A Retirement Blog by Caree Risover

  After my last blogpost, you'd be forgiven for thinking I'd dashed off for a sabbatical on a desert island thus explaining my apparent absence from this platform. Sadly, and much as I might wish otherwise, I've instead been maintaining the huge effort required to re-establish our home. I'm not sure if it's age that's catching up with me but I'm certainly not finding it as easy as I might have imagined. There again being forced to knuckle down in retirement and tackle work that I would not have chosen, if it weren't for the circumstances, is a strange phenomenon after the carefully orchestrated freedom of the past decade. That said, I did manage to squeeze 6 nights in London when I helped out with Grandotty's childcare. I'm unsure what the expectations of me were but, for some bizarre reason, the Eldest and Dilly seemed to think I was the ideal person to  sort potty training. Perhaps they assumed that my memory would extend back 30 plus years to ...

  In my last post I commented on what seems to be the frantic nature of life as you run from one commitment to another. Who'd have thought how easily you can fall into the trap of doing this, even when you are retired and theoretically have time at your disposal. I've been ruminating on my folly and although that wonderful feeling of tranquility is clearly linked to a slower tempo, it isn't true that in order to appreciate the joy of life you always have to operate at a snail's pace. Indeed the early years of retirement are very definitely an opportunity for adventure and exploration; deriving thrill from the novel and unfamiliar.   Two weeks ago, when I was in London for Grandotty's birthday, I took advantage of the Eldest and Dilly working, Grandotty spending the day in nursery and Mister E struggling with an aching foot, to set out alone. On this occasion I headed for Whitehall and the Churchill War Rooms. It's not a venue that I have ever visited before and ...

 I have frequently been disappointed, especially in retirement, returning to once visited or even frequented places. Perhaps I retain an idealised notion in my head as to how things used to be or maybe, just maybe, they have deteriorated. Often, of course, the disenchantment has stemmed from their growth in popularity, with crowds and traffic detracting from the experience. There was no such let down yesterday when a friend and I went to see Skipton Castle. In my case, it was the first time I had stepped through the ancient gatehouse since my childhood. Consequently my memories were vague, although I do have an abiding recollection of my first ever encounter with a garderobe (medieval toilet), peering through a hole to the cliffside and water below! Guess what, it was still there and the drop from seat to beyond equally as impressive. More than 900 years old, Skipton Castle claims to be one of the best preserved castles in England. As an adult with the experience of many more cast...

  It's taken twelve days to log in, but finally I'm creating my first blogpost of 2025. We enjoyed a very traditional family Christmas with close family staying for 10 days and during that period of time  we caught up with extended family too. There was the inevitable surfeit of food and I confess that exercise and healthy eating very definitely took a back seat until they were resumed last week. As ever Grandotty is the gift that keeps on giving  and having got over the nasty cold she kindly passed onto me at the beginning of December, she arrived with another one. No prizes for guessing who succumbed immediately they left. The pitfalls of grandparenting has to be that lack of immunity to nursery matured viruses. I have been considering a need to decelerate a little in 2025. Simplicity and the Zen zone it is argued require us to slow down to enjoy and appreciate more. I hadn't envisaged that curbing the pace of life would be enforced rather than engineered, but hey if co...

    After my last blog entry and the continuation of anxiety and consequent loss of sleep, I'd like to think that I employed that good old tactic known as distraction. Others might perceive it as being the evolutionary flight response. We spent two days in York, staying in a hotel overnight to make sure we well and truly escaped the issues haunting us. As well as taking in its ever growing Christmas Market and a fantastic evening meal out, it was a great opportunity to visit the Art Gallery and museums when most people were choosing to indulge in that popular December pastime of Christmas shopping, enabling us to enjoy crowd-free exhibits. The latest exhibition at the art gallery is entitled "The Art of Wallpaper: Morris & Co." Humour me, I wasn't sure what to expect, but we actually found the history of wallpaper and the framed samples fascinating. Amongst our various visits, we also called in at The Yorkshire Museum. I have to say it has changed significantly si...

  Today, I drove my mother to the large hospital 25 miles from where she lives. I drove, because using public transport would have required two trains and then a bus. It would also have taken two and a half hours to ensure that we did not miss the second train when any quicker schedule was based on the first train running on time and then changing platforms and onto the next train all within a minute. With her advancing years, my mother finds it difficult if not impossible to climb up and onto public transport and as her health difficulties have justified a disabled parking badge, it made sense to drive and use the bluebadge for priority parking. Knowing that parking can be tricky on the hospital site and my mother can't rush, we arrived with a generous forty minutes to spare but, reaching the disabled parking bays, noted that they were fully occupied. Of course, that ought not to have been a problem, so instead I dropped my mother at the door and gave her instructions to wait for ...

  Well I never! Several years ago I changed the background and layout of this blog and in so doing and for no obvious reason lost the ability to reply to specific comments. Ever since, I've been obliged instead simply to make my own comment in response. Today and as a consequence of circumstances of which I profess no knowledge, my right to comment has suddenly returned. I know that as we get older, we are supposed to become more set in our ways and dislike change, but this is one alteration I certainly approve of and long may it last. Whilst referring to change, a main topic of discussion at the gym this morning was inevitably the weather. There was a general concurrence that this week we appear to be edging noticeably towards autumn. Now that's a change I honestly don't like too much, especially when we waited so long for summer sunshine to make an appearance this year. Of course August is rushing by, the nights are definitely getting darker sooner and before we know it, ...

  Disoriented and confused; is that how travelling is meant to make us feel? It's not jetlag, when Portugal is in the same time zone as the UK and the Azores are only an hour behind. Rather, after extending both our trips with sojourns with the family to maximise time with Grandotty, I reckon that we probably only spent 5 nights at home (correction: in the rented premises) in the course of a month. Coming back now to a house where I thought we had everything sorted and at hand, I've realised that the period of time away was sufficient to totally flummox me when it comes to identifying where anything might be. Is it here and, if so where? If it is being stored, just where exactly?  Goodness, I couldn't even remember the postcode  for the property and had to look it up. Today Mister E was certain that he'd brought head torches to have to hand at the rental; think boy scout mode for power cuts. Ultimately we established that they hadn't made the journey with us, but at...

  Our final stop and the fourth out of the nine islands that make up the Azores was Terceira. We based ourselves in Angra do Heroismo, the most important city in the Azores historically and with a certain period charm and grace that we had not identified on our other stops.  All of the islands have their own individual characteristics and just when you think that you cannot imagine there being anything unique on another trip to view volcanic craters, you are proved wrong. This time, I actually entered a inside a dormant volcano vent and even ventured through ancient lava tunnels. The celebrations for the Festival of the Holy Spirit continued here too but unlike the parades in Ponta Delgada , we encountered White Night when everyone wore white and a band played in the town square.  Terceira is also known for its bull fighting and running where the bull remains tethered to a long rope and is not killed. Although there were instances of both taking place during our visit, w...

   We made the journey to and from the Island of Pico by ferry. As well as its volcano, Pico is known for being the main wine producing island of the Azores. That volcano seems to attract cloud constantly, denying a view of itself and resulting, during our visit, in some rain. Many people stay on Pico with the aim of following a  guide to the summit of the volcano and the island has any number of walking trails. Obviously we walked a lot during our trip but if an island is known for its wine then it's fair to say that's what you want to see, or am I just strange? To cope with the sea air, thin soil and wind, the island developed its own technique for growing vines in a series of  "currals" which are small rectangles or circles constructed from volcanic rock. In fact it's claimed that there are so many of these structures on Pico that if laid end to end they would stretch twice around the circumference of the Earth. The salt and mineral content of the ground is obv...

    Back in 1980, I read "The Restaurant at the End of the Universe," Douglas Adams' sequel to "The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy." Like most books that I've read, I now remember very little about the plot, but at the time and in the ensuing years it continued to evoke a feeling of a place perched on the edge of time and space which all manner of life forms from different civilisations frequented.   I recalled the reactions that the descriptions induced when visiting Jema el-Fnaa, the square in the centre of Marrakech. It provides a gathering point between two worlds at the threshold of the Sahara where the people, sights and sounds converge to create a unique encounter for the visitor.  Moving on from Sao Miguel described in my last post we arrived in Horta on Faial. Immediately that awareness of the boundary on the rim of the familiar world was invoked again. In the past Horta provided a stop-over for trade ships ploughing across the Atlantic Ocean...

    After a brief sojourn in the UK to provide sufficient time to process the laundry from our last trip, vote in the General Election and catch yet another awful cold, we headed south again. This time our destination was Ponta Delgada in the Azores. You may recall our aborted mission to reach there in 2022. This time we decided to eliminate the risk of an ocean crossing by flying directly to Sao Miguel, 41 years since Mister E sailed there from Dartmouth in a small 34 foot yacht. It was something of a history test for him as he sought to get his bearings but, in so doing, becoming resigned to the fact that the spot where he had tied his boat to a buoy is now buried under a concrete extension to the port infrastructure. He also bewailed the tourist industry that has developed since he plus his crew of one had arrived as something of lone adventurers back in the day. At least he was thankful for the absence of the packs of wild dogs, as he described them, and our hotel accommo...