A change in routine

 

A change in routine

Jellicoe

We feed Herschel and Jellicoe in separate rooms, to prevent them stealing from each other. Herschel eats much faster than Jellicoe, and likes to investigate his brother’s bowl to see if there are any morsels left. He is adept at opening the sliding door between conservatory and kitchen, so we make sure it’s locked, otherwise Jellicoe is unceremoniously pushed aside.

Jellicoe also likes to check that there’s nothing left in Herschel’s bowl, and trots into the conservatory as soon as the door is opened. Recently, he has been abandoning his food in his desperation to sample Herschel’s food. They have the same food, in identical dishes, but Jellicoe behaves as though Herschel is receiving gourmet rations.

Yesterday, he would not eat his three o’clock meal and we began worrying that he was becoming ill or senile. He and Herschel are twelve years old and show no obvious signs of ageing, but we are aware that dementia can affect cats as much as any other *living being. We put Jellicoe’s food in the conservatory after Herschel had finished, hoping that would do the trick. Lo and behold, Jellicoe tucked in without further ado.

Jellicoe is known to the vets as ‘One Of A Kind.’ When he has to spend a day with them, they have noticed how attuned he is to food. When it approaches his usual feeding time, he sets up a loud yowling, to remind the feckless humans that the worms are biting, and he needs sustenance immediately. Should other animals in his vicinity receive their rations before him, his voice becomes ever more demanding.

At home, he just edges closer to me as the hour hand moves towards the feeding time.

I think cats do these things just to keep their humans on their toes.

Herschel

*It is not only mammals that develop dementia. Mrs Nesbitt had a pet gander called Jo, who was always very fastidious about preening. When he stopped looking after his feathers, and displayed other worrying behaviours, she took him to the vet, and the conclusion was that poor Jo had dementia. What a sad end for a splendid fellow.

 

 

Roomba

 

Roomba

Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons

We have a self-emptying electric floor vacuum. It is an iRobot Roomba. It has been set to follow a particular pattern in whichever room it’s put to work. I wouldn’t have bothered, as I quite like the random nature of things, but Inspector Gadget cannot resist programming everything in sight.

He’d programme me if he could.

I have mentioned before that we have a vast collection of remote controls. I long for the days of simple on/off switches on easy-to-understand devices.

The current Roomba (the first one was donated to Susannah and was called Veronica) is called Felicity. I don’t know why we gave the thing a name – it’s not our usual habit to name appliances – and we can never remember the correct name, anyway. It buzzes round, noisily, drawing attention to the fact that it’s doing a job that any human could do. Eventually, the bin is full, and the machine trawls off to its station to empty itself. This involves even more noise and a horrible smell, causing all around to waft their hands in front of their faces.

It does a decent job, thoroughly investigating every nook and cranny, spinning, and sweeping until it is satisfied that it has gathered every last mote of dust. The floors look spotless for all of five seconds, before one of the two or four-legged animals moves, and then the poor Roomba weeps on its charging station.

We have a standard vacuum cleaner, too – one that has to be operated by a human. It looks very smart, but has so many filters that it’s almost impossible to use. As soon as one filter is clogged, which happens ferociously fast in our household, it has to be gently teased into work again. This is done by cleaning it, usually with a handheld, battery-driven vacuum cleaner. DO NOT remove all the filters at the same time, as remembering which goes where is a fiendish test of memory and patience. Why would anyone be tempted to displace all filters, you ask? Well, simply looking does not always indicate which is the troublesome one.

In a nutshell, we have vacuum cleaners to clean our vacuum cleaners. Is it really necessary? All we’re really doing is shifting the dust from one place to another and it will all have to be done again tomorrow . . . or later today.

I keep saying we should employ a cleaner, much as I dislike having other people in the house, to which the stock response is, ‘We can do it ourselves,’ usually followed by, ‘I enjoy housework,’  and, ‘It’s good exercise.’

I think the pleasure and satisfaction of the job may be wearing off, though. Barry has had to do everything in recent weeks, and he has done it all remarkably well. I may just delay my return to certain tasks a little longer. Would that be cruel?

Back to the Roomba – is it a good thing? It certainly makes the house look spruce and it’s useful to have it working while another job can be undertaken. I think that for anyone living in a tidy house, with no pets, it would be wonderful. Having said that, it is nice, to paraphrase Genesis, to look upon one’s floors and find them good.

Living with Inspector Gadget rather skews my thinking on certain things, but, on balance, his instincts are correct. I have had to put my foot down on certain ideas, however. For example, I had no wish to have a mobile holiday home in a double-decker bus, even though he would have made a wonderful job of converting it, just as he did the builder’s van, in which we spent a few happy holidays. A hot air balloon was also a step too far. I didn’t fancy a garden railway, either.

 

Snail trail

Oh, me, oh, my, a wondrous sight,
The snail’s been busy through the night, 
 A perfect artist in slime.

A tracing of silver, lacy, light,
Not leaves, not flowers, not quite right,
The mollusc’s wasted his time.

Ignoring my initial reaction of distaste, I had to admire the tracery on the lampshade. Where the snail was going, no-one can tell, and where he is now, no-one knows. The plants in the conservatory are undamaged, which is quite surprising.

 

Stick or cane?

 

Stick or cane?

What I call a walking stick is more accurately referred to as a cane, as Red from Hiawatha House pointed out, backed up by Anvil Cloud and Mad Snapper N Beau. My impression is that North Americans are inclined to call them canes. Mostly, I use walking poles, just to confuse matters.

I found this explanation: ‘ . . . although the words "walking stick" and "walking cane" are often used to mean the same thing . . .  there can be distinctions between the two. A walking stick, especially one with a novelty handle, is designed more for use as a fashion accessory but may still provide some stability and balance whilst walking for shorter periods of times, while a walking cane is designed for regular everyday use as a mobility aid to support your full body weight and take the pressure off. ‘

I wanted to know the correct terminology for the anatomy of a walking aid. (See how neatly I avoided the problem of using the right label?)

There are four main parts to a walking cane: handle, collar, shaft and ferrule. The handle can take many forms. It may be a knob, which is not very comfortable for walking and is probably more for show, a carved head, an ergonomic design, or a crook, with many variations in between.

This one is a simple Derby handle on my decades-old folding walking stick.

Ergonomic handle (right hand)

The collar hides the joint between the handle and the shaft, strengthening the bond. Sometimes the collar is intricately decorated. 

                    Adjustable shaft on my carbon walking pole

The shaft is the length of the cane from handle to ferrule. It may be made from any strong, load-bearing material, from beechwood to carbon fibre and many materials besides. The length of the shaft is important: too short and the walker will stoop, too tall and the user may suffer neck and shoulder problems.

                                                    Rubber ferrule

On the end of the shaft is the ferrule, which may be rubber or metal, and adapted for different surfaces. A spiked ferrule is useful in rough terrain, but dangerous on polished floors. A rubber ferrule provides peace of mind and stability on a slippery surface. For further stability, a user may opt for a tripod or tetrapod stick.

                                 Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons

Sticks come in many guises, from the everyday aid to the ceremonial.

The shepherd’s crook was a useful tool as well as a defensive weapon. The curved hook was used to help in recovering animals from danger, catching them by the neck or leg. As a sturdy support, it aided the shepherd in his travels across sometimes rough ground, and provided him with a useful stave to fend off predators.

In the form of a bishop’s crozier, it has been used by high-ranking religious leaders to symbolise the leadership and pastoral care of their congregation or ‘flock.’ A crozier is traditionally much taller than a shepherd’s crook, perhaps to be more readily seen by the congregation.

Some countryside walkers opt for thumb sticks. These are made from woods like hazel and have a v-shaped section of wood or antler in which to slot the thumb.

Another form of stick is the shooting stick, which combines a folding seat with a walking stick. It is a useful for short-term seating at outdoor events, or to provide a swift perch when out walking and needing a rest.

An Irish walking stick is called a shillelagh. It is often made from blackthorn and is a traditional symbol of Irish heritage and a formidable weapon, though not principally used as such in modern times.

Modern sword sticks, a hollow walking stick concealing a sharp blade, are considered offensive weapons and it is illegal to carry them in public, although antique examples are exempt, which is odd, as even an old blade can be sharpened and used for nefarious means.

It is important that any walking or trekking stick is the appropriate height for the user. Many modern sticks are adjustable, but those in which the shaft is made from a single piece of wood must be tailored to the user.

Some sticks are foldable and a useful alternative for people who need to use a walking stick only occasionally.

 
Elbow crutches

Carved ivory handles from the Salar Jung Museum 

Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons

Tiny teapots

 

Tiny teapots

Miniatures have a peculiar appeal. Queen Mary’s Dolls’ House is the largest and most famous dolls’ house in the world. It is a delight to see it at Windsor Castle, but there’s always such a press of people that there’s little time to study and appreciate the intricate detail.

I enjoy seeing other people’s dolls’ houses and marvel at the fine and considered work that goes into them, though I have not the patience to embark on one for myself. Nonetheless, I do like small things. Two that I have recently acquired, mainly because I like the look of them, are two tea infusers.

Both feature tiny teapots. The first is blue and white and measures 4 x 3 cms. It is attached by a chain to a wire infuser of 4½ cms which holds a quantity of tea leaves and is good for the more robust mixtures of larger leaves.

The second one is also a teapot which measures 6cms from spout to handle and 3cms from teapot lid to base. It is the actual infuser and has a smaller capacity than the teapot-weighted infuser. It has a tray on which it can be rested after removal from the cup by its short chain.

 

 

Walking Stick Park

 Walking Stick Park

 Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons

Walking sticks have been made in Sigulda for more than two hundred years.

The park was created in 2007 in the area encompassing Sigulda Castle in Latvia to commemorate the history of walking stick manufacture. Within the castle complex is a workshop in which walking sticks are made. Visitors can see the whole process of creating a walking stick and can make their own as a souvenir of their visit.

 Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons

There is also a place called Walking Stick Woods in Chicago.

It’s all black and white

 

It’s all black and white

Image source

Like many people, I enjoy looking at toys and books for babies. There are so many choices, in such lovely colours. Therefore, it is surprising to realise afresh that newborn babies have limited colour perception and respond most actively to black and white images.

Babies’ eyes are poorly developed at birth. They can distinguish shapes, or the difference between light and dark. Their range of vision is limited to fifteen to thirty centimetres (six to twelve inches), which is just about the distance from their parent’s faces.

Black and white images present strong contrasts and stimulate the eye muscles to develop. By the age of four months, babies can begin to discern assorted colours and can be exposed to and start to enjoy the riotous shades available in most playthings that manufacturers produce.

 

Image source