Walking and Canoodling Couples

 

Mum used to walk for miles. I’m told that Alzheimer’s patients love walking which is part of the problem as they will head off knowing where they are going, forget on route and get lost.  Even before she got Alzheimer’s though mum loved walking. One of her favourite walks was round Strathclyde Park, a manmade lake and park just outside of our village – a good 90 minute walk.  She would try and get other people to go with her but if they wouldn’t she would just head off on her own. I would often worry about her especially as she got older as some of the paths could be very secluded and I could just see her getting attacked. However she was always fine.  Strathclyde Park was (and still is presumably) a haven for all sorts: there were the campers cycling or walking round the park; there were the sailing enthusiasts on their boats on the lake; there were the rowers, practicing on the water; there were the dog walkers, striding along with dogs everywhere; there were the families having picnics; there were the people feeding the birds usually surrounded by huge menacing looking swans. And there was a lot to look at:-  funfair with roller coaster and big wheel; waterskiers, rowing boats, sailing dinghies; swans, cygnets and ducks; football games at one side, a small beach in the middle, and the Water Sports Centre which boasted a rather good cafe overlooking the lake at the other side.

When she was sectioned in hospital I used to take her there just to get her out in the fresh air. Then she had been in hospital for a while without any exercise and really could not walk very far. That was the first indication that physically she was deteriorating. She would ask to sit down on one of the many seats, then resume the walk but we never made it the full way round. Suited me, because after having broken my leg and ankle not that long before, I wasn’t so much up to it either.  So we escaped to the cafe as often as not both for something to do and to escape the cold . And we would partake of the very typically Scottish fare: Tunnocks snowballs; plates of chips with lashings of salt vinegar and brown sauce, bridies and pies, bags of crisps, toasted sandwiches, steaming hot broth of one kind or another and endless cups of tea.

When she arrived in Sri Lanka, it was quickly obvious that I needed to get her out and about walking as she was slowing down and was incredibly wobbly – probably both as a result of 5 months in hospital with no exercise and also from generally getting older. Not the easiest of things to find in Sri Lanka – a place where you can safely and comfortably walk.  I thought it would be easy – lovely weather; long stretches of beach – what could possibly be difficult about it? However it was. Beach walks were attempted and quickly discarded. Sinking into the sand made her even wobblier. My ankle is also not that great on anything graded. Steps are fine. Slopes are not. So beach walks we don’t do.  

Galle, post tsunami, now has a long ‘promenade’ running along the sea front.  Ideal I thought. However with no shade, traffic belching smoke, menacing dogs and passed out people often strewn around to be walked over, not really. We did stick to it for a while in the early evening when it was cooler. Galle Fort you would think would be good. Again, tried it for a while. The walls make the roads cooler ; but there isn’t a view and the roads are cobbled. If you do manage to get mum onto the ramparts, a feat in itself, you quickly get sunstroke. Even with a huge umbrella, you sit looking out to sea wondering if it was all worth it. Another deterrent in Galle Fort are the rather large ladies who block your path insisting on trying to sell you lace tablecloths when they can clearly see that mum is about to fall over (if she stands for more than 10 seconds she keels over – not connected to Alzheimer’s; she has had this balance problem for a while.) Lace tablecloths I have never had any need for; and my mother certainly doesn’t need one now.   

So where is good? Here's the criteria:-

•  a flat walking surface that you can’t trip over
• some shade or times of the day that are cooler
• a view
• somewhere to sit quickly if need be - does not need to be an actual seat
• easy to drive to and easy to park at (ie no parallel parking)
• no people hassling you to buy things, visit temples, go on river cruises, visit craft shops, buy gems, and pledge money to various dubious charities (or any of the other million and one things that could potentially be on offer).

There are a few.  Down south there is a very picturesque and shaded walk just past the Fortress next to a children’s play park. It skirts the coast and there are stilt fishermen and regular fishermen with their boats. It’s also the place for the canoodling couples under their umbrellas.  Lots of motorbikes give them away. Nobody in sight until you see the umbrellas further in. Any time we turn up they have beaten us to it.  Luckily there are a lot of seats; they are stone and hot but we (like the couples) can live with that. The Fortress also has lovely grounds for walking and the staff greet us cheerfully as we do the rounds of the lawns and the corridors.

 In Colombo we also join the canoodling couples. Galle Face Green is the ideal place for walking. At one end is the Galle Face Hotel, colonial grandeur at its best; at the other is the Fort, the commercial centre of Sri Lanka. The Green has now been returfed, boasts lots of little stalls along the front, and looks out onto the Indian Ocean before it becomes the harbour. We go after I finish work when it’s cooler. A breeze invariably comes of the sea. Parking is easy though these days you have to pay for it. You can walk for as long as you want. And we don’t get hassled. Maybe the touts in Colombo can see how wobbly mum is. There are plenty of seats of different kinds. The seats that the couples prefer are tucked into the wall. The seats comprising a brick wall round the trees are road height. And there is always something happening there. Around 5pm groups of about 40 or so of the army or police doing their exercises on the green; they walk and run endlessly in circles; they do press ups and leg exercises.  Never very politically correct, “Those black men are at it again,” mum’ll say (to give her her due though they are all dressed identically in dark navy tracksuits).  We can watch the schoolkids running around; the kites flying high; the joggers belting along; the more sedate exercisers working out on the grass. Out to sea mum can count the number of her favourite tankers waiting to go into port.  It really is ideal. No lace tablecloths in sight! It’s a hive of activity but never so crowded that you don’t feel you have your own space.  So if you ever want to find me and mum on a late cool afternoon, look for the canoodling couples, and probably we will be somewhere nearby.   

 

Raspberry Jam and Water Lilies

 

 

Last weekend me and mum went plant shopping up the back of Galle.  While I was wandering around the grounds of the plant shop, mum was sitting in the sun responding happily to the owner’s queries and comments and enjoying watching his grandchildren running around the garden. I have no idea what she was saying but she seemed quite content. This started me thinking about plants and gardens and in long convoluted brain journey, I ended up pondering the caravan and camping holidays we used to have in Scotland when we were kids and we all picked raspberries for hours on end.  Was this an early Scottish version of child labour? I couldn’t figure out why we picked so many rasps as we couldn’t possible have eaten them all. It took a while but the brain eventually made the connection to raspberry jam. Mum was always making jam and marmalade. Jam jars would be collected all year and set aside in a cupboard. In the summer there would be fruit in huge quantities, sugar in similar quantities and lots of jam jars ready to be sealed with plastic covers and elastic bands.  The kids were allowed to seal them. Pots would boil away for hours.  The result: we always had an endless supply of home-made marmalade and raspberry jam.

As well as a keen raspberry jam maker, Mum was an avid gardener and wuld spend hours happily tending the garden. She always had a garden in the various houses we had. In her second to last one we had a large sloping garden which started as veg and flowers, then as she got older, it changed to grass which was easier to manage, until even that became too much for her and she moved from that house into her much smaller house in Elmwood Court (part of a sheltered housing complex) where the gardens were maintained by professional gardens, an extremely chatty elderly gent, well loved by the ladies in the complex,  and his two sons.

The Clyde Valley was a place we often visited over the years in Scotland. This was the site of  - way back - plant shops very similar to the one in Galle. Fruit and flowers were on sale by the river. It was a lovely shady drive, a twisty turny road following the path of the river as it flowed on its way to Glasgow and the sea. The shops were seasonal – at any one time full of daffodils or potatoes.  Much later when the area developed into lots of Home Centres I would take mum for a drive and lunch there. In her later years in Bothwell I liked to make sure she had an amaryllis which we bought there.  You could buy the bulb in October and it would flower at some point over the winter. She cared for it and even when the Alzheimers was taking over, she continued to tend the flower and loved to watch it grow and then flower. They were spectacular. 

These days the lilies in the pond have usurped the amaryllis.  We have two kinds, one a big bright purple plant and a few smaller lilac ones.  They are Nil Manel or blue water lilies and in February 1986 they were chosen as the National flower of Sri Lanka. When we arrive on Friday we check the state of the flowers in the pond. Are there any? What colour are they? Where are they in the pond? Are they open or closed? Are there any buds breaking the surface? Then later in the evening again she remarks that the flowers have gone. She doesn’t quite get that they close overnight and then open up again the next morning. In the morning at breakfast there is the same check of the state of the flowers in the pond (around the same time we check on the whereabouts of the monkeys). They are constantly changing and she seems to get as much joy from them as she used to get from the amaryllis.

Squiggly Wriggly Things

 

A friend of mine has just got a hamster for her daughter for her birthday. She’ll have a great time with it I am sure.  Growing up, we had a series of hamsters of different shapes and sizes staying with us from time to time. Mum was a primary teacher and her classes always had a pet hamster throughout the term but during the holidays they always ended up at our house. They were always in a cage with a wheel for exercise and toilet paper for a bed. Of course they would manage to escape when the cage was being cleaned or one of us kids opened it and wanted to hold the hamster. They got everywhere. Wriggly and slippery creatures, you could hold them for a while, but invariably they would escape round the back of your neck, down your back and away into the interior of the house. They were fast and you could lose them for days on end. They would often be found in various states of disrepair stuck behind heaters, behind fridges, in the back of cupboards, in completely different parts of the house (they can flatten themselves and get under very thin openings). They caused great anguish when they would disappear and a hunt would ensue for them. They sometimes turned up looking rather different (mum having gone and got another one to avoid upsetting us). A foray into larger pets was not very successful. We had a brown poodle puppy called Sandy one school summer holiday. Unfortunately when we all went back to school, the dog destroyed the kitchen, doors and walls included, and had to go. It went to a nice family where the mum didn’t work.

In Sri Lanka I’ve never seen a hamster though they may very well be here. Small squirrels on the other hand are here in abundance. Mum calls them squiggly wriggly things –“Look! There’s a wee squiggly wriggly thing…….oh and another squiggly wriggly thing!” They are palm squirrels (Iri Lena in Sinhala and Sinna Anil in Tamil) and have three very distinct stripes on their back. Their bushy tail, as big as their head and body, goes into a S shape when they sit and eat something held in their paws. They nest in the eaves of the house and can be seen dragging soft bark and dried grass and leaves along and up the roof often leaving a trail of debris in their wake.

They rule the garden. They race across the top of the gate which must be piping hot in the sun; they balance precariously across the telephone wire which connects my house to the one next door; they run up and down the tree to get to the bird table before the birds; they run along the inside of the branches of the ‘fir’ tree which must be tickly; they run around the roof beams; they chase each other round the garden (the dogs have learnt they haven’t a hope in hell of catching them); they are everywhere. I even found one down the back of my desk – I thought it was a rat at first and freaked out. It was a baby and must have climbed in the window and got kind of lost. Its mother eventually tracked it down and went off with it in tow.  Mum can sit for hours on the porch watching the squirrels racing around the garden. The squirrels cause hours of amusement.

The Fortress as well is crawling in them. Mum sits with her feet up on the sun lounger in the shade of the umbrella – the only person round the pool fully clothed – watching them intently. The squirrels' antics are accompanied by her running commentary. They race around the grounds chasing each other. Up and down the palm trees. Alongside the pool. In and out dining room tables. Leave food or drink around on a table and they’re up like a shot to investigate. They’ll also climb on your lounger (and you if you let them) if you have a plate on your lap. They can be a bit of a nuisance. And they make a racket. For the size of them they can certainly make their presence heard. 

They may not be hamsters and mum certainly doesn’t look after them in any way – except by surreptitiously dropping some of her lunch at the Fortress which has the desired result of bringing them nearer. But they cause the same constant distraction and amusement in their never ending and unpredictable antics as the primary class hamsters once did.  Thankfully there are no fridges and heaters to get stuck behind here!