Just waiting for the morning sun, yes sun, to dry off the dew from the grass and then I shall be out there giving the lawn (grass, moss and weeds) the first cut of the year.
Meanwhile, back in the weird and wonderful 13th dimension which are the maternity services, a strange calm has descended. So far my manager has not approached me directly about the plans to rip me from my natural habitat. Many others have told me that I am a) to be co-ordinator on labour ward; b) sister on postnatal ward; c) a stand alone midwife on the stand alone birth unit but there is nothing from anyone in authority. Two of the message bearers were apparently told to discuss options with me but, until I have been in conclave with a body in a senior position, I am of the opinion that the consultation has not commenced so that gives me 3 months to consider my next move.
The election. This has given me a wonderful platform to air my concerns about local maternity services. Representatives of the political parties are knocking, innocently, at my door canvassing for my vote. In times gone past I would politely rebuff them, not now though, I have a captive audience. Last night Hubby answered the door and was in the process of saying goodbye to a rosette wearing bod when a tubby little madwoman invited the caller in for a chat. Huge satisfaction and enjoyment, being able to sit one of our local officials down and enlighten him about the troubles within the maternity services, not just locally but nationwide. I know that it won’t make a jot of difference, Hubby’s expression was ‘pi**ing in the wind’, but at least I can express my concerns to someone who may pass them on, even if it is only to warn others about the mad woman!
Years ago my sister told me about a poem concerning a lady of advancing years, Warning by Jenny Joseph. We joked that we would become the person described in the poem and that I was already on the way there as I do ‘ hoard pens….. and things in boxes’. Well, last weekend, Easter Sunday in fact, was my birthday. I decided that this was my most important birthday…ever. I was now of an age when I could retire and I had achieved this at Easter (symbolism) so I was of a mind to celebrate. The first step toward my ‘rebirth’ was managed by one of my daughters, hair colour, she chose violet, it is really more purple, but it is vivid and it is different. Then my offspring took me to Crazy Bear to educate me in how other, less ordinary people, spend their leisure time. Thankfully they had been there before so were not a fazed as I was by the decor, with which I co-ordinated well, and the cleverly concealed toilets. Sunday saw a surprise meal, children, grandchildren, sister and best friend, fabulous and special. Deviation, back to ‘Warning’. I think I am slowly slipping into the persona, especially with my new found diversion of engaging political cold-callers. As the poem advises-
But maybe I ought to practice a little now?
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.