221. Here’s to Auntie Sybil

 Sad news this weekend that one of my favourite aunts has died, partly from complications following injuries from a fall around Christmas but mainly because of dementia. I may worry about cancer in the family but I think there’s more dementia - on both sides. Not a happy thought, one that gets shut in a box in my mind and never brought out.

Here she is with my mum in 2015:

No surprises that she was the life and soul of the party, of the family, a truly joyous and family-focused aunt, who my mum spent a lot of her dating years with. Mum said she was considered to be the sensible one who would keep Sybil in line. Somehow, I can’t see that that could have worked. Sybil had that little bit of magic; not enough to get David or me up on the dance floor at family dos but enough to reel in Dennis, who is not easily impressed. She came up with Mum to stay once and spent a whole evening poring over his meticulous record lists (she even asked for the other volumes!) and topped it by asking meaningful questions and showing interest in the answers. Slightly better than my vague “Oh yes, dear” or “Well, why don’t you buy it?”

I have a new date for my eye biopsy - next Wednesday, so the dread will begin by the end of the week (fear of the Covid test more than fear of hours of waiting for a general anaesthetic). I just hope the results come quickly because, once the lesion (their word) is removed, I suspect the holding of breath that’s inevitable once you’re living with cancer is going to take root. It’s no fun living with the surge of adrenaline every time the phone rings or a letter arrives. Any letter.  Heigh ho.

I got some happy news too. A 500-word story I wrote for a competition on the theme of “Apple - Tree - Woodland” was one of the Reader’s Choices in the Didcot Writers quarterly competition. There is always an outright winner, plus a few Readers’ Choices. Apparently there were lots of entries so I’m chuffed, particularly as I’m finding it hard to write.

From 2020 UK Landscape Photographer of the Year (shortlisted)

I chose a story I’d written for the Just Write course (we had to respond to something we saw in the media and next day, there was the most beautiful photograph in the i, promoting a book on photography. So I decided to see if I could whittle it down (massacre it??) from 1500 to 500 words and still retain the essence. I’ll post the link when it’s published online (Alice Little puts up a new one each week) but meantime, the original is here in its imperfect state with with the photograph. If you’ve got Word and fancy a read, go ahead. I have no illusions about my writing skills - strong on grammar and spelling, less strong on imagination and inspiration. I never believed I’d make a writer but it’s nice to get little pats on the back occasionally.

PS. Not going to happen. This blog is Google-born and it won’t import a Microsoft document.

Oh, last thing: Up at 5.58 this morning. We have a burglar alarm but we have lost the code. We have never used it regularly and, once I was so slow on my feet, we decided to go without. We had a power cut a few weeks back and it left the alarm with a little green light flickering under the stairs. In other words, bothering no one. I distinctly said to my husband “Please do NOT touch it” and he hasn’t. Yet at 5.57 this morning, he decided to have a go. Full alarm, deafening both of us, terrorising the cat and presumably waking the neighbours. I really had no idea what to do, even with the handbook, because it all depended on keying in the code. It died after 20 minutes but then I waited for it to start again.  It didn’t. God I HATE burglar alarms. But I’m so not fond of a husband who just puts on his shoes and coat and goes out to post a letter, leaving me to deal with the mayhem - but not even telling me he was going.