The Middle of the Night

Why is everything so much more concerning if one wakes up in the middle of the night?

I usually wake in the night these days but it's momentary and I'm back asleep before I have time to think about it.

A couple of nights ago I woke up at 1am (ish) having only been asleep a few hours. I went back to sleep but it wasn't 'good' sleep. I was awake again before 3am. This time I couldn't get back to sleep - I was properly awake. At least I felt fully awake.

"Why?" I wondered. In the past if I woke properly there was a discernible reason: usually I would have had rigors which indicated the onset of sepsis to which I am exceptionally prone because of my uretic stent. However it's several years since I had an 'attack' and, so far as I could tell, I felt fine.

But the mind plays silly-beggars at 3am. What if I wasn't okay? I have been known to wake up and been delirious. It's difficult on the phone to the emergency services when one is delirious. Fortunately the emergency services can see my phone number and therefore my  history on their screen. They even know the code for my front door. There is usually an ambulance here quickly. The magic word that scares medics (and me!!) is 'sepsis'. 

I've only had full blown sepsis once and I happened to be in hospital at the time.     I came around from my operation and by the afternoon I was delirious. About  three days later I came around. Of course I just thought I'd been asleep for an hour or two but I was puzzled as to why I had so may tubes all over the place . I felt washed out and woozy but I was fully conscious.

The nurse who happened to be taking readings when I woke said "Well, Graham, good to see you. You've been a bit of a worry." Apparently, according to the doctor, that was a masterful understatement. 

Had I gone to sleep in the middle of the night at home I might not have wakened up at all.  

Anyway after worrying for a short while I went back to sleep and, as you can tell from this post, I woke up again full of life.

Resolutions

I was reading Red's New Year's Day post on the subject of Resolutions. It  reminded me that I'd mentioned New Year resolutions somewhere in the last week or so. I just can't recall where.

Anyway, as usual, I didn't make any. I didn't take a decision not to make any. I just never got around to it. I never do.

Over this last week or so since Christmas I have been out very little. I took a conscious decision to stay in and get some of my 'old' life back: to blog and get back to letter-writing more again. 

I also want to go through the hundreds or thousands of possessions (many of which I probably haven't set eyes on for many years) which occupy every nook and cranny of my reasonably-sized three-bedroom bungalow and see what I can dispose of.  After all there is going to come a point when everything will go simply because of the reality that I shall not be on this mortal coil for ever. 

One of the things I started on was some of the art that I have in cupboards and the loft. I have quite a lot from originals to prints and photographs as well as pottery and other objets d'art. 

For example in storage I have some wonderful original oil portraits and landscapes and still lifes from the 1950s painted by a neighbour who was a retired fruit merchant who devoted the rest of his life to painting. One of them was hung in the RA for an exhibition.  I have some painted by my mother and by my brother CJ and drawings by my father. All those have sentimental value as well as being 'good'. Then I have prints of pictures I have simply because I enjoy them. 

On my walls I have many more works of art which I enjoy every day. I've just counted and there are 38 about 27 of which are originals: the others being prints or copies.

The problem is not so much what to get rid of as how to dispose of those one no longer wants.

The Sin of Pride

Pride is one of the Seven Deadly Sins.

It was drummed into us in our formative years at primary school by Miss Twomey. 

Although my family was Church of England, I went to the small private junior school that my Mother had gone to decades before when it was run by a Miss Smith who was of that faith. By the time I was a pupil the school was run by a Roman Catholic family and teachings were on the basis of that Faith.

Miss Twomey was the principal teacher. Miss Twomey was a witch. A pretty evil witch at that when it came to her dealings with children.

From the inception religious instruction was an important part of the curriculum. I'm sure that by the age of 6, I could recite all my prayers and several verses from various Collects and Epistle by heart. 

At the tender age of 6 or 7 Miss Twomey was lecturing us on the Seven Deadly Sins and in particular the sin of Pride.

So imagine my confusion when I was told to have pride in my work.

In all innocence I asked how I could have pride in my work if that would be a sin.

You can imagine the scene, I'm sure.  73 or 74 years later I'm still standing trembling with fear in front of her as she delivered the dressing down. Unusually she didn't actually hit me.

From that moment on I hated school. Having passed the 11-Plus with flying colours I went to Quarry Bank - a smallish prestigious Grammar School much sought after by parents for their children. I was two classes behind John Lennon.

Much to my parents' distress I'm sure (they were wonderful parents and supported my decision regardless of their disappointment) I left on the first day that I was legally able to leave. 

Happy New Year

I cannot recall when I last made a New Years's Resolution.  Indeed I think the last one I made was not to make any more. Checking my New Zealand blog (because I was in New Zealand for about nine New Years) seems to confirm my thoughts.

So far as I can recall the last New Year that I really celebrated with other people was in New Zealand too. 

When I came to the Island half a century ago this year 'First Footing' was very much the 'thing'. We had very small children and discouraged however well-meaning but drunken people from waking everyone up. I think in our township on Lewis it became almost a thing of the past after one of the neighbours wandered off into the moor in a disoriented and presumably drunken state and his body wasn't found for for years. 

So last night was a WhatsAppfest of good will messages before I made it to bed at 1am.

For those of you who read my blog I wish you a very happy, and above all healthy, year ahead.

I'm hoping to write and read and respond to a lot more blog posts this year. 

Well, that's the plan. 

But first I have to make a few resolutions.