S0,…. Whatever happened to the Whitaker’s chapter 5.5
FINALLY we moved! Yes, despite Covid, we did manage to post the contents of Walesby Grange into the back of two lorries and then shoe-horn said items into a neat little cottage. Kind of. Still working on it though. Down-sizing… who invented that term? They should be shot! Yes, we HAVE gone into a smaller abode. But how do you decide what bits of STUFF are necessary and what are merely pointless but invested in some distant memory? So I put stuff out. Then retrieve and put said stuff in drawer. Wait a day or two and when nobody notices I slide the item into a box marked “Charity” and hope Charity isn’t affronted at my cast-offs. I’m a hoarder and don’t throw anything away that could possibly  turned into a useful set of drawers or lampshade.
My mother-in-law (MIL) Jean, is coping incredibly well. The boiler is circa 1970’s and goes off and on when it feels like it. So the MIL has borne cold showers and now wears a thermal vest to bed. I don’t believe she particularly wants to emulate life as it was when this place was built (1903) but she doesn’t have much choice until the boiler man turns up to bring us into the 21st century. Not such a big deal for us mere 60-somethings. But not great when you’re 91. But bless her she never complains.
Louie, our old dog of 12 years, decided he wasn’t coming with us and I had to take him to the vets 4 days before the move. Great timing on his part. The stress of the move would definitely have finished him off. As it was, the final goodbye nearly finished ME off. I have to admit I cried like a child. Snotty tears. Thank God for my very absorbent mask. We buried him at “home” – Walesby Grange. Along with all the other pets. Michael commented, “ You want me to dig a hole THERE? I may dig up a chicken!”. He didn’t as it happened. But one of the chickens decided to lay the first egg of the year….. did they think they were next?!
For those of you who may be less well-versed in the art of moving – No.1 This is definitely NOT an art form. I was upstairs hoovering as they shunted my baby grand out the front door in a push-you-pull-me fashion. Mr. M said: “Good job she’s upstairs hoovering…” I came down and clapped my hand to my mouth speechlessly in what I can only recall was a pantomime reaction of - “oh no it isn’t!”(Ever going to fit through that door). Then the boxes marked FRAGILE. Clunck-de-clunck-de-clunck. “That’s my china in there!” Says I. “Well if it’s broke it’s how you packed it!” says they. Good point. I can’t win.
No.2 – Imagine trying to shoe-horn a Sunday roast into a stuffed mushroom… not easy. But do-able once you throw away more stuff. And again I realise that we surround ourselves with bits and bobs that have an intrinsic importance, that have to be seen to mean anything at all. If we don’t open the box… then what? So, I’m opening boxes, putting things out, then putting things in drawers to then, hopefully, part with them because I don’t really need them. Pathetic really. But so human! Not that we are ever going to live in a tent with a cardboard box as a table. Just so you know!
Mr. M decided I should drop him off in Louth so he could do the Hubbord’s Hill trail. This I did, while I went on my travels to do various purchases in various shops and then drove home via Scotland… OK, so sense of direction is NOT my strength. I DID get back eventually.
Mr.M took 2 hours on the right track. I took almost as long on the wrong track but we met in the middle and no one died. So that was a good day. I have since found many different routes in and out of Louth while SAT NAV hasn’t sat-nav’d me at all. The signal is so bad round here that if you live in Walesby you should be cheering!
Thank you to everyone who sent cards and flowers. So very much appreciated. We are never far away and, once things get back to something like normal, we will come back and see you all.
All the very best,
Mr. M and A-M xx 
Ann-Marie Whitaker
Tel: 07468 453812
Email: annmariearty@yahoo.com