the point that it’s been adopted as a family mantra that always puts things in perspective. No matter the disaster, personal tragedy, or even a significant lottery win, come every Monday, rain or shine, the bins go out! I remember when Steve got his diagnosis, we returned to the house, pulled up the drive, I was on my phone telling a friend the terrible news and Steve got out of the car, organised the recycling and wheeled the bins to the gate! It’s a visual metaphor for ‘life goes on’…funny that!
Jim…through your lifes path way….you still have the ability to make me chuckle…
Excellent writing…i look forward to the next time.
Lots of love nikki .xxx
Jim I am loving your blogs. You don’t know me but I am an old friend of Liz and knew Michelle when she was a baby. I admire your positive attitude and am sending all good wishes winging your way.
Here’s something interesting for you to ponder Jim. The mind only works one way. 100% off the time. Without exception. What that means is that we create our experience 100% of the time, even though it looks like it’s external things causing us to feel a certain way. All the best with your new tap! Stu
Hi Stuart,
I thought carefully before replying to your comments- especially as it’s a challenge and I love those.
Having spent a good part of the last 3 days in hospital with a lad who nearly died of a drug overdose- I can most definitely say the the mind doesn’t work the same way 100% of the time. Some of us decide to make decisions with the head or the heart. In other words I think we have a soul/spirit or whatever you want to call it. Having seen many dead bodies in my time- I know they are just that. An empty shell. The person they were,their soul- gone somewhere else. Of course you could explain it all with chemical processes in the brain- but no one really knows. Far cleverer people than me have tried to explain the argument on both sides. So it comes down to personal experience and a thing called faith. If anyone was in an aircraft plummeting to the ground- I would challenge them to think it over.
Jim, your blogs certainly put everyday worries into perspective but I can totally understand how the smallest of niggles will get to you! Both Andrew and I look forward to reading your eloquent and honest posts. You are in our thoughts and prayers daily.
Jim a nice cameo of how the small issues in life can be taken out of proportionin the whole scheme of things. Yesterday our telly conked out. The engineer turned up after my daily fatigue had set in and I was on the hospital bed in the dining room. The look on his face was a capture when he came as if he had walked into a situation where not only the telly had conked out but so had I. He was so relieved that he only had to resuscitate the telly! Keep it up Jim!
Thank you for another good read Jim. I was particularly impressed with the fact you have a log store. I have never had a log store. Never had a house that warranted a log store. I have log store envy. You have a manly retreat where you can dress as a lumberjack, chop wood and drink beer. Or the Monty Python version if you prefer. So things aren’t all bad ?
Cheers Paul- nothing fancy- I made it out of some old pallets. Around the same time I got an axe and a garden incinerator- how manly can you get! Now I will have soft, writers-hands, unless I get out there and start chopping some wood- I think I might.
At the very least Jim create a hand carved bar…..I and many others will bring copious amounts of alcohol….including Proseco….which based on recent postings will please Mrs LC. Stay strong and keep the faith mate ??