A Retirement Blog by Caree Risover

 Mister E’s incapacity has been accompanied by my own incarceration in an effort to ensure he obeys doctor’s orders and avoids unnecessary stress to his new joint. We’ve had groceries delivered rather than twice weekly shopping trips and I’ve found myself spending more and more time in the kitchen; that centre of the domestic heartland.  This enforced period of time at home has coincided with a glut of beetroot in the vegetable patch. Firing on all cylinders, I have put my creativity to work and have been cooking all things beetroot. We’ve eaten them boiled, roasted, curried and pickled. We’ve had everything from beetroot and feta on toast to beetroot risotto. Combining them with apples from our tree, I also made a relish. My culinary practice hasn’t stopped with savoury dishes; there have been beetroot and vanilla cupcakes one day, beetroot brownies the next.  I’ve almost convinced myself I could be a Niche Nigella, even if, I concede, it would require sustained effort! ...

There have been various times in my life when I've suddenly realised from an awareness of others around me that I have, shall we say, grown up a little more.  The first occasion was probably the day I started school, being met, along with my contemporaries, by mothers pushing prams and pushchairs with siblings too small to be embarking on the big adventure. Later, as we progressed to secondary education, I recall marvelling at not only how cute the little children heading to primary school were, but also how much younger they seemed in comparison to my own peer group. Rushing through adulthood, the years move on apace and there definitely comes a day when you realise that yes, policemen do look very young. In my profession and approaching retirement, the same could be said for barristers.  Once retired, I have been less conscious of the differences, cocooned as I am in my own little tribe of seniors. That began to change a few years ago when some of those around me, started to...

  Fifty years on from the legendary summer of 1976, this year it seems surpassed all records. Of course, half a century older, I'm not as adept at handling day after day of wall to wall sunshine and high temperatures; neither for that matter is my garden. Somehow or other we contrived to survive and whilst I'm not complaining about the sudden but otherwise very welcome change in weather conditions since the beginning of this month, it is a little like returning to Earth with a bump. In my post back on 9th June , I mentioned that we were planning another ferry trip and we duly set off only 10 days later. Spotted walking up the road with our backpacks, neighbours offered us lifts to the station, but there was to be no cheating and so, senior passes at the ready, we left by public service bus. On arrival we encountered the first of many laden treks, on this occasion from the stop at one end of town to the station at the other. Sometimes and despite the  afternoon heat, you have t...

  I've been clearing out our garage again this week. It's one of those once a year tasks that involves countless discussions with Mister E as to what is useful and what really should just be binned. In my book anything that moved to the house with us more than 25 years ago and has sat unused ever since has to be ripe for jettisoning, but Mister E applies other benchmarks, especially when it comes to "boat stuff." Bit by bit, year on year a little more edges its way towards the dustcart. Give me another two decades and the garage shelves might finally be properly decluttered. There are, of course, always items that do prove their worth even if the gap in using them exceeds a quarter of a century. That was the case with Mister E's precious sextant. He used it on some seriously long Atlantic voyages in the early 1980's before modern navigational aides became widely accessible to the leisure yachtsman.  After that, it lay unused until 1999 when  he and the eldest ...

Hats off to Andy Burnham for his speech on social care today. Since returning from an 18 day trip (more in another post) I have been very much banging my head against the wall with the authorities within a system that isn't so much broken or unfit for purpose as barely functioning or perhaps even extinct. When you have dementia and are blind, you can genuinely believe that not only are you completely rational and can cope, but that you can also see. It's a time bomb ticking towards an explosion and when it does there's an inevitable crisis. At least I've learned a new word: anosognosia. Moreover, I've had plenty of time to practise saying it whilst I've been holding on the phone line for hours in total trying to speak to someone who can assist. In the midst of a safeguarding dilemma, you do not expect everyone to keep referring you to the Duty Officer in the Department of Social Care, the emergency telephone number for which only ever results in an answerphone t...

A few weeks ago I invested in my first full-size backpack in five decades. A couple of weeks later we set off with our luggage on our backs. We do, of course, enjoy our creature comforts so, comfortable hotels booked, the aim, in otherwise Race Across the World style, was simply to travel light from one destination to another using public transport and the occasional taxi. We were only away eight nights and, passing through London, obviously spent two of those with the grandchildren. Otherwise our destination was across the Channel at Saint Malo with time too at Mont St Michel. Although there was a period in our lives when Saint Malo and Brittany featured frequently in our sailing adventures, Mont St Michel had always eluded us and as purportedly the most visited attraction in France outside of Paris, its allure beckoned. Despite the crowds, it did not disappoint.  We also spent two nights in Portsmouth, primarily so that we could return to the Historic Navy Dockyards. On  the...

  Sometimes, amongst all the noise and busyness, we just need a moment. Five minutes to breathe, put our anxieties to one side and appreciate the gift of an instant in time. There are occasions when something catches our eye and actually forces us to take that moment.  In my case a cactus that flowers in May every year invariably has such an effect. I believe it’s a Rebutia originating from the Andes, although this specimen has been living very happily in my utility room for twenty five years. With the aid of thick gardening gloves, it has been repotted only three times and appears to thrive on neglect. I received it as a gift and, winding back the clock to quarter of a century ago, would never then have envisaged that this small, prickly succulent would bear flowers, let alone still be on my window ledge in retirement. It can be the little things in life that make a difference.