Skip to main content

A High and Eyes



Well, I did it! When I finally sent my revised manuscript on its way on Monday, it was with some relief and a certain amount of satisfaction. It’s been a challenging year. This time, last year, Ma was lying in the grimmest of hospital wards waiting for an operation. Her progress might have better if that same arm hadn’t been injured again in August when she was struck by a dustcart riding the pavement. Then, you may remember, at the beginning of November she broke her big toe. Ma’s fine, as feisty as ever, but I do hope for her sake that she’s a lot less accident-prone next year.

Moving and then renovating the entire house has been a massive upheaval too, but we’re nearly there. In fact, if B&Q would only send us the hinges that failed to arrive with our loo seat, we’d almost be sitting comfortably.

On the bright side, we’re very happy in our new home; waking up and seeing the sea beyond the bedroom window takes some beating, believe me. And there’s been plenty of good news from our children too.

What’s made this year especially tough though, is that I haven’t been able to burn off all the negative emotion with a good run. In March, just after we moved in, I woke up to a strange-shaped floater, like a folded elastic band, in my left eye, and some disturbing flashing lights. I’m very short-sighted, with a big chunky prescription that makes even hardened consultants suck in their breath (usually with a pleased expression, I have to add, and comments such as, ‘my word, you are myopic, aren’t you?’) so my immediate fear was that my retina had come to grief.

Fortunately, it’s a far less serious problem, a posterior vitreous detachment, a normal part of ageing although in my case probably caused by my prescription and lifting too much during the move. It’ll be fine so long as I avoid high-impact exercise until it’s completely settled down. What’s especially frustrating is that it really seems to be taking its time, but I have to be patient.
Running or seeing – I don’t think there’s a contest, is there?

The photo was taken from my bedroom window today. And can I just say, I hate new Blogger, I just don't have time to fiddle with wretched formatting!

Comments

Frances said…
Chris, you have indeed had quite a full year. Like you, I wonder how different 2012 might turn out to be.

I so agree about vision's importance, and think it is my favorite of all the senses. Thank you for sharing a sampling of that marvelous view from your window. Wow!

Congratulations on sending that manuscript off to your publisher.

Hoping that those hinges will arrive very soon.

Let the festive season begin! xo
Pondside said…
What a year you've had! To have another book come out of all of that is an enormous accomplishment!
Remember where you're staying on that North American book tour......
Milla said…
hi Chris, well done on getting the MS in, fantastic. Look forward to reading it idc! Your poor eye, God! My father is blind in one eye and has his sight damaged in the other (and is an artist, having been a photographer). Said to help you keep the faith! Doing up a house (as well as the emotional strain of worry over your ma) is exhausting. Next year can only be better!
Flowerpot said…
You have had a year haven't you Chris - I remember that awful time you had with your Ma last year. Blimey. Do hope the eye settles down very soon adn you can get running again. And well done on sending off your ms!
Lins' lleisio said…
The view is indeed fantastic. Your sight - no competition. Hopefully now you can have a restful Christmas break and look forward to an injury free 2012.
Maggie Christie said…
I take my hat off to you. How did you manage to write a book in the face of all that? I know how vital running is to the state of mind and creative process too. I hope your eye is soon fully better and that 2012 is a good year for you - oh and that you are soon sitting comfortably!
I can't wait to read your book!

So relieved your Ma is okay after all she's been through this past year. Hopefully your eye will settle down soon and you'll be able to start running again. x
Jenny Beattie said…
I'm glad that your Mum has recovered well to all those accidents. She sounds a feisty woman to bounce back so well.

I'm frankly astonished that you've managed to write AT ALL during a year like that. I must give myself a kick up the back side...

Oh dear; the eyes. I recognise the consultants' tone of relish though. My astigmatisms have gone way beyond the normal range and no, I don't find that nearly as interesting as they do! I hope yours recover quickly.
Fennie said…
Well done, Chris, for getting the manuscript in. So sorry to hear about the eyes - and your Mum, too. At least she came to no great'arm. But better not let her sit on the loo or you might have another disaster - quite fundamental too.

Wonderful view of the sea (can I make out the tide turning?) - must inspire your writing. Hope you are back to running soon and burning off the emotions. What's the new book called? 'All Quiet on the Maternal Front'perhaps.
As so often when I read your blogs I feel that odd connection. Our year has been a hard one too, some of the same sort of things, some different. Good for you to have done your manuscript anyway. That takes some determination.
And you are entirely right: sight or running is not even a question. It will be worth it in the end.
Here's to a less stormy 2012 for you and yours and me and mine!
Talli Roland said…
What a year! Well done for sending in your revised MS, and what a wonderful view you have to look out on...
Unknown said…
Well done on sending that revised manuscript on its way.

What a year you've had. Glad your mother's recovered well and I hope your eye soon settles down.

Fabulous view!
Anonymous said…
That's a beautiful photograph. Yes, I agree, no contest - eyes and running.

Take care,
CJ x
Liane Spicer said…
What. A. View.

Glad your mom's doing well and really, there's no toss-up between running and seeing. The eyes have it! *groan*

Congrats on completing that book!
Chris Stovell said…
Thank you for your kind wishes, Frances.

Pondside, it felt like climbing a very big mountain! I'm pleased to have made it.

Sorry to hear that your father's afflicted with sight problems, Milla. Always such a worry and frustration. And thanks for your good wishes... I hope it's easier next year too.

Flowerpot, you haven't exactly had it easy, have you. Sending you my best wishes for next year.

Lins, another kind reader who's had tough time of it, your kind words are much appreciated.

Mags, they sent the wrong hinges. Sigh. I'm trying some power walking, but it's not the same as good blast of a run.
Chris Stovell said…
Debs, thanks for you good wishes. Here's wishing you the writing news you deserve in 2012.

And Jenny - you've been backwards and forwards not to mention washed away, so it's a wonder you've hung on in there. Commiserations on the eye consultant front. Not much fun being on the receiving end of that relish!

Oh don't Fennie - it is quiet on the maternal front... at the moment! Yes, now that work on renovations has settled down a bit, I've had some time to look around and feel glad to have landed in such a lovely location.

Elizabethm, I couldn't agree more! Let's both hope for less interesting times in 2012. Or more agreeable interesting times, anyway!
Chris Stovell said…
Thank you, Talli. All good wishes to you and yours in 2012. I hope you get some much-needed rest over Christmas and the New Year.

Shirley, thank you for your kind thoughts.

Thank you, Crystal!

Thanks, Liane. Here's to a great writing year for both of us in 2012.

Popular posts from this blog

Happy Endings, New Beginnings

Blended families come with conflicting loyalties and at Christmas time nearly everyone has somewhere else they feel they ought to be. Throw partners into the equation and it gets even more complicated. Since Tom and I aren’t especially hung up about Christmas we’re happy to let our children go with the strongest flow, but I have to say it was a great delight to have the girls and their partners staying with us this year. When such moments are few and far between they become very precious. My stepsons weren’t far from our thoughts either, not least because we had the very happy news on Christmas Day that my elder stepson and his girlfriend had become engaged. Congratulations Dan and Gill, here’s wishing you every happiness together. Tom and I end a year that has seen the fruition of many years work, both of us crossing important thresholds within weeks of each other. I’m really looking forwards to seeing Turning the Tide published next year and it’s been so satisfying, after al

Reconnecting

I hadn't realised it until now , but it’s probably no coincidence that my last post was about our trip to Norwich, a city I’ve loved since studying at UEA. I wrote, then, that coming home was a hard landing, a feeling that took me completely by surprise as it’s been such a privilege to live in this beautiful, remote spot on the very edge of the west Wales coast. A trip to Skye at the end of October - Tom’s choice - with Ma, was a truly lovely holiday. The weather was kind, the colours of those breathtaking seascapes will stay with me, as will all the happy memories we made that week. And, because our small cottage had been so beautifully modernised and worked so well for the three of us, it was easy to imagine what it might be like to live somewhere different. If travel doesn’t broaden the mind, it certainly brings a new perspective. By the end of the year, Tom and I had decided that it was time for a change, time to move closer to a town (we are neither of us, as they say, getting

Fly Free, Dottie Do

‘How many days to my birthday?’ Ma asks. I do a quick calculation. ‘Eighteen,’ I reply. ‘Eighteen days until your ninetieth birthday.’ Ma pulls a face and shakes her head. Every sentence is hard work for her now, when each breath is a struggle. ‘You’ll have to write a book about this, you know,’ she says, with one of her quick, mischievous smiles. ‘“Carry On Dying”. Make ‘em laugh, make ‘em cry.’ The smile fades. ‘Who knew,’ she adds wearily, ‘that dying would be such a palaver?’  It’s only eleven days since Ma was diagnosed with a high-grade, aggressive lymphoma, four days since she was overwhelmed with pain and breathing difficulties and was admitted as an emergency to hospital. Until a few weeks ago, she lived completely independently; shopping, cooking, cleaning and tending her much-loved garden. The deterioration in her health is shockingly rapid. The eight days preceding her death are a living hell, a constant battle with the ward staff to get Ma the pain relief she’s been presc