It's been quite a week so far. Bert was in hospital on Monday having a 'day procedure'. He went there for 8am and got home around 9pm. Pearlie was her usual unsympathetic self. I told her he'd be resting (he had a general anaesthetic) and that I would be fixing her supper. She started to protest saying, "I want Bertie to make it!" I told her to wise up and she started to dry eye cry. Bert laughed and walked out of the room. Tears don't do it for him and I should know. Little wonder after half a century of witnessing his mother's crocodile tears. Pearlie got her supper, made by my own fair hands, and did not eat it. Her choice. She's an intelligent woman (if a little manipulative) and, if I say so myself, her requested supper was a delicious panada that Nigella Lawson would have been proud of.
But we were all out of sorts this week. Pearlie started her Tuesday with a big row with her carers about missing stockings and I started mine with a big row with Pearlie about the very same thing. OK - it's no huge thing that I've been doing her laundry for years now but, on the very odd occasion when something gets misplaced I do get to hear about it. You'd think I do it deliberately. The truth is she'd annoyed me the previous evening by showing Bert no compassion for his pain and discomfort and I was angry with her.
It's a rattling thing when someone you've known for years and who seems so dependable, so strong and so there, just leaves this world so suddenly. Stanley was an important part of the support system for Pearlie's sister and a good friend to very many people. He was a beloved father and grandfather. He was fit, fearless and fun-loving. He loved animals genuinely and without sentiment. His funeral was huge, even by Irish standards. We saw him every two weeks when he brought Lizzie over to visit Pearlie. He used to give us good advice about the cattle and pigs. We will miss him.
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