Cards sent: check. Presents bought: check (well mostly. What I haven’t got will have to wait till the January sales). Wrapping paper: check. Hang up cards received: check. Tree bought: check, having trudged out on foot in the snow, because the car wouldn’t go up the icy hill, chopped down a tree in the forest and dragged it home (well all right, actually I bought it at the florist and detailed The Grouch to bring it home later in his van – but I did trudge through the snow). Christmas haircut and colour: check. Food: no. I’m trusting that the car will get up the hill tomorrow, but Tesco is going to be a nightmare. Tree decorated: no. That’s tonight’s task, provided the telly’s not too good, which is unlikely. Presents wrapped: no, we do that Christmas Eve. Ready with goodwill and Christmas spirit: possibly. I’ll let you know.
In spite of having slept very badly last night, and having my cleaner here bazooming about, I managed to write a reasonable draft of my sermon on ‘psalms of new orientation’ (for classification, see St Walter Brueggemann, member of the Holy Trinity of Walters: Wink, Brueggeman and Wangerin).
It does not, as suggested by a certain S. Tomkins, have three points all starting with P. Or three pints, as in ‘the usual evangelical three-pint sermon [sic]’. It does have two psalms and a George Herbert poem, which is enough to be going on with.
I have also managed today to do food shopping at Tesco (I am Supermum!), preceded by lunch in the café and a chat with Fortune who works there. He is someone we met when Genius Brat was in a residential NHS unit, and he was working at a café near there, and turned out like us to have a son with Asperger’s. And now he has turned up working in Costa at my local Tesco, which is an unexpected bonus of shopping there. I like my little Aspie parent chats with Fortune.
It’s funny how little things can brighten one’s day. Today on the way home from the therapist, I popped into Tesco for some DVD-RWs and to have a bite of lunch, and on my way out I bumped into (almost literally) the Extremely Beautiful Old Man whom I occasionally encounter in Tesco. He is definitely old, over 70 I’d say, but his face is relatively unlined and he is just gorgeous: tall, film star looks, with swept back white hair, a little white moustache and deep blue eyes with laugh lines round them. I didn’t have the courage to smile at him (The Grouch has nothing to worry about here), but our arms brushed as I passed him. It has made me smile ever since.
Nothing much to report other than ongoing Christmas preparations, and the fact that yesterday I wrote a sermon in an hour, and had an unexpected Indian head massage in the evening (owing to son not wanting to go to the Asperger’s youth club party in the evening, which meant I could go to the carers’ relaxation evening instead).
Today I saw the therapist again – I really am feeling some benefit from CBT, and am hoping she’ll let me have the extra six sessions after I’ve completed the initial ten (today was number eight). I don’t quite know how she’s done it, as she seems extremely vague and makes only the most hesitant suggestions, but I have begun to believe I have some control over my moods, and that a life with less ambitious goals could actually be better than a life in which I have such aspirations that I constantly set myself up for failure.
I then went to Tesco and did my good deed of the day by ‘looking after’ a lad with high functioning autism whom I know, and who had lost track of his mother. I don’t think he really needed all that much looking after but the staff were clearly worried by him sitting crosslegged on the floor and staring at the toothpastes for a long time. I was able to say I knew him, and to look out for his mother, and eventually they found each other again. It felt good to be somewhat instrumental in this little drama.
Tomorrow night I’ll be singing carols in aid of Christian Aid at a local tube station, and then going to meet a Shipmate I haven’t seen for years, who is over from the US for Christmas. I may spend the morning baking mince pies for the carol singers to have with their mulled wine (which I also need to make). Domestic goddesshood here I come.
Hm.. seems there’s been another long silence. Sorry about that.
Basically last week was full of Christmas card writing and Christmas shopping, with breaks for the last singing session of term (mulled wine and Winter Wonderland) and a Waving not Drowning meet (for those not in the know, Waving is the private Ship of Fools bulletin board I run, for folks with mental health probs). Seasonal bugs meant that three of the prospective attenders didn’t make it to the Wavingmeet, but four of us enjoyed pizza, conversation, and the lovely badges with our online avatars that one of the group had made for us.
I feel very smug having done all my Christmas cards but the ‘by hand’ ones to neighbours, and all my shopping bar the stocking fillers and food. And it’s not even the middle of December yet! Amazing what an impending deadline can do.
Reports of improvements in Tesco’s toilets are sadly premature. Having posted recently about the mended flush in one loo, I regretfully have to inform you that the other toilet is now hanging off the wall at a dangerous-looking angle. I’d hate to have been there when that happened.
In the all new steel and glass shiny extended store they are promising us by next autumn, will there be more than two ladies’ cubicles provided – and will they all be in working order? Will whole pigs fly off the bacon counter?
…than finding the last but one packet of age 12-13 underpants in Woolworths, just when you’ve discovered all the pants your son possesses are in the wash. Yes folks, that’s how to be a slummy mummy!
PS 1 down, 3 to go – I now have only three weeks left of ‘notice to work out’ with my therapist. I am sorely tempted just to pay and not turn up…
I got the black wig at the fancy dress shop for £6 – haven’t opened it yet so I don’t know how good it is but I wasn’t prepared to pay £17.50 for a superior one which would require one being a Goth more regularly to make it worth while.
Also got some lovely earrings and a scarf, neither of which are black, from the vintage clothes shop nearby. Before that I had a lovely lunch with one friend in a very comfortable pub with sofas, and afterwards I had an equally lovely tea at the London Mennonite Centre with the lady who had been my ‘auntie’ at college, detailed to look after me when I was a fresher 35 years ago, and whom I haven’t seen for 21 years. She has no right to look so young, but she said I did as well, so that’s OK. Note to self: find some other words to replace ‘lovely’…