Archive by Author

The most precious horses

19 Feb

On 2 August 2021 I wrote

I’ve done a bit of embellishing of the petals, which is hardly see-able on this pic. It’s clearer in real life.

I need to do a wee bit more on the greenery and then I’ll start another design on this neverending 100 day project.

I’ve been gradually going through some of Mum’s things, and there are so many sketch books. What treasure! So today I give you a bonus of two rear ends from one of her books, and some wild horses.

Some of you will know that Mum took part in the #100DaysProjectScotland last year, with a small painting each day of something from her garden. Mostly it was flowers. She would create the picture, then photograph it and send it to me to upload on her Insta. You can see them there still – she’s @alixwolffe. But one day she just stopped. She just resolutely did not want to draw. Her eyesight was failing, she repeatedly told us she was blind. And she pretty much was, but also… also I think the dementia (although it was not noticeable to any of us yet) made it hard for her to draw as she had before, with such ease. Her brain maybe wasn’t allowing her hands to produce what she could see.

Anyway.. this weekend, Mum picked up the pen I offered her and sketched a horse. Then another. They are not the best horses she has ever sketched, but they are the most precious.

I love this picture of Mum tentatively drawing those horses. I wish I had kept them, but I left the picture in her room, and a few days later juice was spilt on it, and I threw it away, in the mistaken belief that there might be more.

The final picture, shows how much she had changed by the time she went into the care home, after 5 weeks in hospital. She was diminished. But when her broken wrist healed properly, she was again able to use her wheelie walking frame (she called it her ‘dancing partner’) to zoom about the home, stopping off in the various rooms and offices, always beetling about from here to there, and then wondering where she was, why and how she got there, and then how she was going to get back home. Luckily she still had the social skills to persuade a passing member of staff to give her a push back to her room if she was tired of walking.

I have been focusing again on Mum’s 100 Days Paintings just recently, as I have submitted them for an online exhibition in early March. It will accompany a physical exhibition at the Edinburgh College of Art of 2022 100 day projects.

I have submitted Mum’s paintings (2020) and my embroidery of The Smock (2021). Neither of us quite reached Day 100, but as I say, we are all a work in progress.

I’ll update you with further news, as I have it.

***

This series of posts starts here, with Taking Smock of the Situation, an embroidery project I started after I realised Mum might have dementia. There I was, embroidering her old fisherman’s smock with symbols relating to her life; meanwhile her memories were slipping away, like me at a party I don’t want to be at.

Before Mum’s dementia, this blog focused more on recipes, which you can find here. I’ve not been eating very healthily recently – too many big hearty meaty dishes, with mashed potatoes or pasta in a cheesy sauce – so I’m craving something a bit healthier, and think I might rustle up a Winter Salad, with lettuce, beetroot, blue cheese, pears and toasted walnuts. And a zingy dressing.

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The War Has Ended

17 Feb

On 1 August 2021 I wrote:

I know almost everyone else is on about day 62, but here I am posting day 32 of my fisherman smock project.

I started looking after Mum at the very beginning of this year. Within a week I knew something was wrong, and started reading up about early stages of dementia. She ticked every single box. But at that point it wasn’t immediately noticeable unless you knew her well…

She had a phone call with ‘that nice man’ from the Memory Clinic on 29th April and he diagnosed mixed dementia. It came as no surprise to me, but Mum was shocked. I reassured her that she was still the same person, still Mum, that Alzheimer’s was just a word, that we were going to keep making sure she was safe and happy. And that I loved her, whatever.

And all this is true.

Mum needs fulltime professional care now, and although she had always wanted to stay home till the day she died, she has settled into communal living well, not that it’s been terribly communal yet as she’s in covid isolation and not allowed out of her room.

When I saw her today she was annoyed that some of the young ones (the carers) don’t know the war has ended. She was also pleased we could play musical instruments because that saved us from the Nazis. Conversation is no longer straightforward or predictable, but that doesn’t seem to matter as much as I’d have thought. I can piece together some of the jigsaw pieces to make part of a picture. But not all of them. And that’s ok too. She knows I love her whatever.

I moved back home again last weekend, properly here to stay now, after living most of this year in Galloway. I’ll visit Mum at weekends, but not every weekend, and that feels ok too. I know she’s ok, she’s comfortable, she’s being looked after by a team of professionals who can do it so much better than I could.

All I need to do is love her. And she makes that so very easy.

I don’t often share images of Mum publicly, particularly more recent photos. But as I’m recalling the days before and after she got her diagnosis of dementia, I thought you might like to see these three pictures. The first two were taken in the week before her diagnosis, where she looks pretty relaxed. The third one, without a hat, was the day after her diagnosis. She seems so very lost to me. And she was always someone who could instill confidence in the most anxious of people.

As children, Mum told us we could all fly. If we really wanted to. And I have always believed this to be true. Mum told me, so it must be true. It astonished me when I learned (when I was MUCH older) that not everyone is brought up to believe they can fly.

I still can fly. If I really want to. Try it. You probably can too.

During those early months of 2021, when we all knew Mum’s world was unravelling, we talked about being able to fly one day. Mum looked sad, and said that just perhaps she wouldn’t be so good at it any more, perhaps her flying days were over. In my head she still flies, we fly together.

***

This series of posts starts here, with Taking Smock of the Situation, an embroidery project I started after I realised Mum might have dementia. There I was, embroidering her old fisherman’s smock with symbols relating to her life; meanwhile her memories were slipping away, like me at a party I don’t want to be at.

If you feel like a bit of cooking inspiration then you could check out my recipes here. I have some sad looking oranges in the fruit bowl so shall think about making the easy peasy and miraculous Orange and Almond Chocolatey Cake.

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A love token

14 Feb

If ever a flower represented love to me it is the snowdrop.

All those years when I lived in London, some years losing track of the seasons, Mum posted a small cardboard box to me each January. Inside the box was a perfect bunch of snowdrops from the garden, with a couple of ivy leaves, wet kitchen roll around their stems and a plastic bag puffed up and protecting the delicate flowers from the ravages of the journey.

Snowdrops smell more sweetly than you can imagine.

I have many small vases, perfect for a few snowdrops, and it’s only as I write this that I begin to understand why I love those wee vases so much.

***

If cooking is your thing, perhaps for Valentines, or perhaps just because, then you could check out my recipes here. Alternatively you could look over on the right hand side (if you are looking at this on a desktop) at the ‘Cloud of SheWolffe-ness’ and click on the ‘Valentines Day Treat’ tag. It seems entirely random to me now, but I’m sure there are reasons why I thought some of these recipes could be considered ‘treats’ and also suitable for Valentines Day. I mean, I get why I included the wee Chocolate Hearts, but the others? Who knows? And really, let’s not think too hard about the sweet and salty nuts.

It’s good to be home

12 Feb

On 30 July 2021 I wrote


MisoCat is not overly impressed that Puck bagged her favourite spot first.

On 1 August 2021 I wrote:

It’s good to be home. One in an occasional series.

At the end of July 2021 I returned home to our wee home in the Valley, aware that I needed to get used to a new normal. There was a lot of talk of “new normal” in 2021 – we were still living through the Covid pandemic, and knew that at some point we would have to start living some kind of a normal life again. None of us really knew what normal might look like; I knew that my new normal would not have my mother in it for that much longer. But for how long?

I had become used to life in Gatehouse, and I’d liked living in my hometown again. But it was good to know that I was able to put down anchor and enjoy the calm waters for a while, I had been unmoored since the beginning of January. I had been thinking about Mum for about 55 minutes of every waking hour. And now that professional carers were looking after her, I could let go of most of those thoughts.

I allowed myself to think that this was only a temporary reprieve, that Mum would inevitably deteriorate further and that she would die .. we had lost so much of the Mum we loved already, but I could not bear to think of a time when I wouldn’t have her in my life at all. Of course we had no crystal ball, so we had no idea how long we had with her, and what sort of life she would continue to live. We were thinking in terms of months, not weeks. But months, not years.

So 18 months later it feels like a sort of surprise that she is still alive. I won’t call it a blessing, because I know that Mum would never have called it a blessing to live as she lives now, unable to read, unable to draw, unable to make much conversation, unable to remember moments of her life that have given her pleasure, unable to remember who has loved her, unable to remember how many sisters she has, unable to decide what she’ll eat each day, unable to make a pot of soup, unable to write, unable to know if she has ever been happy. And she has been. So happy.

Mum sleeps much these days. Generally she seems happy to see me when I visit, and not distressed when I leave. She knows who I am. And I remind her of the remarkable woman she is, though often she is less interested than I would imagine she would be. Generally she is content to snooze while I sit and knit next to her.

It’s good that I enjoy knitting. In so many ways.

***

If you want to catch up on how we got to this point, this series of posts starts here, with Taking Smock of the Situation, an embroidery project I started after I realised Mum might have dementia. There I was, embroidering her old fisherman’s smock with symbols relating to her life; meanwhile her memories were being thrown around like so many pieces of jigsaw in a big box.

If you feel like a bit of cooking inspiration then you could check out my recipes here. This weekend I have started making bread again, after months of popping the ingredients in a the bread machine. I have several bread recipes, but the easiest by far is this one for No Knead Bread – it takes very little of your time, and tastes DELICIOUS. And there is proper joy at making your own bread.

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Holding on

7 Feb

On 26 July 2021 I wrote

How lucky am I? Thank you #InstaPal #crying

Sometimes holding on is precarious. Our fingertips go numb and we are so near the edge that even taking a single breath feels dangerous.

And sometimes holding on is just love.

I opened the post that morning and found this gift, from the artist. I had built up an Insta-friendship with Ruthie through our 100days projects and I’d bought some of her work, which I just adore. Finding this gift in the post was overwhelming, such a powerful message, and also such incredible kindness to give me that advice.

So, I kept holding on. We keep holding on.

And looking back, I see that a few days earlier I had messaged my friend Juliet to thank her.

SheWolffe: I thank you

Juliet: It was nothing

SheWolffe: You’ve held on to me some days. When I was quite unmoored.

Juliet: It is the very least I could do.

Juliet, who was 100 miles away, may say it’s the very least she could do, but we both know that it was so very much, and I will always, always, thank her for not letting me fall too far, for holding on.

And then a few days later, on 3 August 2021 I was back sitting on our glorious Terrace overlooking the Clyde Valley and I posted this pic and wrote this

Holding on

During this time, Mum was still in quarantine, after being in effective isolation for five weeks in hospital. She couldn’t read any more, and was utterly bored. She no longer got any pleasure from listening to an audio book, or the radio – her short term memory was smoosh, so she couldn’t follow a story from one sentence to the next. I wondered if she would be ‘better’ when she got out of quarantine, or if this was it? Was it too late?

We were all just holding on.

I hope that whatever is going on in your life, you are holding on. Holding on to beauty, to love, to joy. And holding on to those you love.

***

If you want to catch up on how we got to this point, this series of posts starts here, with Taking Smock of the Situation, an embroidery project I started after I realised Mum might have dementia. There I was, embroidering her old fisherman’s smock with symbols relating to her life; meanwhile her memories were being thrown around like so many pieces of jigsaw in a big box.

If you feel like a bit of cooking inspiration then you could check out my recipes here. Today I’m making a batch of Chinese Beef, and also Coconut Slice, neither of which feature in my recipes here, but probably should. Let me know if you’d like to see them. They are so very very tasty.

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Slow worms and personal catnip

1 Feb

On 25 July 2021 I wrote:

Local wildlife. And more local wildlife

Days were already easier, more predictable, less stressful. And much less tiring. We could start planning things for the future. And we could just stop for awhile and enjoy Galloway.

We still went back and forth to Mum’s house all the time (it’s just across the yard from my brother’s house where we were staying), and one day I discovered a slow worm squirming about on her kitchen floor. I, of course, thought it was a snake initially and instinctively was a bit squirked by it. But I knew I had to be a big brave girl and get it outside, whatever it was.

And now, having done the most minimal research into slow worms and their habits, I discover that they are found throughout mainland UK, though more in Wales and South West England. And, as I anticipated, they prefer more humid conditions – Mum’s house was dry and warm and the poor thing had some fluff caught on its face, no doubt picked up from an expedition under the fridge. It looked somehow too dry.

Should you ever wish to capture an unhappy slow worm on your kitchen floor, my patented method is to slide a piece of stiff paper under it and sort of scoop it into a bowl. If you don’t have a piece of stiff paper, I guess a newspaper might do. Anyway, I’m sure you’ll work it out. The slow worm was released into the bank, not a money bank, a grassy bank with various shrubs which were mostly slightly overgrown .. it seemed like the sort of place a slow worm might be happy enough, or at least happier than in Mum’s kitchen.

Talking of wildlife, my cat MisoCat has been really needy the last few days and has taken to jumping back up on the desk, and playing with the keyboard, or nudging my fingers off the keyboard. This morning she wanted to just sit on it. I’m not going to get much work done if she behaves like this all day – usually it means she’s hungry, but it’s not that just now, so perhaps she just wants attention. When I was having a tidy up in here the other day I found a bag of ‘herbs’ which I’m pretty confident is catnip, and judging by her reaction it definitely is – she is rolling about in the dried leaves, then trying to catch them and lick them, then more crazy rolling. It’s keeping her off the keyboard for now, and I’m hoping that her catnip come down will encourage her to sleep for the rest of the day. She’s an old lady cat now, and we keep thinking she hasn’t got long left, but looking at her antics now, perhaps she’s not that old after all. We are all just as old as we feel, eh?

So, work out what your personal catnip is and have more of it – if it makes you squeak with delight, then you’re winning at life. I’ll probably write more about mine some other day.

And Mum. There’ll be more of a Mum update in future posts.

***

Finally, if you want to catch up on how we got to this point, this series of posts starts here, with Taking Smock of the Situation, an embroidery project I started after I realised Mum might have dementia. There I was, embroidering her old fisherman’s smock with symbols relating to her life; meanwhile her memories were being thrown around like so many pieces of jigsaw in a big box.

If you feel like a bit of cooking inspiration then you could check out my recipes here. I’ve been getting lots of carrots in my veg box lately, so have been making vats of carrot soup each week. I have a recipe for a carrot and lentil soup here, which I might update one day soon, as I’ve been experimenting with my pressure cooker (in a bid to use less energy) and honestly, it makes the best lentil soup!

Pimped up carrot soup

This blog started out as recipes, sometimes accompanied by wee stories, so I’ve got a back catalogue of tasty things to make. Do let me know if you’d like me to add more recipes in the future – I had an ambition to make a carers cookbook a couple of years ago… perhaps some day.

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Black dogs. Brown river.

27 Jan

On 24 July 2021 I wrote:

Black dogs. Brown river.

These black dogs and the brown river help protect you from that other black dog.

On 24 July 2021 I wrote:

I love it here.

The fairies leave out giant pink marshmallows in the fields for when you’re hungry.

Mum was safe. She had come home.

It might not have been the home she’d lived in for 30+ years, but all she knew was that it was home, and that she was being cared for. Not just looked after, but properly cared for, with real care.

And I was so relieved. Finally we could acknowledge how tired we were, how much we needed this, as much as Mum did too.

We now had the luxury of time.

And when I have time, I allow myself to think, some might say to overthink. I’d been thinking about Mum’s house, and I realised that it wasn’t so much her house, but the things in it which made it home. But also this part of the world. I felt that the hills and the coastline were the contours of my own body.

***

Finally, if you want to catch up on how we got to this point, this series of posts starts here, with Taking Smock of the Situation, an embroidery project I started after I realised Mum might have dementia. There I was, embroidering her old fisherman’s smock with symbols relating to her life; meanwhile her memories were being thrown around like so many pieces of jigsaw in a big box.

Not in the mood for this? That’s ok. But if you feel like a bit of cooking inspiration then you could check out my recipes here. You could try my Apricot Upside Down Cake, which was made with non-butter and I felt it necessary to give you my thoughts on such things. Several years after I first wrote that recipe I am much more relaxed about non-butter, and regularly use Stork to bake these days – butter is probably The Best, but Stork is perfectly good and much more affordable. This blog started out as recipes, sometimes accompanied by wee stories, so I’ve got a back catalogue of tasty things to make. Do let me know if you’d like me to add more recipes in the future – I had an ambition to make a carers cookbook a couple of years ago… perhaps some day.

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Hot toast

24 Jan

On 22 July 2021 I wrote:

A couple of days ago I was sitting at Mum’s dining room table and noticed there was a strange scrunching sound coming from over by the window.

It was the sound of hot toast crackling as it cools down.

It was the sound of light rain pitter pattering on an awning just a foot above your head.

But no. It wasn’t either of them.

It was actually the sound of wasps chewing, to make their nest. They had made a hole above the window and now were making a new home inside the wall.

The wasp man came within an hour of calling him, donned his PPE and zapped the wasp nest. I hid inside till the angry wasps had all flown away.

Then I waited a bit longer. I REALLY don’t like wasps.

This incident happened on Mum’s Escape Day. You’d think sorting a wasp infestation would be enough for one day. Or transferring Mum from her hospital ward to her new forever home. But we did both within the space of a few hours.

And as with everything back in that summer, the logistics took more than a wee bit of planning.

We didn’t want Mum arriving at her new home too distressed and confused. So, James drove to Stranraer to chaperone Mum in the ambulance on her journey back to Gatehouse. Then, later in the day I would give him a lift to Stranraer so he could pick up his car. And now, only 18 months later, I realise I have absolutely no recollection of that drive with James back to Stranraer to pick up his car when we must have talked about how we felt Mum had reacted to her new home, what we thought of it, how we thought she would settle in there. Knowing this happened, but having no memory of it helps me to comprehend dementia a wee bit – no matter how much I try to persuade my brain that it happened, it can’t conjure up those memories. Somewhere along the way my brain decided that this memory was not one of the important things to hold on to, so it has let it go… never to return.

Mum was in an unfamiliar place and in ‘isolation’ for 2 weeks

Anyway, while James was making that first trip to Stranraer and back that morning, I was packing the final bits and bobs of Mum’s belongings, and then (after an interlude when the wasps were zapped) meeting Sean and Robbie who came to pick up Mum’s belongings and take them to her new room. James and I had curated what we thought would be comfortably familiar things for Mum to have around her – though now we realise that perhaps we were curating comfortably familiar things for us? If Mum was still surrounded by such familiar objects, perhaps everything was still as it had always been? And it would be ok?

But of course nothing was as it had always been and everything had changed again.

But at least we had stopped her house being eaten up by wasps, and she was on her way to her new home.

I visited her today. She was in bed, and mostly snoozing, but awake for long enough to ask me how I managed to get in (to her room without her opening the door I think she meant) and also to tell me that she is not so good at membering these days, and that she doesn’t know why she is so tired.

Yesterday when I saw her I mentioned that I am going to Ireland next month and will see her big sister, Jennifer. Mum looked slightly bemused, and responded “So many layers”, this may have been in response to the fact that I was knitting a big jumper, and wearing another jumper and also a big knitted shawl. But perhaps not.

So many layers.

***

Finally, if you want to catch up on how we got to this point, this series of posts starts here, with Taking Smock of the Situation, an embroidery project I started after I realised Mum might have dementia. There I was, embroidering her old fisherman’s smock with symbols relating to her life; meanwhile her memories were being thrown around like so many pieces of jigsaw in a big box.

Not in the mood for this? That’s ok. But if you feel like a bit of cooking inspiration then you could check out my recipes here. I’ve just remembered that tasty winter salad that I made a few years ago, and now I’m craving all its healthy goodness. This blog started out as recipes, sometimes accompanied by wee stories, so I’ve got a back catalogue of tasty things to make. Do let me know if you’d like me to add more recipes in the future – I had an ambition to make a carers cookbook a couple of years ago… perhaps some day.

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Mum’s Escape Day

20 Jan

On 20 July 2021 I wrote

Well that’s been quite the day!

I went for a much needed swim late this afternoon, the tide was out, far out but that was fine. The sea was almost as warm as the Scottish sun and I floated on my back and splashed my feet in the salty water. Nearby a heron stood watching everything… occasionally poking its head into the water and coming up with a snack.

Then I sat on my usual rock and stitched. And breathed in that fresh salt air.

First thing this morning I sewed more name labels on to Mum’s clothes. I’d emptied out her chest of drawers, and chosen her capsule wardrobe. The chest of drawers and a holdall of clothes was ready to go. We removed favourite pictures from the walls of her home.

And then I took a Covid test. I’m Covid-free. Phew.

Because today of all days I could not have Covid.

Today is Mum’s Escape Day.

She arrived, by ambulance, just after I got to the care home to get her room ready. Her chairs and the bed have familiar throws over them; her old chest of drawers is in the corner; there are vases of flowers from her garden.

She thinks she will be fine there. I think so too.

I needed that swim.

20 January 2023 and as I re-read those words I wrote exactly 18 months ago, tears pricked at my eyes, and I could feel a first sob try to escape from my throat. I’ve put the sob back, but the tears are gently falling.

No more to add today, except to say that yes, she has been fine there, and she continues to be so. And, as I was told on that first day, I have been able to go back to being ‘just a daughter, not a daughter and a carer’ again.

***

Finally, if you want to catch up on how we got to this point, this series of posts starts here, with Taking Smock of the Situation, an embroidery project I started after I realised Mum might have dementia. There I was, embroidering her old fisherman’s smock with symbols relating to her life; meanwhile her memories were being thrown around like so many pieces of jigsaw in a big box.

Not in the mood for this? That’s ok. But if you feel like a bit of cooking or baking, perhaps making use of the short Seville oranges season to make some delicious marmalade then you could check out my recipes here. This blog started out as recipes, sometimes accompanied by wee stories, so I’ve got a back catalogue of tasty things to make. Do let me know if you’d like me to add more recipes in the future – I had an ambition to make a carers cookbook a couple of years ago… perhaps some day.

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Just click your fingers

17 Jan

On 19 July 2021 I wrote

I’ll come back to the flower and pick out some details, but for now I’m done with pink, so it’s back to the stem and frondy leaves.

The pendant was Mum’s (of course) and I remember as a child thinking how glamorous she seemed when she put it on. Mum has never been someone who cares much about fashion and she never wore make up, except perhaps a smudge of matt pink lipstick sometimes, so glamorous wasn’t a word I often associated with her.

Mum has given me lots of her jewellery over the years, and gave me this pendant when I came to mind her back at the beginning of this year.

Then a couple of months ago I found her one day distressed and trying to remove her wedding rings (dad gave her a second gold band for their golden wedding). She couldn’t explain why but she no longer wanted to wear them, she wanted me to look after them. I did, but made a deal with her that all she needed do was click her fingers if she wanted them back.

A couple of weeks later she clicked her fingers and she wore them again. Until she broke her wrist and the quick thinking nurse removed her rings before her hands and fingers blew up like balloons overnight.

I’ve been wearing her wedding band now for the last 5 weeks, but Mum still knows she can click her fingers if she wants it back. It’s hers.

And now, 18 months after first writing those words about Mum’s wedding rings, I wear her ring all the time. Initially it felt odd to wear a gold band, on my wedding ring finger. I have never been married, so in my late 50s I had never worn such a significant gold band. I was constantly aware of it. Shortly after I started wearing it I also took to wearing a ring Mum had given me several Christmasses ago (it was simply attached to a ribbon and hung on the tree, for me to find). It had been Granbunny’s ring, and it fitted the same finger and, being a ring with a large cut topaz surrounded by seed pearls, it hid the simple gold band. I felt like the gold wedding band was my secret. It was also symbolic of the strong bond I had with Mum. And of our separation. It was a constant reminder to me (though none was needed) that she was now so very different to the Mum I’d known all my life. And also a reminder that some day, she would no longer be with us.

I also regularly wear a modern amethyst and silver ring which Mum used to wear often – I’ll never know for sure now, but I think perhaps Dad bought it for her on a trip they made to Orkney in the 90s. Again, Mum had given this to me a few years ago. The other ring I now put on every day is a simple limpet shell, picked from Carrick Shore – it feels soothing to carry this bit of the shore with me all the time; despite the slight discomfort when I first started wearing it!

I haven’t taken Mum’s wedding ring off for more than a few minutes at a time since that day she went into hospital. And each of those few minutes have been at her behest. Initially she thought she might wear it again, and she would tentatively try it on; she would also try on Granbunny’s ring… but always, always she would give both rings back to me, saying I should keep them safe.

Latterly, she talked of another woman who ‘lives here and sometimes comes to see me’ who had a ring like Granbunny’s ‘but not as special’… and Mum was somehow worried that this woman might get confused and believe that Granbunny’s ring was actually hers, or that both rings might get stolen or lost. I continued to assure Mum that I kept all her things safe. But, as ever, if she wanted anything back all she had to do was click her fingers.

In the months after Mum went to live in Fleet Valley we would occasionally take her out bundled up in a wheelchair, for a short walk in the fresh air, and then for ‘soup and a sandwich’ for lunch; or if it was still too early for lunch, then for a hot chocolate. Mum loved a hot chocolate. The first time we went out, she seemed so diminished, and almost frightened of her surroundings, and she probably was. By this time she had been institutionalised for some months, her dementia meant that she found it difficult to process anything new or unfamiliar and this was far out of her recent experience of life. Her hot chocolate arrived in an enormous cup and saucer and Mum just stared at it. We all wondered if she would be able to lift it to her mouth, and at what point we help her. Mum picked up the teaspoon, and delicately started to spoon off the froth on top of the hot chocolate, licking her lips with delight at the sweet taste. In that moment I realised that whenever I buy a hot drink with any froth on top, the first thing I do is spoon off the froth and eat it… I hadn’t known until this moment that I was just copying Mum.

Out for a hot chocolate with Mum, and she clicks her fingers to get her rings back!

There was one day, when we were having this conversation, and Mum realised that she could no longer click her fingers – this mattered not, she knew that I would honour my promise and that I was just looking after things on her behalf.

And truly, this is how I’ve felt about so much this last year. As though I am just holding on to Mum’s most loved things on her behalf. And in that list of most loved things, I include myself and my siblings.

***

Finally, if you want to catch up on how we got to this point, this series of posts starts here, with Taking Smock of the Situation, an embroidery project I started after I realised Mum might have dementia. There I was, embroidering her old fisherman’s smock with symbols relating to her life; meanwhile her memories were being thrown around like so many pieces of jigsaw in a big box.

Not in the mood for this? That’s ok. But if you feel like a bit of cooking or baking, perhaps making use of the short Seville oranges season to make some delicious marmalade then you could check out my recipes here. This blog started out as recipes, sometimes accompanied by wee stories, so I’ve got a back catalogue of tasty things to make. Do let me know if you’d like me to add more recipes in the future – I had an ambition to make a carers cookbook a couple of years ago… perhaps some day.

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