Looking in vain

I have browsed through pages and pages of houses for sale and not one matched up to the one I already have. There was one I liked... detached, Cotswold stone, village location, conservatory, large garden, three bedrooms etc., if only I had three quarters of a million pound! Oxfordshire and even the edge of the Cotswolds is far too pricey!

Funnily enough, the neighbours have suddenly become very quiet... perhaps they've realised at last that I am probably the best neighbour they've ever had... I don't mean to sound conceited, but I never complain, and when the subject of banging doors was brought up by my neighbour some months' ago, I didn't get arsey, but just smiled and agreed that they could be noisy at times, which was accepted with smiles and an apology. I may have to wait a while before moving, but I have decided that move I shall - one day! Meanwhile I shall keep looking for the ideal home for me and my cats.

I'm very restless at the moment and getting despondent that this is going to be another year the same as the last three! Jobless and lost. With no obvious purpose to my life, just a few pleasant hobbies and a few new female acquaintances. It's as if I'm waiting for something to happen. Maybe this is yet another stage in the long road of grief... being lost, as well as alone. Wanting to move on and do something with my life, but despite trying different avenues, getting nowhere. So, I shall decorate the spare bedroom... at least I'll be doing something!

Restless in West Oxfordshire

I am thinking more and more about moving... finding a house that's every bit as good as the one I've got, but with a longer, more private garden. Somewhere detached without the continuous slamming of neighbours' doors; without the damage to my property by neighbours' teenage boys and their friends; the ability to park my car without manoeuvring around the parked cars of neighbours' friends and families' cars; and to be able to enjoy the privacy and tranquillity that comes with having one's own patch of land that is not overlooked. Am I asking too much? While I have a lovely home, I am not entirely happy here. What to do? It's a big decision and a costly one. The first step is to get my house valued and to look on the web to see what's available. The good part of all this is that I don't have to move.

Am I being Restless or Reckless?

Hiding and Lost, or maybe a senior moment?

My cat thinks she is safe and invisible under the bare branches of the Kilmarnock Willow... a place she often escaped to last summer. I think it's because she's getting on a bit in cat years, and has started to have senior moments.

I too, hide when I can't face anyone, or can't be bothered to put on a happy smiley face to neighbours who don't understand my low moments. I hide indoors, put on my favourite music, get some incense burning, make myself a cappuccino and lately, paint something arty. When the back seizes up from sitting down too long, I put on Shania Twain and dance around the living room, doing various back-strengthening exercises while my cat looks at me as if I am having a senior moment.

Three and a half years down the line, I find my sense of humour has returned, albeit slightly more off-beat than I remember. When in London with daughters and grandchildren last week, one of the little treasures got lost in the Natural History museum. Instead of going into a panic, I found it highly amusing that the one child who always sticks to his mum like glue and never takes chances or risks, ended up getting lost somewhere between the great blue whale and the tourist shop. Not the response of a loving grandparent I hear you mutter. I suppose I knew that sooner or later he would be taken to wherever they gather lost children and someone over the tanoid system would call for his mother. I couldn't help but giggle on and off on the bus ride home to Oxford. It may have been another senior moment, or the fact that someone getting temporarily lost is not half as bad as losing someone permanently.

Continuing a theme...

I sorted through lots of photos of my garden flowers, found some of poppies and painted a clutch of them for my latest offering. I still can't get my head around there being either very detailed watercolour artwork, or, as I've been told by both recent tutors, that not too much detail is to be used. Having googled 'watercolour art' several times, I am amazed at what comes back. They vary from fuzzy blended impressions to very fine detailed work depending on the style of the artist.

Knowing when to stop has always been a problem with me, whether it be gardening, shopping, talking, eating, sex or painting. Due to current finances, shopping and eating have been drastically reduced; gardening is out of bounds until the warmer weather; I have few people to talk to (hence the blog), so that just leaves sex and painting - one of which is totally off the menu.

For the forthcoming week I shall be caring for and entertaining various grandchildren and daughters leaving no time or energy for painting. I may not be blogging or painting for a while as I need to security protect my computer and hide all paints; batten down hatches, hide the cats and get the germalene and antiseptic wipes ready. Now I must think about what to do with them all that doesn't cost the earth.

A good screw

Well, I eventually managed to screw in the new door knob with the aid of a replacement screw... all were exchanged without a hitch at the big DIY superstore on the outskirts of Oxford. All my knobs are now matching and none are loose. I feel much better.

The last garden design session was yesterday and I proudly presented my Base Plan to the tutor and had to apologise for the muddy paw prints across the carefully drawn dimensions. It was a really good short course that has inspired me to look for another course that will take me further into the mysteries of garden design and horticulture.

It's so strange to me that I've discovered pleasures and talents that I didn't know I had, and which are so very different to previous career paths taken. I think it must be true that we often only achieve a fraction of what we can really do in life, and that we often fall into a career that is not wholly suited to us.

The worrying part about all this is that time is running out. Can I still achieve some pleasurable milestones before I die? I suppose finding a good screw for my wardrobe door knob was a mini-achievement!

Knobs and Screws

I know I'm not the world's best at doing DIY jobs around the house, but I think I'm better than some! I bought some lovely knobs for my wardrobe doors, which came with screws. Five screwed in well, one did not. Eventually the screw sheared off inside the door. I managed to remove it and the knob. Now I have to find the receipt and take it back... five miles' away! So I shall march up to the information desk and demand a knob with a decent screw!

As for Art class... the example here is a still life painted last night... not really as the tutor wanted it; he wanted lots of bright colour background and bigger and looser with no detail. Sorry mate, but I prefer my own style. Yes, I think I'm developing a style. All the other classmates thought my work really good, so I came away with a smile on my face for a change. However, I don't think I shall be Teacher's Pet.

Also some sad news... a phone message asking me to ring a distant cousin. Oh, oh... whenever that happens I know someone in the family has died. Yes, I was right. My cousin of 62 years died recently... quite quickly... cancer. That's all I know for the moment. Life is too f***ing short!

Cabin Fever

I have tramped to and fro the snow for the last few days, to buy my paper and essentials from the little Post Office a mile away. I have hundreds of great pics to remind me of the magical wonder of snowy landscapes once the thaw sets in.

However, while adjusting my gloves outside the now busy and bustling shop - (full of neighbours I never knew I had who were snow-bound, despite most of them owning 4x4's), a few children - (schools closed), were playing nearby. One little girl wore a pink fluffy hat, she had big blue eyes, pink cheeks and red rosebud lips. Her blond curls were poking under her hat as she ran after two other children. What an angel, thought I... how cherubic and angelic looking against the backdrop of thick snow... in one defining moment my illusion was shattered; "Cum 'ere you fat smelly cow..." her voice trailed off as she scrambled ungainly further down the road trying to catch the others. Ah well, for a split second I was lost in my little world of perfection. Then, as I turned the corner by a not-so-reputable public house, a gang of teenage boys were having a snow-ball fight. I tentatively walked around them, deliberately not looking any of them in the eye, when a boy of about 12 came up to me with a handful of icy snow and with a smile on his face said, "Shall I?" I adopted my authoritative teacher's voice and said quickly, "No!" Then smiled, and ran as fast as my booted legs would go. He hurled the snowball at me but missed.

The roads remain icy; no snowploughs around here, and so I remain incarcerated and have now had enough and want to escape... go to the Gym, go to Garden Design class (cancelled), go to Art class (cancelled), go to latin dance class (cancelled). I am rapidly developing Cabin Fever, and don't like it very much.