Disconnect

Having arrived home at midnight on Friday (with a couple of family members picked up en route), I had to hit the ground running on Saturday.  It was the memorial day for Mr B's mum and I had the catering role.

Fortunately, after much toing and froing a month ago, the family had settled on having a picnic memorial day at a local country park.  In the park the remains of the former manor house form a suitable venue.  The house is gone but an undercroft to its front terrace (12 elegant arches, a tiled covered walkway, fronted by a pair of curving outdoor stair cases) was the chosen venue.  It served as a suitable place to set up the photo memorial, set out the comestibles, and form shelter from any breezes that might disturb the day.  As it turned out we had gloriously warm sunny (and calm) weather and those who attended shared many memories of the departed Nan, Aunt, Neighbour and Friend.

Celebration of  Life is what they called it.  I am not accustomed to such informal funereal arrangements but they seem to be gaining popularity here; unattended cremation (which doesn't have the waiting list for attended full service funeral), and some later commemoration event and possibly even a later small gathering for depositing ashes.

Now I have to focus my week on disconnecting myself from UK.  Despite having moved to other countries a few times in my life, it has never been particularly important to delete one set of connections before starting another.  This time however (pension related) I have to clearly establish my domicile in NZ asap, which means having to carefully and thoroughly excise all evidence of any commitment to my life in UK. 

Have you ever made a list of all the things you subscribe to, pay for, have your name on, participate in, need to resign from, change address on, support by charity donation, .....? Someone advised recently that many of us can save money by simply checking our direct debits are still current.

Nothing, it turns out, can be resolved on the first phone call.  Few things can be resolved with a phone call and just one email.  One can seldom speak to a 'real person' these days (am I sounding like a grumpy old woman?), and the effort it takes to do even relatively simple things is sending me off for afternoon naps to recover my equanimity, and quell my impulses to shout at someone (even if it is only a poorly trained machine).

I should be thankful I have these options and am not evacuating somewhere as a refugee.

We have a new yoga teacher.  English is not her first language.  She has long pauses while she examines her memory banks for the correct word for elbow, left, right, knee etc.  And she always finishes each instruction with ..."and breeeeathe".

Another phone call .... and breeeeathe.

Glenfalloch