Clearing the winter leaf blanket as the daffodils shoot up
We both chuckled when Alec came in yesterday morning, togged up for a spot of gardening. He has lost weight recently, so thought a little assistance would be useful in the holding up of his gardening trews. He had found a pair of brocaded braces in his cupboard, so, thinking them suitable for gardening duty, (very sartorial, is Alec!), had hitched up his pants and was ready for work.
But as he was finishing his coffee, prior to foraying out into the far reaches of the garden, he mentioned that he had noticed that the name 'Latham' was written on the inner side of said braces. How on earth had that got there?? Then their origin dawned on me; they had last been worn by my father, in his final days in a nursing home, an establishment that - of course - required all garments to be labelled.
My poor old Dad, who prided himself on his smartness of attire, who ended up in quick-change trousers, with no thought to their appearance. My Dad who so dearly loved his garden, until Alzheimer's struck; then interest in gardens and life slowly dwindled away. You realise these things looking back; in reality, he didn't 'lose' interest - interest was stolen from him by the ravages of that horrible disease. Now - 20 years later - the gardener's braces were in service again, put to work in another garden. It was a fitting usage for them.
And later, we raised a cup of memory to him, for the sake of Auld Lang Syne. I wonder if he's pruning the roses in Paradise?
Snowdrops up - crocuses waiting in the wings