Jenny Burrell

I’m not a natural athlete. I have done some form of exercise for as long as I can remember, not always because I want to, but because I am vain and like to feel fit and well!

Currently I do two circuit classes, take plenty of walks (weather permitting!) have a run and do a yoga class once a week. However, I don’t do any exercises early in the morning. I get up slowly, have a coffee, watch the news programme, have breakfast and catch up with any outstanding admin. This sounds indulgent but I have earned these lazy mornings! My 5:45 am alarm clock wake ups are a thing of the past! I can now pander to my natural body clock and gently ease myself into each day, relaxed and stress free!

So when I received an email from the circuit instructor offering a new class called Kettlercise I was up for the challenge until I heard that it was on Friday morning at 9:15 am! It could have been worse, the class could have started at 8:15 am but it was still early. I needed to have breakfast and allow it to settle. I also had to, as my husband calls it, paint and decorate (hair and makeup)! Anyway, it meant that I had to forgo my comfortable morning routine. Not good!

I could have turned this ‘opportunity’ down but a friend was also nagging me to join her. I felt too embarrassed to share my new found luxurious freedom so bit the bullet and went to the class last Friday.

I was handed a 4kg kettlebell and took my place in the fast filling village hall. I had begun to stiffen up from the previous evening’s circuit class, in addition to my natural early morning lethargic state. The loud blast of music wasn’t enough to trigger the usual anticipation I feel when starting my evening classes. The gentle warm up exercises felt anything but gentle. I began to dread the full onslaught of the pain and discomfort when told to lift the kettlebell and the class would begin in earnest!

Unfortunately I was in the second row from the front so a quick escape, unnoticed, would be impossible! I had no choice. I had to soldier on! And soldier on a I did! I have set myself certain standards over the years and had to maintain them! I was with a number of friends who attend the circuit classes so couldn’t let myself down. I had to work through the next 45 minutes as though I was a capable, fit and energetic woman and not the exhausted old lady I was feeling!

It was a long 45 minutes! I had to almost scrape myself off the floor when we stood up after the last exercise. I dropped my 45kg kettlebell (it had morphed as the class progressed) unceremoniously onto the mat and struggled through the cooling down session. The deep breaths were short pants and, for someone who never sweats, I had left my DNA on the mat and liberally sprinkled around the floor.

Saturday morning was a challenge just to get out of bed. Sunday morning I needed help, empathising with all the people who battle with their mobility, just to stand up every time I managed to sit down, choosing high chairs over comfortable sofas.

But Monday has dawned, albeit grey and damp and I am alive, mobile (thankfully because my carer has gone to work) and ready to confront the pile of ironing (yuck) in the kitchen. I’ll have my morning walk later, visit Mum and go to the circuit class this evening, a sucker for punishment! But I am grateful that, at my ripe old age of ….. I can lead this energetic life and hope to follow in the footsteps of a good friend, who, at 72, joins me in the classes and is an inspiration to us all! 👠

I’ve shared my feelings about caring for my mother with Alzheimer’s. I’ve explained the effects this devastating disease has had on both her and her family but yesterday I got a glimpse into the mental torture dementia can have on a spouse.

There was no carer available to accompany my Mum and I on our weekly visit to the tea room. This happens quite regularly so I have had to think of ways to make my visits fun and memorable while sitting in her room or in the main sitting area. I give her manicures, we page through her photograph albums, we dance to ABBA and I try to jog her memory with past experiences we both shared. These visits aren’t spontaneous as Mum has minimal memory, not even able to recall anything from her past, so conversation is stilted and I find it hard to keep her interest.

But yesterday afternoon I caught a glimpse of a husband’s torment as he sat watching his wife struggling through this living hell. I noticed a new resident on Wednesday morning when my friend and I gave the exercise class. A lady sat quietly in the corner of the room, her eyes blank, not paying any attention to her surroundings. I tried to get her to open and close her hands as my friend began her ‘warm up’. There was no response.

My Mum was standing up in the sitting room when I arrived, watching the television with the words to the tune ‘It’s a long way to Tipperary’ showing at the bottom of the screen. Mum loves dancing and music and fortunately this love has remained with her throughout this debilitating illness. I looked around the sitting room and spotted the new lady sitting next to an elderly gentlemen and a younger woman who sat opposite. The elderly gentleman was holding the hand of the new resident and staring at her, patting her hand gently in time to the beat of the music. He began to sing quietly, his eyes filled with tears as he looked at his wife, her eyes blank and unresponsive. He didn’t waver, patting her hand gently, and singing quietly.

I felt as if I was intruding on this family and their pain so tried to persuade my Mum to come with me to her room. I had bought her some sweets and used these as a bribe. She wouldn’t move until the song ended! My eyes were drawn once more to the family in the corner. I watched as the new resident slowly began to mouth the words to the song. Her husband was still patting her hand gently, his eyes fixed on her face. Gradually, staring ahead, eyes still blank, more words came tumbling out. It was then that I looked at her husband. Tears were pouring down his cheeks as he stopped gently patting her hand, instead squeezing it tightly with both of his.

The song finished and I took my Mum’s hand and steered her gently to her room. I couldn’t banish the picture of that poor man’s face and thanked God that my father wasn’t alive to see his wife in this awful predicament. It would have broken his heart. He idolised her. My mother had nursed him through his dementia and now she is having to battle through her own in a care home.

My guilt surreptitiously began to surface. I looked at Mum munching contentedly through a packet of smarties. Pulling myself together I found some music on my phone and we danced around her room. Mum has thankfully reached the stage where she has found some contentment, of which I am very grateful.

Driving home I couldn’t stop crying, this time for the poor man. They were also tears of gratitude that life had spared my father this torment. But Mum has her caring family for support and the care home are very good to her. We can’t change the situation we are in so just have to knuckle down and make the most of where we are and what we have! Life goes on and so must we! 👠

I was out walking this morning. The sun was shining and, although the halcyon days of summer are now a distant memory, still warm enough to wear a sweater and not a thick coat.

I was worrying about two health issues in our family. I rang my daughter, the ex biology teacher, and discussed both with her. By the time I was half way up the dreaded hill, panting and probably blue in the face, one of my worries had been dismissed. The other one’s prognosis was good so I got to the top of the hill, took a deep breath and looked around me.

It was then that I was struck by the beauty of my surroundings. My mother in law used to often say that the little lanes leading from the bottom of our garden were typical of an English countryside. If the wild flowers by the roadside, the rolling fields on my right, dotted with contented grazing cattle and the corn crop on the left were typical, then I agree.

It was then that I had an epiphany (maybe a bit dramatic but that is how it felt)! I spend so much of my life worrying that I have little time to be grateful and miss out on life’s simple pleasures.

So I have decided that I am going to be more positive and make a concerted effort to stop worrying! I know this is easier said than done but I’ll keep the memory of that view on top of the hill this morning fixed firmly in my mind.

I’m sitting outside in the garden. The bird feeder is covered with birds and I’ve just seen a nut hatch join the blue, long tailed and great tits attacking the suet balls and peanuts. A buzzard is making his presence heard above me. The occasional noisy flutter of a fat wood pigeon’s wings as it swoops down to eat the pickings dropped from the bird feeder is broken only by the annoying shriek of a gull overhead. But it is a lovely, peaceful picture of a late summer afternoon in my garden of Eden.

I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else or anyone else! This grateful feeling is good and I am going to work on enjoying life’s simple, wonderful pleasures. I have the time, so why not make the most of it! 👠

Yesterday we helped celebrate a birthday. Nothing unusual in that but it was a 100th birthday party and really special for a number of reasons.

As background, we moved to the United Kingdom from South Africa almost 28 years ago. None of us had mobile phones or email. Communication was a landline and an exchange of letters. My husband’s family were a huge help but lived in Yorkshire and we were in Cheshire. I had three cousins and an aunt on my father’s side of the family but none were local.

We had lived in Johannesburg, fast becoming the murder capital of the world. My husband is British and I was able to get a British passport. The children had South African passports but we resolved that issue later. Relocating to England was our escape!

I have never missed the security gates and double burglar bars on the windows. I was constantly looking over my shoulder, paranoid about our safety. We had a beautiful home with a swimming pool and a large garden. We had servants and both my husband and I had good jobs. My parents lived close by so were happy to babysit. We had it all?

Not until our children were helping a friend with administration work in the centre of Johannesburg and the ANC exploded a bomb in the next building. Fortunately the children were unharmed but it was very traumatic. Our neighbours and their friends were having dinner and forgot to lock the security gate. They were attacked and stabbed before being robbed of all their jewellery. We lived in a very good suburb but this violence was on our doorstep!

I digress! Leaving all our friends and family behind and having to start afresh was very difficult. Our neighbours were sociable but we had no history with them and I found this a hindrance. South Africans, probably because of the weather, were friendlier and more spontaneous. This was until we met the parents of our son’s first girlfriend. Both sets of parents taxied the children from one home to the other. We soon discovered that we had a lot in common and began to meet socially. The young relationship ended many years ago. No adult took sides and our friendship has grown over the years. It was the grandmother of my son’s first girlfriend who turned 100.

After 10 years we moved away from the Wirral but continued to meet up, often at a pub half way between the two homes. We have shared weddings and special occasions together. We have laughed and cried together. Not all occasions shared have been joyous, but that is when true friendship means so much. This birthday celebration yesterday was another milestone, a happy reunion and catching up with friends we haven’t seen for a number of years.

We paid tribute to a beautiful lady, still mentally astute but slightly frail. Her daughter, son-in-law, grandchildren and great grandchildren all celebrated with her. It was a glorious occasion and my husband and I felt honoured to be part of this close family gathering. 👠

Having lunch with your daughter is nothing unusual for all the mothers I know. But for me, who has worked most of my adult life and whose daughter lives hundreds of miles away, this is a very special occasion!

We had arranged to buy her and her husband’s birthday presents, have lunch and visit my mother. We managed two out of three, which, for my daughter with her frenetic lifestyle, is not bad!

Let me give you a taste of her last few days. She manages her husband’s surgery (he’s a Clinical Psychologist) and keeps horses, sheep, chickens, dogs and cats. On Monday night, a bank holiday in the UK, her puppy swallowed a sock! It was 10:30 pm. She rang all the out of office vets but none were available. Finally she contacted a vet in Thirsk which has a regular television programme and they agreed to treat the puppy. An hour later a long, stretched sock (the other dogs had been trying to prise it from the puppy) was produced and promptly discarded!

On Tuesday morning my daughter noticed her favourite ewe was having difficulty moving and breathing. I’ll spare the detail but maggots had attacked the poor animal and she was in obvious distress. She was loaded into the Land Rover and taken to the local vet. This unusually very hot and now wet summer has created its own problems and this is one of them.

Yesterday morning another ewe had fallen victim to maggots but could be treated in the field. This had caused the delay in my daughter’s departure, hence achieving two out of our three planned activities. The birthday gifts became cash to spend when time allowed!

We drove to Chester, one of our favourite cities and had our lunch. I introduced my daughter to a chai latte, we popped to the local supermarket to collect our parking ticket and made our way to my mother’s care home.

Mum was in the sitting room watching a dance video. She was loathe to leave, paying us minimal attention. The activities manager turned off the television (her suggestion) so we were able to take Mum to her room!

My daughter hadn’t seen her grandmother for a while. Mum recognised her face but couldn’t place her. This is normal as I am often introduced as her mother! But her behaviour changed. Mum became very animated and wanted to dance. Once more I played ABBA (its the only music I have on my phone!) and this is where she began to ‘show off ‘ by twisting and tap dancing, along with other steps and moves!

A short while later the care manager and her assistant joined us in Mum’s room, this time to meet my daughter. They have now met both my children, which is good because it helps to build a complete picture of her loving and caring family. My daughter shared some amusing memories of her time spent with her grandmother in South Africa. We left the care home still chuckling and feeling very positive. This visit, as with my son’s, was significantly better than I could ever have imagined!

I have two wonderful, caring children. I am very lucky. The down side is that I can’t see them as regularly as I would like. But that is life. It means that the times we do spend together are so special. Quality over quantity!

August had been a glorious month. We’ve finally had a summer, I am no longer cooped up in a stuffy hot office and I have seen both my children. A jolly good month indeed!👠

My friend and I went to see the latest ABBA movie last Friday. I had checked the times and we were at the cinema for the 12:30pm show. However, there wasn’t a 12:30pm show! The times had changed and the next show was at 2:50pm. Our disappointment was obvious and the management took pity on us. We were given two complimentary premium seat tickets for 2:50pm!

About 10 years ago I saw the live show of Mama Mia and danced in the isle with the rest of our crazy party. The current film was met with a milder reception but the tunes are very ‘catchy’ and there was some spectator participation.

When a friend turned 60, a few years ago, we arranged a surprise meal for her in a hotel in Devon, where they had recently relocated. There was a dance in the main dining room later that evening. This was a small private hotel and we must have been the youngest residents. We were met with a sing-a-along to post war golden oldies and a few pairs shuffling around the dance floor.

The six of us are very good friends even though the three girls are so different. One is an extreme extrovert, one on the other side of the spectrum and I’m ‘middle of the road’. We had just enjoyed a super meal accompanied by a few bottles of good wine. The extrovert, the birthday girl, like me, loves to dance. Unfortunately none of us are ballroom dancers so needed a change of music. The ‘DJ’ must have been instructed on the age demographic and had come prepared. However, he also had an ABBA cd and that was all we needed! To the strains of ‘Dancing Queen’ the extrovert and I found two empty bottles and hit the dance floor, which had suddenly emptied. The introvert looked on horrified as we prised the microphone off the ‘DJ’ and got her to join us. Three husbands looked on, bemused. At the end of the song we bowed and were amazed when some of the residents stood up and applauded! So, for the next half an hour, we ‘entertained’ the aged audience, finally leaving the dance floor, exhausted. Fortunately the next morning we still had access to our private dining room and, after breakfast, slipped out quietly never to return!

But, over the years, ABBA has brought a lot of pleasure to a lot of people. Residents at my mother’s care home love the songs we sometimes play at their weekly exercise classes. On Saturday I gave my mother a manicure and we danced to ‘Waterloo’ in her room, waving our arms around to dry her nail varnish!

So, even though I’m not a huge ABBA fan, I have admiration for them. Their music has stood the test of time and is enjoyed by many different age groups. This is quite a feat in this day and age! 👠

I’m struggling with having all this wonderful time and lack of deadlines. I’m finding it hard to estimate how long it takes to do certain basic tasks. This week has been a prime example of time mis-management.

So far I’ve had a hair appointment and two lunch dates. On all three occasions I’ve started the morning well, planned an hour’s housework leaving plenty of time to get ready to go out.

But, as with all good intentions, I always seem to spend longer than planned on a job around the house, answering an email or even just getting dressed and doing hair and makeup! I’m struggling to fathom out what happens to time. On Monday morning the clock showed 9:19 am. Within a split second the hands had moved to 9:55 am!

As I write this I’m beginning to feel embarrassed. I am a woman of a certain age, have had a very responsible job meeting all deadlines, never late for work and even surviving on 4 or 5 hours sleep. Yet I have got myself quite stressed this week rushing to my appointments in a panic because I don’t want to be late.

So this is my new challenge. As with all aspects of life, balance is important. My time management skills have become a victim of my new ‘Lady of Leisure’ status and I certainly don’t want to create heightened stress levels because I can’t meet enjoyable deadlines!

I’m having a busy week. I’m out for lunch again today and going to see the new Mama Mia movie with a friend tomorrow. I have a list of housework ‘chores’ that have yet to be completed. I don’t do any housework over weekends as they are my days of rest! Perhaps part of this new found problem could be linked to ‘housework avoidance syndrome’, if there is such a malady! Even adding to my daily Fitbit step count hasn’t resulted in job satisfaction!

I have decided to make a list of duties I have to complete every day. I have five days to clean the house but need to allow time for the garden and my extra-mural activities! I’m sure it won’t be long before I’ll find ways around juggling chores with gardening, walking, lunches, exercise classes etc. And if something has to take second place, well so be it! Fitbit is easily pleased, just as long as I put one foot in front of the other! 👠

When I worked I often had sleepless nights, but there was a reason for this. I can worry for Africa, Asia and often the rest of the world! So there were occasions when I lay awake agonising over an issue and no matter how hard I tried, couldn’t ‘switch off’. But I knew why I couldn’t sleep!

On Sunday night I went to bed, struggled through a crossword puzzle, read an article in a magazine (nothing contentious), all following my nightly routine. Aware that my husband had to get up early on Monday morning I turned off the light at the usual time and settled down for the night. Wide awake!

What I should have done was go downstairs, get a warm glass of milk and a handful of almonds (apparently almonds help you to sleep!) and watch something mindless on the television. Instead I decided to try one of the many suggestions I had heard over the years to aid sleep.

I counted sheep, a lot of sheep, eventually colour coding them and throwing in a few sheep dogs. They herded the sheep over lush green fields, getting 50 into each pen. That’s where the colour coding came in. I had white, white with black heads, brown sheep all being herded by hyper-active sheep dogs darting around frantically selecting their colour sheep and steering them into their allotted pens.

That didn’t work so I tried the next ‘sleeping aid’. Starting from my toes, I relaxed them and then squeezed them tightly, relaxed my feet, squeezed them tightly and moved up to my calves, knees and on to my thighs. Alas, that is where this exercise failed miserably. I got cramp in my left thigh. The pain was excruciating! I stumbled out of bed, trying to be quiet so as not to wake the worker! After limping up and down the hallway and massaging my thigh, the pain eased and I got back into bed. Wide awake!

The next thing I tried was taking a worry, imagine writing it down on a piece of paper and placing it under the bed. Easy. But I wasn’t worrying about anything much so had to really concentrate. It wasn’t long before I had found the first worry and then the flood gates opened. Some of my worries had been very well buried and long forgotten. I decided to get up before I did any more damage to body or mind.

The grandfather clock chimed three. In the dark I carefully counted the stairs, thirteen and made my way to the kitchen. I heated up a glass of milk, took a handful of almonds and settled in front of the television to watch ‘Little house on the Prairie’. It worked.

I survived on two hours sleep yesterday. I didn’t have to go to work and make decisions, ensure there were the correct number of noughts on a payment document or deal with staff issues. I took things easy, went for a long walk with a couple of friends and still managed 10,000 steps! I don’t know why I couldn’t sleep and I don’t care. What a difference being ‘a lady of leisure’ makes. 👠

Yesterday I met my ex-boss for coffee. Unlike a lot of people who resign, I have kept on good terms with my colleagues. My ex-boss soon became a friend as well as my manager but had only been with the company for three months when I handed in my notice, through no fault of his!

Throughout our lives there are people with whom we can immediately build a report and those who, no matter how hard we try, just can’t find any common ground. That’s life and we need to cut our losses and move on. This is what I did so I became a ‘Lady of Leisure’ a bit earlier than planned. I have never looked back.

Who would have thought that there would be two of the same coffee shops within a couple of miles of each other. And, who would have thought that I would be waiting in one and my ex-boss in the other! We had arranged to meet at 12:00 pm. At 12:05 pm I decided to send a text message to check that we were meeting in the correct place. Our text messages crossed and that was when the realisation dawned! For years I had driven past this particular coffee shop, unnoticed and much closer to the company. The obvious choice!

But I couldn’t just get into my car and join my ex-boss, who had a finite lunch break and I had all day! I had dropped my car off at the garage about a mile away and walked to the coffee shop. In high-heeled shoes and still aching feet, there was no way that I could get to the other coffee shop within a few minutes and without considerable pain and discomfort!

So, coffee ordered and ready to collect, we met at ‘my’ coffee shop! It felt like catching up with an old friend. The commonality, despite our short history, was our department and colleagues. There was so much positivity. My ex-boss had impressed me with his work ethic and honesty and this was still very prevalent. My ‘work family’ were in good hands and the last small shadow lingering over my former life had lifted.

I walked back to the garage happy and relaxed, hoping endorphins would soon kick in and numb my aching feet! They didn’t so the relief when climbing into my car was great!

Another week has flown by, busy and eventful. I’m off to do the grocery shopping and will slip in a bottle of Prosecco. It’s cloudy and cool with the forecast of rain. It’s Friday but I have more than the weekend to enjoy my garden. I have the rest of the summer …….👠

Yesterday I spoke about the flying visit my son made to Yorkshire. On Sunday night he drove to Cheshire so that he could see his other grandmother. He dreaded this visit and I put no pressure on him. He had not seen her for four years and that is a very long time in Alzheimer years!

My son was torn between remembering his feisty, intelligent, proud grandmother and the little old lady, so different, that she had become. But he wanted to understand what I do to support her and see her new home. A brave decision because he could just as easily have kept the memory of her healthy and well. His visit would have minimal impact on my mother but a huge impact on him.

However, the decision was made and we arrived at the care home in silence. I desperately wanted to tell him to change his mind and keep hold of his memories. I was also trying to find words that would prepare him for the effects this awful debilitating disease had inflicted on his grandmother. He did have some idea but, to protect my mother’s dignity, I spare my children a lot of the detail as it serves no useful purpose!

But, as with most mothers, the protective instinct is still very strong no matter the age of the child! My son, like my daughter, is significantly mentally and physically stronger than I give him credit for, as I was soon to discover.

My mother didn’t recognise her grandchild. She reached out, stroked his cheek and told him that he had a very nice face. I didn’t want to stand talking in the corridor so we went to her room. To try and make this a ‘home from home’ I had framed a number of my fathers prints (he was a well-known wild life artist in South Africa) and, together with family photographs, they adorned her walls. Her room is pretty, she looked physically fit and well and had just had her hair done, so her mental decline was not immediately evident. The care home manger and her assistant soon joined us and my son spoke to them both, yet kept reminding his grandmother of people and places they had met or visited in South Africa.

I was called out to move my car and when I returned the assistant manager was very excited. He told me that, albeit very briefly, my mother had looked across at my son, eyes alight with recognition and told him that she hadn’t seen him for a very long time.

We left the care home, my son happy that he had seen his grandmother and she hadn’t been as ‘bad’ as he had expected. He had met the manager and her assistant and had been very impressed with both of them. He liked the care home, thought it was significantly better than he had imagined and could now understand a little of what I have to deal with.

So, as with a lot of my fears, once more this one was ill-founded. My son coped admirably and my mother had a rare moment of sheer delight recognising her grandson.

My son flies home to his family in the States today. My friend and I will be back at the care home this morning giving the residents exercises to ‘Abba’ . Life goes on but enriched by my son’s visit and looking forward to seeing my daughter in a few week’s time.

None of these visits would be possible if I hadn’t ‘retired’. This brave new world is not without its challenges, but I am discovering a significant amount of benefits too! The choices are mine and I am embracing them more every day.👠