Friday, December 6, 2013

New kitchen and downstairs loo but what about my briefcase?

I want one I tell Mr H

Want what?

a loo downstairs..and a new kitchen...

It has taken a long time to save enough shekels to pay for them, but now in the planning stage every morning is like Christmas when I imagine stepping into my loo downstairs instead of delaying the moment till I have to haul myself up my two railed, thirteen stairs...again! Sometimes my delay is too long, too tired to climb the mountain... then...oops!  Mr H has even found me in the utility having a virtual wee I am that excited!

The kitchen has become my excuse, apart from fatigue, not to cook. Well I do prepare meals but I regularly play the Ping tune. Too many red patches on my hands when I try to bend to pull food out of the low hot oven; too many pools of milk on the floor by the low fridge. I have so much blueberry rolling practice up my sleeve I think I will start an Olympic sport.

I will have to do the kitchen and utility sort out in dribs and drabs so it will be a longish term project. I even conned Mr H into clearing out the garage by telling him the kitchen fitter said we couldn't have one if it wasn't empty. Ha! One skip later and the job is done!

I found a plastic carrier bag with over three hundred cards and letters I received when I was first poorly. I re read the cards and letters with a chimney of tears running down my cheeks then decided they had to go, time to move on.

But when I pulled my briefcase out of the back of a cupboard it started a tug of war.  Keep it? Give it away? It was a treasured gift from work colleagues. I think I was given this prize possession when I moved to my job in Wales, but I am not totally, no doubt kinda sure.  My brain does that nowadays; creates black holes in my memory. The briefcase has worked hard. It held onto my university student card and carried my papers when I studied for my MSc, cared for work papers as I travelled to and from meetings and still wears it's leather shiny coat.

Trouble is I don't think I could carry it any longer. When I walk I need my stick and a free hand because my left foot smugly decides at a moments notice to glue himself to the floor (notice it's an awkward male!). Last week I launched forward and grabbed the arm of a lady in front who turned with a scathing stare to see me gathering my balance. I thanked her for unknowingly stopping my fall and she went on her way.

So the briefcase. You've got to let me know, should it stay or should it go (The Clash!)