Personal life
The 9th March began unremarkably. I woke up earlier than usual with my usual morning in-bed routine. I opened the blinds via an app (the ultimate in opulence) and spent my 45 minutes of phone time for the day whilst the sun rose.
It's the only time of the day when I sit solidly on my phone, and I have a pretty solid routine nailed down. I find I spend a lot less time overall on my phone getting it all out of the way at the start of the day and leaves me feeling more productive overall.
First off, CardioBot and Apple Health apps. Checking my overnight heart rate and strain. Since starting beta blockers, I keep a really close eye on this. I'm also currently using Lingo, which tracks my blood glucose levels, so I check it too.
Next, a quick scan through the BBC news app. I haven't yet found a news source that I totally like. I stick with the Beeb, but their questionable choices in some clickbait-style titles and their decision to cover 'news' of things like an EastEnders special really hurt their credibility. Often, the New York Times covers UK news better than the UK news sources I've found – and it's a lot less biased and witch-hunty.
Then rolls in the games, in this order: Wordle, Connections, 5 levels of Crossword Jam, ending with all the NYT levels of Sudoku.
Finally, 10 minutes of Duolingo, currently learning Spanish.
Life has been slow. I've been slow to write, despite starting this blog for exactly this purpose. Healing bones is draining. And once you factor in day-to-day life and work, the energy left over is minimal. But Spring is here, the magnolia tree in the garden is in bloom, next to it the camellia tree is bursting to life with big, ballsy red blooms. As if the two are in some sort of competition.
My office is a mess. A new standing desk lies on the floor in pieces. I'm putting it together the best I can, but with only one good arm to lift, progress is slow. I've plans, lots of plans, but traction is slow, and that frustrates me.
Scanning day today. I have a dozen sets of negatives from our Tenerife trip to try to get through, and already I've accepted that realistically, these won't get done. Not because I can't scan them, logistically, my elbow is still healing, and there's not that much more I can physically do at the moment. My mind and my body are not in sync. My body says, 'I hurt, rest. My mind says, 'I want to go out exploring the forest and take photos'. My mind responds, 'You still can't lift your camera.
I'm in a bit of a fug.
But looking out from my bedroom window, I can see the magnolia tree has started to bloom, a glimpse of pink. Next to it, the camellia tree is flashing its first few red blooms. I walk to the local Waitrose, and the trees are starting to blossom; the daffodils are cheerily waving me as I pass by.
Spring is coming and I'm content in the knowledge that my elbow is healing and I will be able to enjoy these things a lot more in the coming weeks. Hang in there Spratty.
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The geriatric greyhound
Thoughts on getting older.
Flynn has been with us for eight years. A rescue greyhound from Dogs Trust, he wasn't the dog we wanted.
We had our hearts set on a much smaller whippet, but when we arrived at Dogs Trust Salisbury there were no whippets. We walked past the perspex windows, looking in at the dogs needing rehoming; the first space housed a particularly stocky dog surrounded by the remnants of what one could only assume was a duvet in a previous life. The next space we were greeted by a duo of small dogs who had clearly 'found their voices'. In the third space led Flynn, a 5 year old black greyhound, gangly legged and fast asleep with a face that read as do not disturb. I remember hard relating to this dogs mood.
We decided to take him for a walk round the grounds. He didn't pull the lead, he just plodded along at whatever pace we set. We umm-ed and ahh-ed, we didn't anticipate such a large dog, we also weren't sure about his age, at five years old it made him likely to pass away during our children's GCSE exam year. It seemed ludicrous trying to calculate the timing of the end of life of dog that was so young and yet it was a very real, very practical consideration.
It was too late, we had already fallen in love, he was part of our family.
An ex-racing greyhound, he's always had to walk on lead. his chase instinct to kill any small that runs fast was inbred and trained in. During his first few years he maimed a few hedgehogs and killed a cat that wandered into our garden. But generally he was a placid dog, spending all day on 'his sofa', enjoying a short walk and the occasional zoomie round the garden, running in circles at speed for 60 seconds, before lying out in the sunshine and falling sound asleep again. He's never barked. Ever.
The past few years though he's slowed down. He's grown a lot more grey hair (relatable) and he's had nearly all his teeth removed due to dental issues. This means his tongue often rolls out of his mouth.
He's 14 this year. He can no longer manage walks round the block, just halfway up the lane and back. He often topples over when he poops and his back legs intermittently give way. It takes him longer to get up from his bed (again, relatable). He's developed bed sores from lying down so much of the time, in turn his beds have become much deeper and higher, half-dog bed-half-sofa. Relegated at night to the conservatory, stair-gated, as he can no longer manage more than a few hours without needing to toilet. Mornings now start cleaning up his messes.
He seems happy enough but it's really hard to tell with this greyhound. He's too stoic to let you know if he's in pain, and he's so slow and shaky. His coat is starting to look scraggy, he's losing weight, much more bag of bones that usual. Yet he's healthy enough – no medication needed, he's just pottering on.
But we're all sensing that may not last much longer, and it's very sad.
'The first 75 years of January are always the hardest' was the last of many memes sent between our small friendship group. But just why does January always seem to feel like it lasts so long – and why does it feel like it's getting longer?
Circadian rhythms? Post-stimulation comedown? Your body's natural response to the season and shorter hours or day light? Getting back into a routine post-Christmas break?
All those things, but amplified enormously by social media. In my case, Instagram.
It's true, the comedown from December's Christmas stimulation can leave you a little flat after. But let's rewind a little. Let's think back to later October and early November. The Christmas noise began way earlier, whether you were paying close attention and actively getting involved or just scrolling past it, eye rolling, it was all going into your subconscious.
Targeted ads for gifts, content creators sharing festive hacks and recipes, disgruntled shoppers posting about how festive gift wrap and tubs of Celebrations were on sale way too cheap and too early (and how small those tubs have gotten). And let's face it, we all silently judged someone who put their Christmas tree up in November and felt compelled to share it with the world.
Then December actually begins. And it's not too bad – until you get to the last week, the post-Boxing Day wilderness, when you're left disoriented, what day of the week is it?
January has some of the shortest days of the year, more darkness can lead to a lower mood and, in turn, your body naturally tries to conserve energy, to take things down a notch. And yet at the start of January, there's a pressure to set yourself goals, resolutions. Even if you choose not to do this, when are on social media, the chances are you end up absorbing other people's ambitions and, in turn, often find yourself feeling like you need to publicly state that you don't feel like it's necessary - all that takes mind space and energy.
By mid January, you get back in your groove, it feels good to get the Christmas excess behind you and get back to normality. Then come the January-is-too-long memes. You 'like' one in passing, then the algorithm picks up on it, and before long, you are seeing more, you share one with a friend, and before you know it, you are being bombarded with dozens of images a day, scrolling into your subconscious, reinforcing the idea that January is dragging on and on. And then suddenly it really does feel like it's dragging. You take that feeling, you share it with friends, family, and mention it in-passing to coworkers, spreading the message. And so it goes on.
Until February, and then one week in your telling everyone how fast the month is going 🤦🏻♀️
