Categories: uncategorized
Date: 18 November 2004 18:55:09
Isn't it wonderful when you get the depth and temperature of the water just right when running a bath? It doesn't happen often that it's just perfect, but once in a blue moon you hit perfection and you could happily lie there and see all your stress just float away (and grime with it, of course, but that rather spoils the mental image so I won't mention it). Today's ablutions just hit that spot - shame that I only had ten minutes to dive in and out while getting ready for work!!! In fact, I should have had a shower, but my lovely Smudgelets have totally anihilated the shower head in their attempts to become more independent in the personal-hygiene arena.
That bath this morning was in sharp contrast to the one on Tuesday. I had the whole afternoon to myself as Dad had gone out with some friends for the day. With my massage class in the evening (for which there is, of course, a need to de-bristle the legs and ensure that one's feet are as pong-free as possible) I decided to have a luxurious laze in the bath. I poured in some of my luxury birthday bubblebath, made myself a cup of coffee, found my favourite book, lit a fragrant candle and, in eager anticipation of an hour of total self-pampering, leapt into the bubbling waters........ which were stone cold! Smudgelet had left the hot water tap running all morning and the tank was completely empty!
My massage class was again disappointing - I wish we could change partners more often as the girl who is my partner is very sweet, but very seventeen ..... if that! It's like having one of my maths class massaging me as her mind really isn't on what she's doing and it felt like I was a piece of meat being manhandled by an absent-minded butcher as she was distracted into nattering with her friend on the next couch. I knew she wasn't really concentrating when I asked her for the second time NOT to massage deeply on the side of my thigh where there's a large bruise from a close encounter with a chair! Contrast that with last night when my back was really aching for some reason - almost as if, heaven forbid, I'd been doing some strenuous exercise or manual work!!! - and Tiddles suggested I sit on the floor and let him massage my back. I have always known he had a good touch but he amazed me - within ten minutes every hint of an ache had gone, and when he finished and went to bed, I fell into the most refreshing sleep on the sofa. That boy has a gift. Healing hands.
School is a delight at the moment. Is it a coincidence that it coincided with my wonderful doctor declaring my ear almost healed? No more shooting pains, only a vague hint of "awareness that my ear is there" sensation. Yesterday all four of my classes were such stars that I was hard pushed to choose "Class of the Day" and their attentiveness and enthusiasm and sheer ability not to be phased by numbers astounded me. As someone said, I must keep it a secret or they'll all be moved up a set and I'll be out of a job!
And I must tell you a secret or I'll burst. On Remembrance Day Dad again mentioned his medals. He was in the Western Desert during the war. Not many people can say they've done their morning jog round the Pyramids and the Sphynx, can they? He lost a finger during the war, and a bout of TB saved his life as he was hospitalised at a time when many of his comrades were killed. After the war he just wanted to forget it and never claimed his medals. Now he regrets it - mainly because the boys would so love to see them. So I had a brainwave and after a tiny bit of research on the internet I have finally found out how to set about claiming them for him. Today the letter went in the post. Fortunately I have his Service Record Book. It's an amazing feeling just holding it and knowing it's part of Dad's "other" life - the part of which none of us were part and cannot begin to imagine. And knowing it's part of our country's history. Goodness, I'm proud of him! I can't wait to see his face when he opens the package and finds those long-awaited medals from a half-dreamed past. I somehow expect there'll be a few tears shed. I must admit it makes me cross when people dismiss the elderly members of our church as "the blue rinse brigade" as though the people they have been are of no value any more. They are the "our generation" of yesterday and are our achievements and strivings and battles (in the metaphorical sense of the word) to be dismissed as valueless and forgotten in years to come by the children who will take our places in the adult world?