NarrowBoat Bones

The weight upon my shoulder

2012-02-05T20:09:00.001Z

My mothers funeral marked the end of many years together, we, our family, walked together through thick and thin and somehow stayed together; tied together in Love.

Now my mother has gone it feels like the end of a era. A life lived so full has ended and it is the end of so many things. She gave her life in so many ways and now she has gone.

Never have my footprints on this earth felt so heavy, I have never felt so firmly attached to this world, the world that Mother has left behind to make of it as we will.

Strangely I am not sad. I will miss my Mum, but I am not sad – never has a chapter of life ever felt so finished, so complete and so peaceful. She had to go and she went with such grace, such peace and such calm. As she lay taking her last breaths I stroked her arm and I told her I was so proud of her and that I loved her, I thanked her for the life she gave me. It was true to the very core of my being.

And so as my mother carried us so we carried my mother into the church and then finally to her final resting place. It felt good having the weight of our mother on our shoulders. We didn’t follow behind as we so often did, instead we held her, claimed her and did the one last thing we could for our Mum. Carried her. We walked the final stage together with her on our shoulders. Arms crossed over each other and under her.

The new life has started, the new chapter begun. Life for us is going to be so very very different. I await with curiosity to see how it will be. No longer can we hear the sound of her voice or feel her. She just is not here, but we are, those left behind are here together.

I am not sad my mother has died, I am more glad that she lived and she was mine. May she rest in peace and rise in glory with wings as eagles as in our hearts.

The Card

2012-02-03T09:26:00.001Z

I never understood the power of the card until my Mum died. Just a card. I would send them, but I had never thought what it was like to be on the receiving end (which is remarkable considering how much death I have been on the receiving end of).

On the day my Mum died that changed, from the moment we started telling people there was a steady flow of people to the door and cards through the letterbox. When there was a lull in proceedings we would sit in our numb automatic pilot state and open cards. Even days later there were cards to open and when I arrived to be with my Dad again there were still cards coming. I counted 126 and 20 more arrived that day. It isn’t the number of cards, but that each individual card is someone thinking of us. So many people. A card sent in love, arrives in love. When you don’t know what to do opening a card, or reading a card is so therapeutic.

Often when someone dies we are alone and we have to tell people (in the rare moments they are interested) what that person meant to us, but none of us have had to do that with Mum. Each card, each greeting, each message lifts us and carries us through it all.

Our family feel carried and amongst the expected we have been carried by the most unexpected too.

I have sent cards before thinking mine will be tossed aside, read and put aside, but now I am on the receiving end I know how wrong I was. Cards aren’t just for the opening they have been sent and opened in love, they are looking at us, holding us up and each one says something different.

They are just cards, but they mean so much more than I ever dreamt.

Heating

2012-02-02T19:55:00.001Z

While Mum was poorly some heating was installed into the house. My sister asked me to broach the subject of having the heating back on when we have visitors.

AS I was sitting at the table enjoying some supper with my father, both of us in our coats and scarfs I asked Dad the question ‘can we have the heating on when we have visitors’.

My father informs me that the heating IS on and is on 24/7 as it is more economical that way.

Excellent said I and we continued our meal. The fact that we were both sitting there in our outdoor coats, two pairs of trousers and a scarf didn't seem to matter. We carried on our meal both marvelling at how lucky we were - if the heating wasn't on I expect we would have trouble picking up the cutlery due to the volume of clothes being worn to keep warm.

Friends in unusual places

2012-01-30T18:42:00.001Z

This time last week I was sitting by my Mother’s bedside reading. It is a lonely job sitting on a sofa in a big room on ones own not knowing whether the patient will wake up, or not, and what will happen.

I looked at the seat next to me, the empty seat and wondered who I would like to be sitting there with me in this moment.

The seat, I suppose, is a seat we carry with us throughout our lives – a seat that holds the friend, ghost, partner, creature, or silence with whom we would we like to be sharing this or that moment.

Were I to predict who would be with me on this journey of my mothers death I think I would have been wrong.

Several of the people I expected to offer me support, words, or comfort remained silent. Those I would not necessarily have thought would be there were there. I could have been upset at the silence from those under my umbrella of expectation – but no friendship or acquaintance is based on expectation but acceptance of people being who they are, it wasn’t a personal slight on me, it wasn’t that people didn’t care, it was just who they were and people being who they are is beautiful in itself.

Instead I marvelled at how wrong I had been, and how amazing it was that those that spoke up spoke up despite my (what I perceive) neglect.

I am not sure it is helpful to define friends, that isn’t what I am trying to do for we all fall short for reasons that we never understand, just that friends are in extraordinary places.

One friend told me to leave work and go and sit with Mum ( a direction they felt was bold but I considered to be exactly the right thing to say to my hair tearing out indecision that all the Bones household seem to have inherited), another told me about their experiences which helped me see things clearly, and someone I don’t even know told me to go as they had not and regretted it (thank you). When I awoke in the middle of the night I noticed a message from someone about poetry. It may have seemed abstract but the still voice in the night meant something. Throughout this experience I have had messages of comfort and when my mother finally died I was swept up in a tidal wave of comments.

I haven’t lost my Mum (I know where she is) and I haven’t lost a relationship with my Mum (The one we had will live with me) nor have a lost a part of me. Yes, the walls have fallen silent, the wind has stilled it’s voice, but I have found something.

I have found friends in extraordinary places and I have found that my heart is a good heart and the whole time that I was by my mothers bedside I was wrapped in Love and Peace. My Mum hasn’t taken anything away in her death, she has left a legacy. It will take a while to get used to it but I intend to keep it.

Mum

2012-01-27T18:28:00.002Z

I started this blog for my Mum so she knew what I was up to, and I never thought she would be gone so soon. She had to leave us, and it will take time to get used to her not being by our side, but in our hearts instead.

Her footprints don't tread this earth anymore and the sound of her voice has fallen silent. Mum - may you rest in peace and rise in glory..

Dear Mum

2012-01-23T19:19:00.001Z

I am having a nice time on holiday. I have a ball and dinner and Stanley has to wait in bed until I make my mind up what to do first. I might have a little sleep as Stanley is going green. What fun.
Love
Boots

Sitting

2012-01-23T16:09:00.001Z

I am sitting by my mothers bedside as she sleeps peacefully. My father is playing jazz which is wafting its way through the corridors. The view over the garden is glorious in the winter light. I don't suppose I will be here for the end, but I am here for now.

The house is peaceful but for the gently ticking of the numerous clocks.
The world is busy, but here we are quiet.

Quiet and peaceful.

Waiting?

2012-01-23T11:53:00.003Z

I thought I had possibly heard my mothers voice for the last time yesterday, but last night I had a message to call. On the off chance someone might be able to give us an update my sister had called the house. The nurse answered and she was able to exchange a few words with Mother. She sent a message to do the same, so I did. I was also able to exchange a few words with my mother. The voice I am so familiar with that is going to fall silent.
Mother deteriorated in the night and although she is comfortable she is fading. I am torn as to whether to go to her side, or not. As my friend says, there is no right answer and I am not very good with decisions that don't involve right answers.

Waiting
Unclear thought
Flashing memories
Childhood
Family moments
Flashing by
Silence
Quiet
Peace
Agony
Screaming
Change
All change
Peace.

Slipping away?

2012-01-22T11:57:00.001Z

It isn't over
It isn't past,
It's the moment of limbo
How long will it last?

Have we had
Our final conversation
Our final laugh
Probably.

It is not over.
It is not the past.
Onward.
This legacy of life
Living on.

chilled frozen over in the gorgeous morning light

2012-01-16T16:29:00.001Z

Yet another glorious morning on the frozen cut.

Canal River Trust: Andy Tidy

2012-01-12T14:15:00.001Z

I like this guy, his integrity and his manifesto A LOT. He is a good man. I am going to keep putting this post up every now and again and I do hope you will consider him seriously when it comes to voting and tell others about him. You can get information from his blog where he has been writing about the the Canal River Trust and elections here and why to vote for Andy Tidy here.

Morning Skies

2012-01-11T09:51:00.001Z

The sky this morning was beautiful and I know I am not alone in this because everyone says so. The skies are stunning in our country. I looked out of the side hatch to this:

As I set off from the boat I could see the sunrise on one side and the moonset on the other. How beautiful the moon hanging there in splendour, bold and large:

Across the fields the windows to the little church at Hampton Gay were ablaze with orange light as the sun peered above the horizon and as it rose the light that was cast across the fields was magical.

I walked over the fields under the peaceful sky and suddenly things felt alright. I was reminded of a poem I wrote some 10years ago for someone very dear at the time. It is the only poem I have ever given to anyone and the only one I have ever spent time thinking and composing. That person is gone now, and the full version is here, but here is the abbreviated version as it rang around my head in the fields this morning as it often does, but this time it was in one of those rare moments when peace sweeps across the atmosphere. This moment suited it much better.

Oh distant land
Where the sun rises high
Where the birds sing of freedom
And the stars hang from the sky

Where can you be found?
Oh distant, distant land

Morning through the side hatch

2012-01-11T08:16:00.001Z

Two marinas in Cropredy backed by Cherwell council

2012-01-10T10:47:00.001Z

It can all be read about here and here. I have often heard that a Marina at Cropredy would solve all the boating issues that the southern Oxford apparently has. I have never been convinced, not least because getting to work in Oxford from Cropredy (and I have transport) is a long slog. The news however gives the impression that the main objection was to children drowning as it wasn’t going to be far from the primary school. The news article itself is quite calm and placid, the comments are certainly worth reading.

Social Media is the No Future of the day

2012-01-09T12:06:00.001Z

A friend sent these images by email. Is this Evolution?

Getting Away

2012-01-06T07:41:00.000Z

Boots has already written to Granny and Grandpa about our trip away so here are some pictures.

We stopped on the way to look at the Rollright Stones. Despite living in Oxfordshire for many many years I have never been. I did once take a trip around the Cotswolds and stopped for a short walk around Little Rollright village but as time (and the company) was tight I didn’t stop long. I did however tell myself I would return but for some reason I haven’t ever quite made it, until this trip. Parking the car is easy and the stones are just over the hedge.

These flowers tell an untold story

They remind me of a post 8ch made about some flowers he found in a quiet place in 2010 here

A short walk leads to the whispering giants; I grew fond of the one on the right – it was rather like a curled up version of a figure of my childhood.

Our shadows came for a walk

and we stood and we watched

The hotel room had a lovely bath (I even used it)

and pre dinner drinks in the library

Walk in the country

2012-01-05T07:17:00.000Z

The morning light is stunning and on the 28th November 2011 I walked the fields in glorious frosty sunlight

At the end of our walked my shadow watched Boots run towards us with a HUGE grin on his face.

Autumn/Winter in the country

2012-01-04T07:08:00.000Z

Chimney Making Picture Book

2012-01-03T12:57:00.001Z

My dear friend gave me my chimney but 4 years later it was feeling rather sorry for itself and it was time for a new one. We didn’t know about the benefits of double lined chimneys but I do now, so I went for a double skinned stainless steal number. My friends gave me the number of a chimney maker and I joined the long queue of boaters who had suddenly decided with the approach of winter to get a new chimney – the best time is to get them in summer – you avoid the rush that way.

The chimney maker arrived on site with everything in the back of his van.

All the steel is cut to size before coming. Then it is clamped together

whizzed

Inside added

Spot welded

hammered

hat fitted

finished

Dear Granny and Grandpa

2012-01-02T18:51:00.001Z

Mum has been off work far too long and has been moping around the place like a bear with a sore head so I have spent some of my pocket money on a hotel for us for the night. Fortunately it has a bath and even more fortunately (for the rest of us) mum has used it.

Our room is quite comfortable. There are several chairs for mum to sleep on and I have a huge bed. The room is quite enormous and takes much longer to get to the kettle or bathroom than at home. This is a great relief as mum is getting plenty of exercise which is jolly good as her bum has been exponentially expanding over the last few weeks.

Lots of love
Boots

Musings of a New Year

2011-12-31T18:28:00.001Z

Each day is a new day. Not only is there a song about it, but when I was a child my father told me so.

My father is a wise man so I believed him. What I wasn’t so sure about was what was NEW about a new day. I wondered whether the trees on the new day were new too. I used to stare out of my bedroom window wondering whether the cherry plum tree in the corner was there ALL NIGHT or whether the new day came with a new tree.

I wondered what it was about the new day that made it new because the marker of the new day,time, wasn’t new – it was a continuous continuum. I decided, after much observation, that the tree probably was the same tree each day.

What I wasn’t so sure about was whether the tree moved an inch or so in the space it stood in to symbolise the new day… the clock marked the passage of time and so, perhaps, as the sun moved around the sky so the tree moved around it’s space - a kind of slow dance, for trees. I wondered whether, by the time I was really really old (which was probably 10) whether the tree would be in the rose beds place.

Of course, this is impossible to determine because if everything was a slow dance perhaps we were all moving and my window wasn’t in the same place as it was yesterday. I decided it was all a bit too complicated so accepted every day was a new day, but the with same stuff and not necessarily in the same place. It was probably my first brush with relativity.

So, we are about to have a New Year. I am not sure what is new about the year or why everyone persistently celebrates it for one night only and only half of that, the ‘old year’ half.

Lots of people are saying ‘lets hope next year is better than this one has been’ – the one we celebrated last year.. I don’t think we celebrate the New Year at all, but the end of the current year. I am not celebrating the New Year, I am celebrating the end of this year. At the end of someone’s life I think of them, what they have taught me, how they touched me, how I might have touched them, and rejoice, mostly, not that they have died but they lived and I was privilege enough to meet them. I think I will do the same with this year. What have I done, achieved, failed, learnt, sustained, developed and embraced.

The New Year isn’t a time for new beginnings it is a time to continue, but maybe differently.

Christmas Shopping in Oxford

2011-12-22T05:39:00.000Z

On Sunday morning under blue skies I worshipped at the alter of commercialism in our beautiful city. I walked around looking at the skyline and it was utterly gorgeous. Here are some pictures.

Decorations

2011-12-21T20:46:00.000Z

My boss often brings me a piece of fruit from his luncheon fruit bowl at college. This morning I arrived to find this on my desk

Another of my colleagues is rather creative and gave me this which I thought was utterly divine!

Back on the boat I have put up some decorations, a string of them this time:

Iced Over – Morning Light

2011-12-21T17:29:00.001Z

Northbrook

2011-12-17T20:12:00.001Z