Contemplations on Father's Day

We drove to the edge of town, the distant lights twinkling in the clear night. We found a suitable place to stop from where we could view the sky. It was to be away from the lights that we came here, to view a far more distant and ancient light. The glowing head of a comet, so cold, so far away. It was warm in the car, protected from the chill of the night. There was also a closeness between father and son. A shared moment. I also felt a strange sadness. The comet, so alien and alone. A cold and distant object.

We drove to the little bay with a view of Southampton water. Father and son in another shared moment. This time it was father in the role of son. We saw the huge ship make her way majestically - appropriately so, because she was the Queen Mary II - towards the port. A distant object, silent from where we stood.

Motifs for cold, silent and distant objects abound. We must create warmth, break the silences and embrace closeness.

Mending Fences and Saying Goodbye

The rain has returned, such a contrast to recent days that felt more like late May, a warm prelude to summer. The magnolia tree is in full glorious bloom, the precious few short weeks that remind us why we keep it. Two weekends ago saw me mending fences with my neighbour, in a literal rather than metaphorical sense. It was one of those jobs that had been lurking around for a while, sometimes catching me unawares, the fence panels leaning against the wall seeming to taunt me. Followers of my other blog - "my other blog is just a little weekend run around, this is my posh one" - will know that DIY and I do not sit comfortably together. In fact, if it was about sitting comfortably rather than struggling with strange tools in strange positions, then it might be higher on my list of delights. For me, DIY stands for "Don't Involve Yourself". One of the challenges is that before you can do one thing you have to do something else. In this case, I had to paint the shed first. But before then to buy the paint. Before then to choose which product...and so forth (or backwards). And then there is the clearing away....anything involving me and products that have to be applied to a surface is like letting Jackson Pollock loose in a paint factory - it is by sheer good fortune that anything finds itself applied to the intended surface.

On a more serious note, the goodbye was for someone I knew but sadly never got to know better. Sunshine streamed through the stained glass windows to the sound of a bagpipe lament. There is no more to be said.

This is the week that saw me being awarded a certificate of appreciation for my 25 years in the NHS. Actually, it is close to 27 years continuously because I was employed by Lothian Health Board during my 2 years of clinical training in Edinburgh. The story starts long before then, in February 1972 when I started work as a nursing assistant on the princely salary of £669. I know everything was much cheaper then, but allowing for inflation that represents a salary of £7000 in today's money, almost half of the lowest starting salary in the NHS now.

The afternoon event involved sandwiches and cakes, a chance to reminisce, and a formal presentation.

It has been a week for cakes. Our new Foundation Trust came into being on Thursday and we had a share of the celebratory cake. And I celebrated 14 years with the specialist substance misuse service on the same day by bringing in a selection of cream cakes and pastries for my colleagues. I am all caked out - but have left room for hot cross buns today and a slice of Simnel cake on Sunday. Is this what it has come to? A life revolving around reminiscence and cake?! My first day with the team was appropriately spent in a pub - well, a hired room in the pub, without alcohol - as a team-building event. Only myself and one of the admin team survive from those heady days, but whether I will be celebrating 15 years there is a moot point given the major changes and uncertainties that lie ahead. We could certainly do with some more team-building, if only to have another day in the pub.

Even later in life and minus a clearly not really needed internal organ as of two weeks ago. Many other changes since my last post, including some home improvements - but still much more to do - and ongoing changes on the work front. We are approaching white water at present - a takeover on April 1st - how apt - and, since it will be Maundy Thursday, we will probably be crucified the following day. I feel safe in the middle of the raft but have concerns for my colleagues clinging to the sides with all their might. Apologies for the mixed metaphors. There is, on reflection, a tenuous link - in the words of Leonard Cohen, "Only drowning men can see him on his lonely wooden tower". [Possibly paraphrased from "Suzanne"].

At last spring colours begin to emerge from beneath the frost and recent snow, croci and the green shoots of daffodils.