A Retirement Blog by Caree Risover

  Image by Steve Buissinne from Pixabay A little while ago I mentioned the fitness assessments that we can have at the gym. I recently returned for another review, and having spent three months working hard at trying to improve my fitness was hoping for an accolade. Personal health and well-being are not of course competitions, so there was no gold medal, Oscar or public announcement awaiting me. Of course that hasn't stopped me revelling in the knowledge that I have apparently reduced my metabolic age by another 3 years and succeeded in increasing my muscle mass, albeit only slightly. Sadly I know there is no real way in retirement to recapture the fitness levels of youth and somewhere along the line that muscle mass will presumably start to diminish rather than grow.  Just at a point where our bodies begin to spring all kinds of frailties, the time and effort needed to try to keep them in shape expand dramatically. Life seems to be a never ending balance betw

So what did you do over the summer solstice and the long days surrounding it? It's the time of year when I try to ensure that the vegetable patch is fully set, leaving the second half of summer to enjoy its returns as well as the delights of the rest of the garden. This year, I also went to war. Not in the conventional sense, although for a moment Mr Trump had us all rather concerned on that issue. Instead it was an enraged onslaught against the seemingly increasing slug population in the garden. Obviously I did my research first. Then alarmed by the statistic that a garden can host 200 slugs per square metre, roused myself to defend the immature plants that I was transplanting from the greenhouse.  Over the years, I have tried all kinds of tricks but does anything genuinely work, especially when those darned things reproduce asexually and apparently up their reproduction when vast numbers fall on the sword of the combatant gardener? Scared by the knowledge that t

  Image by Tumisu from Pixabay Incredible though it may seem, today I reach 5 in retirement years! I'm not sure whether, like dog years, they count for more than the rest of my human years, but they certainly seem longer.  This past year has been no exception with so much crammed into it. There have been wonderful trips to Madrid , the Adriatic , Dubai and of course our long stay in New Zealand . We have been back to the Lake District twice for walking weeks and have made innumerable trips to Crinan to further the restoration project we took on last May and also to enjoy one of the most beautiful parts of our country. Closer to home, the quest for fitness and commitment to volunteering proceed, whilst our bathroom project is nearing completion. Last year I kick-started my desire to be creative by taking a painting workshop and my dabbling on canvas continues. In the garden , the sunken vegetable beds and efforts at creating a permaculture reap rewards, although wi

 I suppose that the sequel to my last two entries was inevitable. I have been floored by something akin to a combination of the symptoms suffered by both Mister E and the eldest, although fortunately without the complications of the added infections that both endured. Hence, since clerking a Parish Council meeting last Monday night, I have been  confined to the house, knocking back the Lemsip and Strepsils. Not quite potent enough to qualify me, it would seem, for nomination as the Conservative Party leader, but much needed in seeking to conquer an inflamed throat. On the plus side the rain has been falling in torrents and some days the temperature has struggled to reach double figures. So much for flaming June. There was a time when come the end of April my sandals would be on until September, bare toes wriggling in the fresh air. Staring down at my feet now, they are cosy in their socks and there is a fleece on the back of my chair. It's all a far cry from la

  Image by John Hain from Pixabay The eldest left us on Friday afternoon, taking a hacking cough with him . After almost three weeks together, the hole left by his absence has felt rather strange. Whilst the thought of having our adult children move home to live with us is scary, it doesn't stop us missing them when they are gone. Saturday was, therefore, meant to be the day that normality was restored, just Mister E and I enjoying our daily rhythm with maybe a glass of wine together in the evening. Fate was against us and there was no genuine prospect of a return to  our regular pattern as Mister E, dragged down by sinusitis, a ghostly white and clutching prescribed medication, could do little other than pass to and fro between bed and armchair. Sadly I don't talk like a nurse; I don't walk like a nurse. Let's be totally honest, I am no nurse. So, whilst he slept, I applied myself to our bathroom project , seriously in need of attention with a dea