One Little Life

We had rats. Anyone who has poultry and a pond has rats. If you also have several mild winters, you then have a rat problem. Mr Rat Catcher came with traps and poison, but we still had a rat problem. So, we decided to get cats.

We found some cats that had been born in a stable, not feral as they had been well cared for, but they were used to living outside. We bought two, Milly and Molly, brought them home, and put them in the garage. For three days, I didn’t see them, and wondered if they had escaped! Then I took the dog into the garage with me, and two tiny kittens tentatively appeared. They had been raised on a farm with German Shepherd dogs, and they recognised Kia as a friend. Gradually they learned to like us too. When they were bigger, they moved to their home in the workshop.

Two cats wasn’t really enough to cure the rat problem, so we didn’t spey Milly and Molly. After about eighteen months, both were pregnant. Between them, they gave birth to four live kittens. Both cats are tabbies. Their kittens were a mixture of silver tabby, smoke and black. They had clearly never read any of the parenting books about how to care for kittens, and regularly sat on window sills where the kittens couldn’t reach them. I had to check them frequently and reunite mothers and kittens so they could feed. They weren’t really keen on any of them. Apart from the black one.

Milly had given birth to the black kitten, but they both wanted him. So they would hide him. I would go into the garage and all the kittens would be mewing in a heap, the mothers would be sitting somewhere high, and the black kitten would be missing. I found him at the back of shelves, in empty boxes and behind gardening equipment. When I put him with the litter, Molly would try to steal him, ignoring her own kitten.

Eventually the kittens were weaned. I decided we had too many cats, so gave one kitten to a friend, put two kittens with the mothers to live in the workshop, and kept one kitten inside, as a house cat. I chose the black kitten (I wanted him too!) We called him Mungo.

Now, everyone thinks their pet is special, (and people without pets think they are slightly mad.) So I won’t bore you with details of how Mungo would ‘beg’, reaching up with his front paws when he wanted to be picked up. Or how he would chase a plastic egg for many hours. Or how he loved the dog and would dive bomb her paws when she was sleeping. Or how he regularly killed the kitchen towel. Or slept in a very ‘uncatlike’ manner, on his back, with all four legs outstretched, often in the dog's bed. Or how he adopted Husband ("not a cat person") and ran to meet him when he arrived home from work and sat on him all evening. But he was special to us, and we loved him.

Initially, the plan was to keep him inside, for him to be a house cat. Then one day he escaped. I found him outside, playing with his siblings. He looked so happy, it seemed cruel to keep him locked inside. But the traffic in the farm lane worried me. So we decided that at night, when there were very few cars (about 4 per hour) he could go outside. During the day, when the roads were busier, he would stay inside.

We soon had a routine going. Every evening, Midge, his brother, would loiter around the cat flap, waiting. When we went to bed, we would let Mungo into the utility room, so he could use the cat flap. Every morning, around 6am, when we let the dog out, Mungo would run in. His siblings often were with him, it was like they were saying ‘Bye’ to him when he came inside. He would then eat, drink, and follow us around, asking to be picked up. Then he would nap for most of the day.

Until the last day. Until the day when he didn’t come in when we let Kia into the garden. The day when a man knocked on the door at 7am, to ask if I had a black cat.

I rushed outside. Some landscapers had found him, on their way to work. They had parked their vans in the lane and were carrying him in a sling made from an old towel. There were about nine of them, young men in their green uniforms. It was so kind of them to bother. Sometimes people are nice.

We could see Mungo had, at least, a broken leg, so we rushed him to the vet. As we drove, he took my thumb into his mouth, like a child holding my hand. Then either pain or fear became intense, and he bit down, both sides, straight through my thumb. It hurt.

He spent all day at the vets. Apparently, the most dangerous thing for a cat is shock, so they kept him warm and sedated, planning to operate the following day. He died that evening.

It was a bizarre day. I ate four doughnuts and drank lots of coffee. Completely missed lunchtime, it was suddenly mid-afternoon. I had walked the dog and cleaned out the birds and was wishing we had something other than Mr Bump plasters in the house for my sore thumb. Felt weird, sometimes fine, sometimes contemplating losing all the other people and animals I care about. Everyone dies. It’s always horrible. There isn’t a way to protect yourself, not without being hard.

I wondered where God was in all this. The thing is, we aren’t protected from the rubbish in life. God helps us get through it, but we aren’t ‘owed’ by God, whatever our relationship with him. He isn’t a genie in a lamp, we cannot pray and ‘make’ God change things. Life is horrid sometimes. It hurts. It’s tough. We can only try to survive and recover from the hurt. But I do believe he cares. When we hurt, God hurts too. It doesn’t have to be lonely even if it is always hard. I did pray, but in a sort of wordless, lifting the sadness sort of way - a young child raising their arms to a parent sort of way.

In time, I will thank God that I had Mungo, even though a year was too short, his life was too little. But do I have the right to say that? Sometimes, when we are hurting, we feel the loss more than we ever felt the joy. Mungo was a cat. In a few days, life will be back on kilter. I will carry the loss of my father's death for the rest of my life. However, I have no 'rights' here, I did not create any of the things that I have loved, I can feel pain, sadness, loss. But should I feel anger? Whilst it is a natural part of the grieving process, there comes a time when I should let that go. We have never been promised a pain free life, not here, not now.

If you have had a pet, I don’t need to explain the sorrow, the tears, the huge hole that he has left. My thumb was sore for days, but the pain was sort of helpful. It was something physical that recognised the pain I felt inside.

There is no happy ending here. Sometimes in real life there isn’t. I wish I had never let him outside at night. But then, I am glad that I did. He had such a happy little life. He climbed trees and played with his family and did everything that cats are designed to do. I know, eventually, I will think of him and smile. I will recognise that he gave us one year of lots of joy. But right now, I miss him. Thank you for reading.

     

    

    

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You can follow my blog at :

 anneethompson.com

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If you are interested, you can read why I think prayer doesn’t work at:

https://anneethompson.com/christian-tearfund-materials-and-poems/why-i-think-prayer-doesnt-work/

Saving Time...

Do you ever wish you could bottle time? Take a memory and seal it up, ready to get out and savour again whenever you needed to?

I remember wishing that I could, when the children were small. I would watch R concentrating on painting or cooking or a story, know that she was completely, one hundred percent happy, and I would wish I could store it up for her. To save those secure, carefree toddler days for when she was an anxious teenager or a stressed out adult or whatever. I have never asked her if she ever wished I could have, never asked if she needed one of those memory bursts. I just know that sometimes I would have liked one myself.

So sometimes I catch myself trying to absorb moments. I see something or experience something special and I want to bottle it, capture it for later. Trips abroad often provide those moments. Perhaps because I have time and space to notice them. Sri Lanka certainly provided a few - you might have detected a little enthusiasm when I described seeing the elephants in my last blog! But there were many others, some of them just lasted a second. Like smiling at a young child, sharing the international language of parenthood with a stranger. Or watching a pelican, clumsy and awkward as a clockwork toy.

I would even save some sad memories. Feeling the rain as I stood next to Dad's grave, surrounded by the family's shared grief. It was real. In a world so full of artificial, of pretence, real is important. There is life. There is death. There is God. There is a lot of weird and wonderful in between....

There was one moment in Sri Lanka, on the way to the airport. We slowed for traffic lights and the scene was so foreign, so alive. It told a thousand stories and I wanted to be able to paint it or photograph it, though neither would do it justice.

Try to imagine it for a minute. It only lasted a minute, sixty seconds. The traffic is slow and our car creeps forwards.There are people crossing: a man carrying coloured crates, someone with three sacks stacked on his shoulder. Women elegant in saris, boys sauntering in jeans, a man with no legs wheeling his chair up the road against the tide of traffic. There are beggars waiting for the red light so they can stand, silent, beseeching with empty eyes next to car windows. Small shops with tired workers, rubbish blown against the walls, bright signs with curly symbols I can't read. And the traffic - lots of buses, patterned paintwork, inside the seats had crocheted covers under protective plastic, bright, hot, uncomfortable, with arms and faces leaning out open windows. Aggressive drivers, loud horns, pushing through the traffic scattering pedestrians and tuktuks. And tuktuks, multicoloured, personalised with cushions, flowers, pictures, beads, whole shrines stuffed in the front. Some ferrying tourists, others carrying families. Can you see it? All that life. Impossible to capture, yet very real. It all mattered to someone.

Sometimes life whizzes on.

I hope you have some wonderful moments this week, something you wish you could bottle. Even if only for a minute. Try to notice if you do.

Take care,
Love, Anne

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Dentists and Foxes...

Letter to a Sister – Dentists and Foxes

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Hi Ruth,

Thanks for your letter. Yes, I DO remember that dentist, though I can’t remember his name. He raised his hand to me once, and the nurse had to tell him to calm down. I’m sure it’s why I hate going to the dentist too, even for check-ups. It is probably my only real phobia. Completely irrational because even when it hurts, it’s never anything major. As soon as I walk in, the smell of that disinfectant and the sound of the machines is enough to make me rush to the loo! So good luck, and try not to faint (though actually, that would make a good story for the blog….)

It is nice being at home after our travels. I love my home, I could easily become a recluse so I have to force myself to do things and to accept invitations. My children tell me I am nutty enough, refusing to leave the house would be one step too far. Husband has some work in Sri Lanka soon, so I might go there too.

It was lovely to see the animals again. The ducklings and chicks were much bigger, probably twice the size. The two boys who looked after them for me seem to have enjoyed having them, though they did tell me that the amount of poop they have started to produce made it less fun. I am putting them outside now (the birds, not the boys). They go into the chicken aviary during the day, and I bring them back into the garage every evening. When they have more feathers they can stay out all night. This is probably overly fussy of me, as in the wild there is no way they would fit under the mother, but I would feel guilty if we had a cold spell and they died. They are at the scruffy ‘teenager’ stage, with scraggy feathers beginning to show and big feet, though they look tiny in the big cage.

  

I’m trying to introduce them to the adult chickens. I’ve never done this before, as usually I get one of the hens to go broody and raise them as part of the existing flock. At the moment, I am shutting a couple of hens in with them during the day. Next week I’ll leave the whole flock shut in with them and watch to see what happens. It’s much easier if the flock will accept them because they will show the new chicks how to roost at night and they will all share the same space. If they start to attack them – which is horribly possible as chickens are generally vicious – then they will have to share the duck cage and the chickens will grow up thinking they are ducks – ducks that dislike water……do hope they don’t get a complex.

I lost one of my cockerels – the beautiful black and white one. He didn’t turn up at dusk, which is when they all arrive back at the big cage and I lock them in so they’re safe for the night. I’m not sure whether the two cockerels had a fight and he was injured, they have had a few stand-offs since we’ve been back. The house sitter leaves them in the cage all day, so when I returned and let them in to the garden, it was as if they had new territory to fight over. Either that or a fox did a sneaky raid. I found a pile of feathers next to the hedge.

Maybe as Kia has been away, the foxes have started including our garden in their territory. I have left Kia outside a lot since we got home. She keeps giving me dirty looks through the kitchen window, but I need her outside for a while, so the fox learns to keep away. This time of year is always bad for foxes – the young males go a bit silly looking for a mate and you see them at odd times (really they should only be out from dusk.) The worst is when the vixens start calling, it sounds like someone is being raped. Awful noise. I’m not keen on foxes around houses – I do wish people wouldn’t feed them, they are meant to be wild animals, wary of humans.

The person looking after Kia gave her a haircut. This was unexpected, though actually she looks quite smart and I guess it will be cooler for her now the summer is here (being optimistic weather wise.)

I’m cooking for the oldies for the next few weeks. Am trying a new recipe (a made up one – great potential for disaster). I’ll let you know how it goes.

Take care,
Love, Anne x

You can read my sister’s letter at :

http://ruthdalyauthor.blogspot.co.uk/2016/05/dentists-and-cemeteries-letters-to.html

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anneethompson.com

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Henry Wants to Fight

It was a beautiful summer’s day. Annie was in the aviary, feeding the chickens. They all crowded round her, pecking at the corn and kicking it around. They were very messy eaters! Annie sat on the clean hay and watched them. It was a very happy group.

Suddenly, she felt a sharp pain on her arm. “Ow!” she said and jumped up. Next to her was Henry, one of the cockerels. He had fluffed up his feathers, stretched out his neck, and was hopping from side to side. He wanted a fight. Annie stood up very quickly and went back to the house.

Every day after that, whenever Henry saw someone, he would try to peck them. It hurt. Annie had a big bruise on her arm. He tried to peck Annie. He tried to peck the boys. He tried to peck Husband. He tried to peck the girl. They were all very cross. When he tried to peck them, they would push him away with their boot. This made Henry worse. He would make himself very tall and dance from side to side.

Once, Husband went to kick him. Henry then did a flying jump, trying to claw Husband. On Henry’s legs were very sharp claws, like knives. If they had touched Husband, they would have cut him. Husband got the garden rake and used it to keep Henry away.

Henry was a problem. If anyone wanted to go into the garden, they had to take the rake with them. They could push Henry away with the rake, so he couldn’t hurt them.

Annie was worried. She asked her friends what she should do. Some friends said she should lock up Henry in a cage, then he couldn’t hurt anyone. Some friends said she should send Henry to a different garden to live. Some friends said she should give Henry a big kick. Some friends said she should eat him.

Annie didn’t like any of these ideas. She decided to look on the internet. She found someone else who had a problem with a cockerel who wanted to fight. She read lots of information. She learnt what to do.

The next time that Annie went into the garden, Henry came running over. He started to do his special fighting dance. Annie folded his wings into his sides and picked him up. She tucked him under her arm. Now Henry knew that Annie was bigger than him. Then, while Annie fed the chickens and changed their water and checked the ducks, she kept Henry tucked under her arm. Now Henry knew that Annie was bigger than him AND that she did not want to fight. When Annie put Henry back on the grass, he ran away.

For a few days, Annie picked up Henry whenever she went into the garden. Henry stopped trying to attack Annie. Annie told her family what she had learned. When Henry did his funny dance, he was saying, “Do you want to fight?” If they pushed him away, he thought they were saying, “Yes, I want a fight.”

Cockerels are bad fighters. They never stop the fight until someone has won. Sometimes this means they kill each other. The family had to teach Henry not to fight them. They had to show him that they were bigger but they did not want to fight.

Then Henry stopped trying to attack them. He went back to pecking the corn with the other chickens and walking around the garden with the cats and the dogs. Everyone was happy again.

When someone wants to hurt us, it is hard to not fight back, it is hard to forgive people. We need to ask God to help us know what to do.

 

Thank you for reading.

You can find more Animal Garden Stories at :

https://anneethompson.com/childrens-stories/animal-garden-stories/the-safe-place/

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Which is Your View of History?

A View of History…..

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Which is your view of history? It seems there are three main views (do let me know if you think there are more.)

The first idea is that time is like an old fashioned clock. It has been wound up, the pendulum is swinging and slowly, slowly, it is winding down. There was a beginning to life on earth and there will be an end. That is all there is to it. How individuals live and behave is pretty meaningless in terms of history. In millions of years from now, there will be no life on earth and no one to remember it. There will be nothing.

The next idea is that time is circular, more like a spiral. Everything that happens has happened in the past and will happen in the future. Events repeat – possibly after thousands of years, but basically the same things happen over and over again. Whilst this clearly doesn’t apply to specific inventions (the Romans had central heating but no internet!) in terms of humanity, empires rising and falling, people doing the same things over and over, history repeats.

I guess this idea is behind the philosopher who said,

“Every river flows into the sea, but the sea is not yet full. The waters return to where the rivers began, and starts all over again. Everything leads to weariness – a weariness too great for words. Our eyes can never see enough to be satisfied; our ears can never hear enough. What has happened before will happen again. What has been done before will be done again. There is nothing new in the whole world. ‘Look!’ they say, ‘here is something new!’ but no, it has all happened long before we were born. No one remembers what has happened in the past, and no one in days to come will remember what happens between now and then.”

The last idea is that history is more like an arrow that has been shot from a bow. It is going somewhere. We might not see the big picture, but there is a clear aim, there is somewhere that all this life on earth ultimately leads to.

So, which view is your view? I’m not sure if it’s possible to hold the third view if you have no belief in God or an afterlife. What do you think? I would be very interested to hear from anyone who does hold that view and who doesn’t believe in God. It is certainly the view held by religious people but if there is no God, I’m not sure where life could be leading. What do you think?

I thought about this a lot when I was a teenager. Actually, I was a very unhappy teenager – all those hormones whizzing round made for a very troubled person. I also could never summon enthusiasm for things that I felt had ‘no point’ (a common view amongst middle children I believe.)

This was something of a problem at school and I frequently skipped lessons and rarely troubled much about homework. It wasn’t helped by our family having very little money. Why learn French if the only foreign country you are likely to visit is Wales? I was also brought up to believe that the best thing for girls to be was a wife and a mother, so what use was chemistry going to be? (I do now, as an adult, think that being a wife and mother is an excellent thing to be. However, I also think that other careers are also excellent. I do sometimes wonder if I might have made a good journalist, going around the world and giving other people a voice. Some better qualifications would have been helpful. Too late now…)

I did actually, for a while, get very depressed. I was brought up in a religious family, but we were pretty much taught rules and knowledge. I really couldn’t see the point of life. If the point was to have fun, and I clearly wasn’t, then why bother? If there was a Heaven, why not just go there straight away?

No one ever told me (or at least, if they did, I never heard) that there was a plan and that I was part of it. I never heard anyone explain the last view with the addition that the God who had ‘shot the arrow,’ actually had a purpose for me, there was a point to being alive, right now, even if I didn’t always see it. I wish someone had told me that. That’s why I’m telling you.

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Thank you for reading.

You can follow my blog at anneethompson.com

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Letters to a Sister : 45 – Spring Cleaning

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Most of my life needs a spring clean. I have spent the last two years mainly recovering from brain surgery (which takes a lot longer than you might think) and then writing books. My house has the level of cleanliness that you would expect from someone who basically ‘does the basics’ but never has time to sweep the cobwebs off the ceiling or tackle the underneath of the beds. Actually, I have never liked housework. My boys are at uni but I still have piles of clothes they out-grew when they were ten. As for exercise – forget it!

So, I decided to do something about it. I cannot tackle the whole house – that would drive me to despair. But I can do one small thing every day. Yesterday I swept the cobwebs. Today I plan to wash all the shelves in the fridge. Tomorrow I will wipe finger marks off the light switches.

I have also tried to start exercising properly. Every morning I go on the exercise bike for twenty minutes, then do some floor exercises. My muscles now ache and my bum is sore. But I feel better for doing it. Today I dug out my big padded cycling shorts, the ones I wore years ago when cycling from London to Brighton. They saved my bum further discomfort. You can imagine how sexy they looked – even more lumps in strange places on my middle-aged body! Might not wear them if anyone else is in the house……

Another ‘exercise’ I have started is reading the above book, which a friend recommended. It’s excellent. It’s written by someone who understands middle eastern customs and life style and has put the teaching and life of Jesus into context. I love things like that.

I try to read a couple of pages every morning, with my coffee (illy) and breakfast biscuit (BelVita). They all set me up for the day. Today I read about the verse “Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they shall be satisfied.” The author points out that we need to eat and drink regularly, it’s not a one-off activity. I find this terrifically reassuring. Whilst my knowledge about God related things is pretty extensive (we were after all, steeped in it pretty much from birth and then I went on to teach Religion), my level of righteousness is not up there! The thought that this is okay, that constantly needing to search is what God expects, is wonderful.

He then goes on to define “righteousness” (it’s not a word that comes up over dinner very often, is it!) He says it’s not the “going to church, don’t drink alcohol, never swear” stuff, it’s the stuff Micah talks about in his book – loving justice, showing mercy, walking with God. That’s what I need to be seeking, as often as I eat and drink.

So, there you are, I am feeling positive. Am all ready for the week  the day  well, the next couple of hours.

Take care,
Love, Anne x

PS: The ducks are laying. There is one blue egg in the aviary, am hoping the rats don’t eat it.

PPS: A flock of sheep are now living in the field that joins our garden. Kia (GSD) spends all day monitoring how close they are to the fence!

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Thanks for reading.

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You can read my sister’s letters at : http://ruthdalyauthor.blogspot.co.uk

Tantrums and Animals

Wednesday evening, about six o’clock, I went to Waitrose. There was a mother there with a little boy, he was having an absolute loop-out. It brought back lots of memories. The little boy was about five or six and at some point had managed to become detached from his coat. He was now refusing, absolutely, to have anything to do with it. Mum was tired, busy and embarrassed that everyone could hear him scream and shout. It was cold outside, she needed him to put on the coat, he was refusing. It was loud and emotional. I felt so sorry for her, I have been in her place too many times.

You could see she was tired, at that, “I’m going to cry myself in a minute, I don’t know what to do” stage. The threats were escalating (no ice-cream ever again) and you could see she was itching to smack his legs but too worried to do it in public in case everyone disapproved. I wanted to say something to her. I wanted to tell her that she wasn’t the world’s worst mother, that all mothers have been there, that eventually he won’t have tantrums anymore and she will actually wish he was small again. But I didn’t. Partly because there was no pause in the boy’s screaming and her telling him to put on his coat, partly because she looked so emotionally fragile, so completely worn down, that I thought she might misunderstand or burst into tears.

The thing is, if I am honest, I still don’t know what you are meant to do in those situations. Children are completely unreasonable and if they refuse, absolutely, to do something, there is not much a mother can do. My children did eventually stop having those very public screaming rows, but I think I just got better at avoiding them, seeing what was likely to happen before we got to that stage, not getting into situations that would explode. I don’t think I ever learnt what to do when they did happen.

I do remember a particularly bad session with one child where I believe I asked husband to stop the car so I could leave him by the side of the road. I think he was refusing to wear a seatbelt or something. We were in California, on holiday. Son was screaming, daughter started to cry because I was going to abandon her brother, other son burst into tears because daughter was crying, our friends (who did not have children at the time) were terribly worried and wondered if they should intervene. It was not a wonderful time. But it passed. No one was abandoned by the road. Son now always wears seatbelt. (Friends now have children of their own and understand completely.) I don’t miss everything about those days.

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This Tuesday was a very productive day for me. I finished the first draft of Joanna. I am now, according to Stephen King in his book ‘On Writing’, supposed to forget about it for three months, then re-read it and make any changes and additions that seem appropriate after reading it with ‘fresh eyes’. I, of course, am not sure that I am patient enough for that and am just dying to send it out to agents.

I also did some awful animal jobs. Regular stuff, like feeding them and cleaning them out and collecting the eggs, just sort of happens every day without me really thinking about it. The other stuff, like worming them all and using the flea stuff, is a pain and I tend to put it off. But not Tuesday, Tuesday I got it all done.

I took old grouchy Louise to the vet for her vaccinations.

I weighed the outside cats (SO much fun on my kitchen scales, you can imagine) and bought them all worm tablets and flea stuff. Then I forced the pills into their mouths (which they hate.) Five cats were successfully wormed, Mandy refused to swallow and after an absolute age, when I was sure it would have dissolved, she spat it out. Annoying.

I then squirted them with the flea/worm combo stuff. They hate that too. It has to go on their skin, so it probably feels cold. After they were done they ran away and refused to come near me for the rest of the day.

The ducks are thinking about laying. They have started making round dips in the hay in the aviary.

The chickens are horrible. They all pick on one chicken and peck at it. It tends to change, they take turns on who is picked on, so they do get some respite but there is always one poor scraggy looking bird who lays smaller eggs because she’s unhappy.

Mostly, all the animals get on together well. Mungo (inside cat) seems to have taken over Kia’s (GSD) bed, though they do sometimes share.

The cockerels have had a few stand-offs this week – perhaps because it’s Spring. Kia manages to sort it out (she bounces on them!)  I’m hoping it doesn’t escalate or one will have to go.

The outside cats have allocated themselves beds. There is a heated igloo, which the two mothers have squashed flat and now sleep on together. There is another heated bed, big enough for three, where Mandy sleeps. Midge sleeps on top, where he can see everyone.

     

When everything is calm, I like my life. Hope your week has been good.

Take care,
Anne x

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Letters Between Sisters : Anxiety

How was your week? I am feeling hassled! It's mainly to do with not having enough time at the moment. I have started writing about Joanna (my psychopath) and I'm loving it. I spend all my time thinking about her, imagining what she is like and I am desperate to write her story. But real life keeps getting in the way. I notice dirt I ought to clean up, husband wants dinners, the animals need looking after, I still have all my commitments at church, I have friends to keep in touch with. It all feels like too much sometimes.

I know it's better than having an empty life - sometimes I've had those phases too, when I have too much time, life is lonely and boring - but right now it's too full. Then I wrote a whole chapter of my book and realised afterwards that it was wrong. I had my psychopath stalking victims on Facebook but actually she was active before 2004, so social media wouldn't have been available for her. Very annoying. I had to think back to those days when we didn't have computers and we actually read newspapers for our news and had absolutely no idea what aunty Flossy was up to.

I do find that I get stressed very easily now - do you? I have actually started having proper panic attacks over the tiniest thing. I thought for a while that it was due to my brain surgery, they cut through the bit that controls stress in the body, so I was blaming all my worries on that.

However, when I mentioned it to my hairdresser (no, do NOT laugh at me - hairdressers see more of real life than most other people, plus when you are stuck in a chair for ages, it's natural to chat, you get to know each other) she assured me that many women of my age start to feel nervous about things. I have been asking around and I am amazed at just how many people do get anxious about situations that they know are 'safe'. Things like having coffee with a friend or going somewhere that I go regularly, all now cause these anxiety feelings. Really, I would much rather just stay home with my animals and never go anywhere. But that would be odd. Even for us 'women of a funny age' I feel there should be limits.

It made me wonder though if it is just a natural part of aging. If worrying about things that never bothered us before is so that we do start to cut back, we become less adventurous at a time of life when perhaps we should be thinking twice before we bungee jump or trek through a rainforest.

At our church group this week we were asked to consider how we could build bridges with people, to be involved at a deeper level with people. I told them that actually I wanted to blow up a few bridges. I don't think it was quite the response they were hoping for.

It's true though isn't it, sometimes we can feel stretched too much, as if we have become like that stretchy man in The Incredibles. A bit too thin.

They have also changed the name of the church group. It is now called a 'Life Group'. Not sure what I think about that. It sounds like the religious equivalent of 'AA', some sort of support group. Or perhaps that's the idea, maybe it is a kind of support group, meeting friends to share how we're getting on with trying to live good lives. Not very well in some cases (but you're only allowed to say that about yourself.)

Take care,
Anne x

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My sister's letters can be found at : http://ruthdalyauthor.blogspot.co.uk

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A Letter to My Sister : Sons and Psychopaths

Thanks for your letter. You are very lucky that one of your boys cooks. I wish someone in my family did. I hate cooking dinners, really hate it. It is a pressure every day, trying to decide what to eat in the evening. Part of the problem is that although I hate cooking, I do like eating decent food. So ready-meals just don't do it for me. None of family really cooks though, unless it's Mother's Day or something.

Actually, that's not quite true. When I was in labour with Son 1, Husband did cook pizza for two year old daughter. I told him he just had to take it out the freezer and put it in the oven. Which he did. Literally. It wasn't until daughter complained there was "white stuff stuck to it" that we discovered the polystyrene base had also gone straight from oven to freezer. I think that's the last 'dinner' he has ever cooked. I blame his mother.

My sons also aren't great communicators when they're at uni. I send them emails and texts, letting them know what's happening, but they rarely reply. Every so often I send an, "Are you dead?" text. To which they usually reply, "Yes, murdered horribly while in pub." So I know they're basically alright.

You can then, imagine my concern a few weeks ago when I arrived home to find a message on the answer phone saying, "please call me," and a text saying the same and three missed calls on my mobile. Heart in mouth I dialed his mobile, hoping that he would pick up, wondering who I should call if he didn't. He did.

"Oh, Mum, where have you been?" he said, "I need to know how you make soup."

We discussed the whole idea of beginning messages with "it's not an emergency." Then I told him how to make soup.

You have to read my book when it's published. It is not optional for sisters. It won't scare you, you'll be fine. Actually, I have nearly finished the main part, the bit about the psychopath. Which I'm quite relieved about because she's not very nice.

I did lots of reading, read some papers by neuro scientists and got some of their books. I also watched some clips on YouTube, so I could try and imitate the speech patterns of how known psychopaths talk. It was all very interesting actually. The thing I found most disturbing was how likeable the psychopaths were. I think of myself as a good judge of character, but these people, who had sometimes murdered dozens of people, came over as very nice people. They were the sort of person you enjoy being with, the people who you invite round for dinner.

They were also very believable. Even though I knew, from my background reading, what the true situation was, when you heard someone telling you that they came from a "loving Christian family" you tended to believe them. It was all very interesting. Husband did get a bit fed up with it though. He would come home from work and I would begin a sentence, "Did you know...." and he would instantly say, "Is this about psychopaths?"

Your writers' group sounds fun. I would love to be able to talk lots about my book. I wouldn't want feedback though, that would be way too scary. You can be my writer's group when you come over. I can talk for many weeks about psychopaths - how long are you staying for?

I might even bake you a cake. I like making cakes, it's only dinners I find emotionally difficult. I will make it during Lent, then it will count towards one of those 'random acts of kindness' that we're all supposed to be doing every day. I have a feeling that might turn out to be even more stressful than having to cook a dinner every day.

Take care,
Love, Anne xx

PS. Bring your wellies. It hasn't stopped raining since you were here last time.

PPS. Happy Chinese New Year. It's the year of the Monkey!

This letter is a reply.
You can read my sister's letter at:
http://ruthdalyauthor.blogspot.co.uk/2016/02/cakes-migraines-and-cooking-letters-to.html

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