#22 Monuments and Memorials in Photos

#21 Where did all the time go?

Not only have I not been finding the time to write, I also haven't found the time to read your blogs..... for a really long time.

I hereby pledge that I will do my utmost to begin re-reading your blogs - one per day.  So if you have a blog and the link is not attached to your avatar, please add the link in the comments to this post.

Not only that, but I am also going to comment - in a meaningful way.

Before I do that, I'd like to send a shout out to all of my followers.  All 30 of you.

Rocky

Michelle Faithfull

Al Redfern

Lynn Proctor

Christine Harris

Tim

Kerry

Teresa Coltrin

Mare Ball

Sylvia Ney

Ida Chiavaro

Acadia 1997

Sally Stackhouse

Aunty Amo

Donna Gotlib

Betty Alark

Mary Hill

Vicki Paulus

John Ivory

Andrea

Judy

Elli4Him

Bames

The Wicked Writer

Dot Hearn

Heidi Mannan

Rhondi

MOV

and last, but not least, Tim Riley

You'll find each other in the right hand menu.

If you don't hear from me in the next month on your blog, please give me a gentle nudge!

Happy reading.

xo

#20, The Final Nip and Tuck

It's been a rather large week for me.  As well as losing my Grandad, I also had my latest, and hopefully final breast surgery.

This one was a simple day procedure, that has still resulted in a large amount of swelling and discomfort and an inability to shower properly for a week.  You should see my hair.

The benefit will hopefully be that I will now have two even, level, similar looking breasts.  Although the scarring on the outside remains, the amount of scar tissue within the breast has been reduced which has to improve the appearance and comfort factors.

It's an odd sensation to feel as though a part of your body does not actually belong to you.  Instead, an odd sort of numbness takes its place.

The final task once my scar heals will be nipple tattoos.  Can you even imagine how much fun that might be.  Thank goodness for the numbness.

And then, they will be complete and as perfect as they can be.  It will have all been worth and the circle will be complete.

Feeling blessed.

#19, A Gold Tooth and A Glass Eye

It was the best of times and it was the worst of times.

It always feels that way at family gatherings.  Particularly as now we only ever seem to gather at someone’s funeral. This time it’s for my Grandad.  Jock.

Jock had three kids, two daughters and a son, my Dad, in the middle.  They each had their own families and all lived in different cities.  Each of them carried their own set of values and moral compasses along with very individual methods for coping with life’s ups and downs. 

Grandad’s funeral was yesterday.  A stranger spoke about his life based upon stories his two daughters told her.  She couldn't pronounce Leven, where he was born, so she just said Scotland.

I didn’t have a close relationship with my paternal grandparents, although Gran and I mended ours just before she died.  So blessed.  That doesn’t mean I don’t have fond memories.

I adored our trips to Tumblong to stay at the green house with the chicken coop.  Grandad and Laddie would always be wandering around fixing something.  The bakery truck would come right to the door to sell us fresh made pies for lunch.  I can still recall the smell if I close my eyes.  Gran would sing old Scottish songs to us, with us.  Grandad would tell us tall tales about his glass eye and gold teeth that he was going to leave us when he died.

His hair was always shiny with bryll cream and their toilet had WC written on the door.  Their house was where I learnt what that stands for.

One phone call, after my Nan had died, my Gran and I talked about our difficult relationship.  She summised that she felt it was because we were so similar, that we often butted heads.  Gran then told me that she thought I was much braver than she was.  I laughed at that suggestion.  She was referring to the time I moved to Spain to live.  I told her that she and Grandad were much braver than I.  They had moved their young family to a country on the other side of the world, sight unseen, with very little money in their pocket.  That was brave.  And they built a life here, giving us the privilege of being born in such a lucky country. 

We are all proud of our Scottish heritage.  And no matter what else, I’ll always be so proud and so grateful for two forty year old Scots, for taking such a risk and for being so hopeful about their future and the futures of their family.

Rest in Peace Gran and Grandad.

Vale Jock Fleming.