Falls.

It’s a terrible topic to write about but needs to be addressed.  Sooner or later your demented relative will have a fall.

I hear that SMIL has had yet another fall, this time she has a black eye and cuts to her face, her daughter is feeling guilty and cried when she visited her mother upon seeing the injuries.

If you are the carer, falls are not something to feel guilty about, it is practically impossible to prevent them.

My mother fell before she was diagnosed with dementia and it was certainly a straw in the wind.  She had numerous falls and, amazingly, never broke a bone.  I was living in dread of her doing so; she was a holy terror whole, in a cast she would have been utterly unmanageable.

My mother’s first fall was outside, on top of my father, on the doorstep of her home.  It was Christmas and cold.  They had just had a substantial lunch and decided to walk it off.  When you eat a big meal the blood in your body will rush to your stomach to aid digestion.  Unfortunately where it is rushing from, is your brain, because of gravity.  Add a sudden change from a centrally heated house to a cold doorstep and a drop in blood pressure will do the rest.  Many elderly men suffer from heart attacks going from warm houses onto snowy drives with a shovel.  In this instance my mother had not had a heart attack, it was my frail and thin father who suffered the damage; he looked as if he had been in a boxing match and lost.

Several of her subsequent falls happened after meals.  On one occasion she thoroughly smashed the arm of the dining chair and the leg.  As this was well into dementia, she was upset by the damage and didn’t know who had done it.  I tried to get it mended but could not do so, it was too smashed.  I rearranged the chairs instead.  The obvious practice to adopt here if you are the carer for a demented person is to institute a regime in which you sit for a little while after a meal and get up slowly, ideally holding on to something.

A walking stick, frame or other balance aid is a good idea, however, giving a stick to someone who is frequently aggressive is not.  SMIL’s stick has been taken from her because she threatened other residents with it.  My mother threatened to hit me with her stick on a few occasions.  Fortunately as she was cared for at home there was no need to remove the stick and I learned to get out of the way, or arrange matters so that the stick was not too near if she was aggressive.  In a residential home, with many elderly people to care for, keeping an eye on one dangerous lady armed with a stick is not so easy.

Another cause of falls is postural hypotension.  A sudden drop in blood pressure causing fainting or a fall can be due to a change in position, such as getting up from lying in a bed quickly or a fault with the pumping of the heart for example.  The S&H used to feel giddy if he got up too quickly at the stage where, as a teenager, he had outgrown his strength and was very thin.  Sitting on his bones in a firm chair compressed the blood vessels in his legs, as he stood the blood rushed back into the vessels, he had pins and needles and felt faint.  Demented people almost always lose weight at some stage and can become dangerously thin.  My mother-in-law did this and was positively skeletal by the time she died. My mother lost two stones in weight in three weeks when she forgot to eat.  I did manage to help her regain weight by becoming an expert in cake making, but in a home where lots of people are eating at once, who is able to observe which residents are eating and which are not, especially when some will need assistance with feeding anyway?

Another cause of falls is simply the degeneration of the working of the brain in dementia.  It is, after all the faulty working of the brain which is the most observable characteristic of the disease.  The centres for balance are just as likely to be affected as any other area of the brain.

In a healthy person movement assists blood to flow around the body and to the brain, it helps with digestion and regulating various bodily functions.  In a demented person, being seated immobile for many hours will hasten the disease process.  In Alzheimer’s disease, for example, the build-up of amyloid plaques disrupts the normal functioning of the brain and the systems that clear waste matter generated by the usual working of the brain.  Whether this disease process is hastened by immobility is currently being studied in various locations but the entire body works on the principle of use it or lose it.

Falls are frightening to the fallen. I speak as someone who has tripped twice, once over my fitness equipment, vacuuming the ceiling when I was trying to live in two houses at once, care for my recently widowed and obviously sick mother and keep fit and keep my house  like a new pin despite leaving two men unsupervised to live there during the week.  I broke my left forearm on that occasion.  The lesson to learn from my mistake if you are a new carer is only to do what is doable.  Sufficient unto the day is the vacuuming of the ceiling.

The second time I tripped over the cat, who was dashing for the cat door as I was walking the other way, laden with a pile of cat food dishes that I couldn’t see over.  This was the one that resulted in the second worst break the hospital had ever seen, and five big bits of metal still in my arm.

You do feel foolish after a fall, and you do hurt, quite a lot.  One of the rare advantages that demented people have after a fall, is loss of memory, after a day or two or less, they won’t be able to explain the bruises, and will not be living in fear of the recurrence of a episode they do not remember.  They will still be hurting, if you are the carer it is worth keeping on with the painkillers and obviously getting the demented person an Xray, unless you are absolutely certain there is no damage.  Some fractures are not instantly apparent.  I have two bent toes that testify to the truth of that.

If you are the carer at home all the obvious aids to staying upright such as uncluttered floor spaces, moving with assistance to keep muscles strong, moving slowly and carefully and so on will all help.  Instituting safety measures from the outset, such as grab rails in the shower, handrails by the staircase and really simple rules such as not dashing to answer the phone or the door, letting someone else carry the tray with the bowl of hot soup on it and just in general starting to move carefully, will all help.

If the worst happens don’t improve the shining hour if you are the carer by beating yourself up mentally.  Know how you can get your demented person to the hospital in a crisis and remain calm because it helps them.  (Though there is no need to do what the OH did when I broke my first arm and have a shower, wash your hair and have a cup of coffee before taking the broken to hospital, having inserted the broken arm into an elastic bandage, misaligning the bones, first.)

We are all subject to gravity.  If it adversely affects your demented person the most helpful attitude to take is practical and then assist them to continue to live their lives themselves.

Be glad it’s not you.  Be kind.  Be cheerful.

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Behaviour in dementia.

Things have not been going so well for my demented step-mother-in-law in a nursing home.  She has been biting the other residents.  The home itself has been suffering from notable changes in staff and new management, everything is in a state of flux and though there has been plenty to tell you about, I was waiting for circumstances to settle down before I could tell you anything you might relate to.

The current state of the care industry. like the health service, is a matter of great concern to anyone with a relative needing care, or a family member with a health issue.  The OH, sleeping alone and tracking his own snoring on an app on his mobile, was delighted, upon reporting his findings to his GP, to be told he would be offered a hospital appointment and time at a sleep clinic.  The letter from the hospital arrived, he went through the online booking procedure and booked himself a consultation at the earliest available time, eleven months hence.

Similar delays could be affecting the start of care or help, if a demented person is your responsibility.  Dementia of most forms is a long term illness but sometimes, as the disease advances, issues may become urgent.

When my mother did strange things, or became aggressive, the private agency carers referred to it as ‘behaviour’ and wrote exactly that in the notes that they made at the changeover of every carer.  ‘Mrs…… is exhibiting behaviour.’

If a sufferer is cared for at home, behaviour is less of an issue than if it occurs in a shared residential setting. Aggression is one of the most frequent behaviours and often seems to arise from the patient’s inability to express themselves as they lose their words.  If you cannot tell someone you are hot or cold, or in pain, how do you seek help to remedy the problem?

The initial problem with SMIL was that she had had a pelvic prolapse, years before she became demented.  A prolapse is when some of the organs that should be inside your body make a bid for freedom through any available route.  In the case of SMIL, a doctor fitted a pessary, a supportive device which needed to be changed every six months.  SMIL had not been long at the nursing home when her behaviour deteriorated and I wondered about the interval since she had last had the device changed.  I alerted the nursing staff, who consulted the doctor’s records and found the change was overdue.  Once the device had been changed for a new one the behaviour magically disappeared.  Since then on one occasion the nursing home has been up to speed but on four occasions I’ve reminded them.  Today I spoke to SMIL for the first time in a few days.  She has been asleep every time I rang, or causing mayhem.  I explained to her what I thought might be making her poorly, asked if she was in pain and obtained her verbal agreement to see the doctor, who will be at the home on Wednesday, for the procedure.  I intend to telephone every day until Wednesday and remind the nursing staff and speak to SMIL and remind her, remembering that memory loss is one of the chief symptoms of dementia.

All of this is an argument for keeping your demented person at home in familiar surroundings with the people who know them best.  There are any number of physical conditions which can affect people and need regular maintenance which the immediate family will be aware of but strangers will not necessarily suspect are a problem until the situation worsens, causing behaviour.  Allergies to medication, joint problems, elderly organs, ingrowing toenails, food intolerances…the list of things that could be horribly wrong and causing pain or discomfort resulting in behaviour is almost endless.  That’s before we even get started on the fragility of elderly skin, the inefficiency of senior digestion and elimination and something as simple as needing different glasses for looking and reading and not knowing which ones you are wearing.

Long term readers will be well aware of me banging on about keeping your demented person with you at home as long as you possibly can.  However, you need to offset this against the wear and tear on you, the family member carer.  If you go for burnout and do everything 24/7 yourself and then crash and burn the demented person is stuffed.  If you can arrange for some form of  regular respite care from the very beginning you are saving yourself for when they most need you.  It could be as simple as a weekly visit to a local social group or a visit from local authority carers, or a family member, to let you get out for an hour.  If you put the demented person into residential care too soon you are saving yourself but at their expense. 

There’s no getting over the most delicate balancing act there can be when you are looking after another highly dependant human being.  Giving them as much independence and the chance to have a say in decisions affecting them will undoubtedly affect their attitude which in turn has an impact on behaviour.  Talking to the demented person as soon as possible after diagnosis is a good idea.  I chopped up the chats with my mother into bite sized pieces.  I wrote down anything helpful and any conclusions we had reached and simplified descriptions of what was wrong, what the doctor had said and so on.  I saved the chats for good days  but we did have them all.

If, as and when your demented person goes into residential care, apart from the longest sleep you’ve ever needed, establishing regular lines of communication is your priority.  When my mother eventually moved in, the staff suggested that I leave her fairly soon, so I did.  That evening she had a fight with another resident, who came into her room and tried to take her blanket, which fight, as she was quite large, she won.  I should with hindsight, have familiarised her with the way the door locked but I was in a state because I had just left my mother in a home and she was in a state because I had just left her in a home.

None of this is easy, which is why timing is everything.  If you wait to get some help or respite until you are utterly exhausted, your decisions may not be the best.

If you are a nice person, all your thought will be unsparingly for the demented person.  This is a mistake if they are depending on you, you need to consider your wellbeing too.

If you are selfish your first thought may be: how am I going to do this and why am I expected to do it anyway?  Unless you were a self raising baby, like the flour with the baking powder in it, you know the answer really.  I promise you if you take this challenge on board you will think more of yourself at the end of it than you did previously.

Whatever the cause of behaviour in demented people, some solution, even partial, may lie in communication.  Remember your person is still in there somewhere, lost in the disease, but still them.  Talking to SMIL today, I spoke slowly and clearly but didn’t shout or patronise, I asked if she was in pain and waited for the response.

In memory loss, establishing as early as possible that the demented person can communicate through you, making time to listen to them, so they know they are heard, increases confidence.  If they are more confident that their needs, which they have such difficulty expressing, can be heard, understood and acted upon, they can be calmer.

If it were you, if you had no memory of yesterday but found yourself abandoned in a strange and terrifying place with strangers, some of whom are obviously dangerous and you have no means of communicating, what would you do?

If it isn’t you, be glad of every happily sane moment.

And look after your pelvic floor.

And lift.

Count to ten.

And relax.

Nine more repetitions and we’re done for this morning.

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Changing landscapes part two.

Have you found me for part two?  The bloke was up the dodgy tree with what looked, from the bedroom window, like a bit of string to tie him on and a dinky little chainsaw, that didn’t look big enough to crack a nut.  On the ground were the rest of the team with a woodchipper.

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As you can see they are all looking up at him, wondering if he will fall, or the tree will fall with him in it.  You can see how unsafe the big branches are, which is not surprising, the trees are over thirty five years old, at least.

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He climbed right up to the most dangerous part of the damaged tree.  Now all the team are looking at him and so was I.  Amazingly the traffic behaved very well, drivers continued to drive slowly round the hazard.

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Right up to the point at which it became so dangerous they had to stop the traffic.  You can see by the road, how wet it was.

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Then a lorry arrived for the big branches and the tree surgeon, having demolished half of the second tree, started on the one from which the first branch had fallen.

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He began chopping it down while he was standing on it.  Has this bloke not heard of gravity?

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Apparently not.

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Though he did hide round the side of the trunk while the branch he has just cut was falling.

What is left is a stump and half a tree.  I went and talked to the workers tidying up this morning.  An expert will come to advise on the safety of the remaining half tree.  I am hoping we don’t have another gale, as it is leaning right over the traffic looking very one sided.

In all this drama, no one was hurt and the area has been completely tidied up.  People everywhere are fond of complaining about the local council; on this occasion I thought they covered themselves with glory in the rain.

We now have a largely uninterrupted view of all the traffic; trees are on my wish list.

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Changing landscapes.

There are few occurrences as unsettling as the changing of the landscape by drastic natural means.

A few years ago residents of the seaside town in which I grew up, exchanged photographs across the world when the sea stack, which had had arches through which we paddled as children, collapsed.  The unsafe remains had to be blown up by the army.

Since we moved here, thirty six years ago, a feature of my very local landscape has been the pair of poplars on the green, over the road.  I have always liked the way they have stood between the traffic going round the round about and our house, hopefully absorbing unwanted gasses and definitely offering sound reduction.

In the gales of last week, glancing out of the spare bedroom window I was surprised to see a police car stopping traffic next to the roundabout slip road.

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By the time I found my camera the council workers were already in attendance and continued to be there through driving rain (it was coming sideways), brilliant blinding sunshine, in daylight hours for a couple of days.  I thought the action they took was timely and absolutely heroic.  The huge branch that had fallen had damaged the tree it had fallen on to and itself.

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Can you see the chap who has climbed up the tree from whence the branch fell, to assess it?

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You can see how dangerous the situation is.  The traffic continued to flow, right next to the action, through most of the incident.

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Having put the ladder up the second tree, which had been damaged by the falling branch and looks very dodgy, they then sent the brave tree surgeon up it, equipped with a rope to tie himself on (to the dodgy tree) and a little hand chainsaw.

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And then – they took the ladder away!

This is a two part adventure, the blog does not like a lot of pictures at once, but part two will follow.

&&&&&&&&&&

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One Third.

By the time we get to the end of this month, one third of the year will have gone.

One third!

Of 2023!

Where does the time go?

Now I am beginning to feel so much better, I realise how poorly I was, so much of my time in the last few years has been spent sitting around wondering why I don’t feel like getting up and doing something.  Or in and out of hospital.

But now I have the feeling of energy again, though sadly it wears off more rapidly than it used to do, which may be recovery, or may be age.  I cannot now imagine how I used to dance all night, or, indeed, why.  But I did do it.  I know.  I was there. Only a few years ago after a rest at tea time and a bit of food I was ready to go again and do something in the evening.  Now I am finding myself sitting around online window shopping in the evening, which is hardly up to my standards of being productive.  I’m not even reliably productive at sitting around window shopping; I tend to drop off.

It could be worse, I could be watching television through my eyelids.

Part of the problem is the fresh air.  Getting out in the garden is great, today I spent several half hours trying to clear the land drain under the outside tap, because it isn’t draining.  The OH said he would help because I had got to the limit of my short arm for digging out the mud and solid clay at the bottom that was preventing the water draining away.  The OH after a bit of ‘Now?  You mean now?’  having found an archery competition on You Tube, and thereby that the best archers are female and about fifty years younger than he is, eventually showed up with a crowbar.

Crowbar – mud?

It took him about three minutes to decide that the ground was waterlogged because of – rain and that the drain could not be cleared, before he flounced back indoors, leaving me to get on with scraping the mud out of the hole.

I did get covered in mud, which was satisfactory and then went back to sorting the dandelions.

I’m amazed no one has yet bred a dandelion cultivar for sale with a huge flower and much smaller leaves and in colours other than yellow, though it is very cheerful.  I feel breeders are missing a trick, dandelions grow so willingly and prolifically anywhere, they almost root in concrete.  You could have rare varieties, growing competitions, cups for the biggest clock, the possibilities are endless, not to mention recipes for the roots and the leaves for the non-allergic.

If you don’t want them everywhere this is the time of year, early spring, to root them out, which is what I spent an hour or so in the morning doing.

Tomorrow I am going to tackle the Lords and Ladies, which are back in huge numbers round the flagstones under which I sieved the soil to get rid of the roots.  They are also under the beech hedge, which is their natural habitat.  Highly poisonous and irritant, they were used as a starch for ruffs in Elizabethan times, which accounts for the sniffy expressions of some of the aristocracy in Tudor portraits.  The OH was bought a pair of unlined Harris Tweed shorts as a small boy and bitterly recalls trying to stand with his tender thighs exactly in the air space in the middle of each leg.  I daresay his facial expression was thoroughly New Elizabethan and similarly far from relaxation and mirth.

The rain is due to start on Easter Monday, it being the traditional outdoor garden centre shopping day, which leaves tomorrow to bid farewell to the weeds and unwelcome plants and make some spaces for planting out lovely flowers in the middle of May, which is last frosts around here, and then it will be the end of May, then June, and then we’ll be half way through the year.

Where does the time go?

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Hours in the day.

Do you have enough hours in your day?

I find the days insufficient especially round Miniatura.  I suspend all other creative activities to get ready then to tidy up.  But I’ve suspended the tidying up to get back to the previously suspended creativity, although I know I’ll have to stop that to sort out the show boxes, make up the holes where things were sold and start on the new ideas.

It was Terry Curran who asked me: Now you’ve turned your hobby into a job, what are you going to do for a hobby?

Good question.  The answer seemed to be making cards, which had started at the same time as miniaturising and took a huge boost when I bought a die cutting machine to see if I would like it.

I did, then die cutting became a hobby in its own right that really takes over if you don’t watch it.  The first paper crafting to make 3D scenes that I remember, was a Yogi Bear cut out, fold, and stick book that made a cabin in the woods.  I may have been six or seven but I was hooked instantly.  Turning a flat piece of paper into 3D art is never ending fascination, as far as I’m concerned.  I was bought a lovely book called: One Piece of Paper which introduced me to paper sculpture from scratch.  I was about seven I think when I made a paper sculpture head of my friend and sent it to Tony Hart’s television programme.

I think my interest in 3D work had a lot to do with my short sight; I found flat drawing quite difficult and thought there must be tricks that other people knew but that stupid me did not. I had no idea I was short sighted but loved my father’s book of Impressionist paintings, which depicted the world accurately as far as I was concerned.  You don’t have to see 3D, you can feel it.  I was a cert for miniatures too, anything tiny an inch from my nose was also the world according to me.

I have, of course also, done dress making (quite a lot when we were young and poor and couldn’t afford new clothes), decorating (the house, for the same reason, including wallpapering and painting), gardening (if you can’t afford a lot to eat, seeds are very cheap), cookery of various sorts, including some very fancy fancies to get my mother to eat, and writing, which you may have noticed.

Then there were miniatures including everything: woodwork, electrics, furniture making, porcelain, of course and all the things that go to make a fully furnished inhabited house, including all the history, which I loved.

But the die cutting took me right back to Yogi Bear’s house.  The fascination of having intricately cut pieces of paper to play with simply by rolling it through a mangle is endless.  I have become quite good at it, so that friends feel utterly insulted if I buy them a birthday card from a stationer. 

It does, however take time.  I am currently making Easter cards to send to the family in a big box of chocolate, but, as it’s me, they are tending to be shops you can play with that fold flat.  There is a time limit; the post seems slow currently, so I reckon I need to get them in the post tomorrow at the latest. 

When I have finished the Easter cards I need to top up the birthday card box, which got very depleted during the run up to the show and once it’s Easter, it’s gardening.

And you do have to sleep.  You have to sleep to wake up in the morning with your head full of ideas for things to make and then you have to do your work out for an hour or two and then get busy.

24 hours in a day is utterly insufficient.  Long may it continue to be so.

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Miniatura artisans.

Did I mention that a friend I hadn’t seen for twenty years came to stay to go to the show?  It was an amazement that thirty years ago I regularly had people to stay who were visiting the show and did dinner parties and everything.  I may have been younger then, possibly, which is why I am only just getting round to this post and I still have to tidy out and reassemble the bags for the next show.

However, having someone else to man the table means I can flit around the hall and take pictures.

First time exhibition from Coolkatzcraft, who you may have seen on Create and Craft TV, exhibiting in collaboration with Studio Partnership, included a range of MDF book nooks and small buildings.  For the uninitiated, book nooks are structures small enough to fit into a full size bookcase as dioramas or rooms.

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Here is a little shop but there were also scenes of Venice and some promising free standing greenhouses and sheds.

I always make time to see Dave of Teeny Tiny Teddies and friends because I like Dave, who is lovely and I like his teddies, which are also lovely.  His wonderful toyshop full of antique tinyness is always worth a look

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and he had some very nice little furry friends waiting to be rehomed.

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One of the interesting features of Miniatura is how hard people find to give it up.  Visitors arrive telling me it’s their last time but I know I’ll see them again.  Similarly exhibitors reappear, sometimes reinvented.

Tanis from Tadpoles, who used to do various things in tiny scales long ago when everyone was screwing up their eyes and telling her it was too small, has now moved into model railways.

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Why does the train look blurry?  The train looks blurry because it’s going round and round.

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You can appreciate just how small these working model railways are by the size of the batteries that are powering them.  Crikey, small or very small?

Here, for those who ask, is a corner of my stand

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with the relief pictures in paper, the edge of the 2inch dolls’ dolls stand and the start of the porcelain 24th scale ornaments, beyond are dolls in three scales.

My stand was two away from Nicola Mascall who does charted needlepoint designs on very fine silk gauze.  One day I will finish the large needlepoint silk gauze picture I began over thirty years ago, and have put in a safe place, though that didn’t stop me buying a cushion kit, which I will begin later today.  Nicola’s kits are complete, you can open the packet and get started immediately, the cushion kits even have the decorative cord to go round the cushion when you have finished stitching, and they come ready mounted in the frame to hold as you work.

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You can see for yourself how fantastic the results are of working needlepoint on silk gauze.  Nicola showed a carpet in progress which is utterly breath taking.

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Every Miniatura I am reminded if why I love this show so much.  It is the quality and variety of exhibits which make Miniatura such a great day out.  Every show you will see something you think you could have a go at, something which you just have to collect and something which you could never do if you practised for a million years, starting tomorrow.  Miniatura is the show for miniaturists by miniaturists since 1983. 

I first visited in the early eighties and thought it was better than Christmas and the happiest day out ever and I still think so.

I love Miniatura, I love the artisans, I love the exhibits, I love the visitors.

www.nicolamascallminiatures.co.uk

www.teenyweenyteddiesandfriends.com

www.etsy.com/uk/shop/TadpolesMiniRailways

www.CoolKatzCraft.com

I am likely to be on my own in the Autumn, so probably unable to scoot around to see the show.  You’ll just have to come and have a look for yourself!

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Miniatura–the show.

Miniatura is the place where I meet the people I care about.  This weekend I met these people.

I met a mother and daughter who share the hobby and bring each other to the show and enjoy every minute of it.

I met an exhibitor whose hair had suddenly turned bright red and I met the collector who suggested she did it and the result was fabulous.

I met an exhibitor who had travelled from America but was concerned about the lady who used to help me on my stand.

I met a sister who wasn’t really a miniaturist but has been sent to the show by her sister who lives a long way away to suss out the show and report back.  Not only did the sister make time during the show to sit down, phone her sister and tell her all about it, she bought a little doll to dress as a surprise for her sister when she next sees her.

I met a good son who bought a picture for his mother and saw a photograph of the wonderful house it is going to live in.

I saw umpteen marvellous husbands, whose hobby this is not, patiently trailing round after their shopping wives, carrying all the bags.

I met a worker in the café who said: Aaah after ever sentence anyone said because she hadn’t encountered the hobby before and thought it was lovely.

I met a beautiful mother, on mother’s day, whose two daughters had rejected her because they had learned from bad influences on the internet that to grow up you need to reject your parents.  Worse, they were keeping her from her little grandson.  Her day out with her kind and puzzled husband was a distraction and a chance to look at the perfect miniature world you can create for yourself, instead of the one we really live in.

I met several ex-exhibitors, who said they had finished with the show but couldn’t keep away, a few came for a chat and one had turned back into an exhibitor but of a different kind.

I met many doll collectors and enthusiasts, many of them keen to tell me about dolls of mine they had rehomed and how the dolls were doing.

I met new exhibitors, amazed to be there and trying hard to keep up.  I met one family, visiting the show for the first time and utterly overwhelmed.  I knew they were because they kept saying: We are overwhelmed by it all.

I met many visitors who had come with someone who had just wandered off, entranced.

I met numerous people who wanted everything.

I met children from babies in arms to ten years old being very well behaved indeed with good parents taking them for a lovely day out to find a nice present for Mummy.

I met the miniaturists, the people I care about with the imperfect lives and the difficult relationships, using an absorbing and exacting hobby to put the world to rights in a way that makes them feel better but doesn’t hurt anyone else.

I met numerous people who said the venue was lovely, the hall was exactly right, the parking was perfect and the food was good.

And I met so many people that said my dolls were different from anything else that I suspect they may be art after all.

And I met people venturing out in a relaxed way after the worry of the pandemic, happy to be in a hall full of like-minded hobbyists, having the loveliest day out you can have.

I met people who Miniatura makes happy, the way it has made me, for thirty years.

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Almost here.

My latest twelfth scale glass eyed, removable clothes, brushable hair young ladies are extremely ready for Miniatura, in fact they are packed in their boxes sitting in the hall waiting to be loaded into the car to go go go!

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My friend, who was the editor of Dolls’ House World magazine, last century and into the noughties, is on the coach coming north to stay with me for a week.

It’s Miniatura, it’s brilliant, it’s nearly here.

A quick reminder if you are coming, all the information, virtual tickets to load on to your phone, a list of the exhibitors and what you can see are all at www.miniatura.co.uk   It is worth clicking on the Tickets button, there are savings to be had.

The hall is right next to the free car parking, easy peasy. The entire site is wheelchair friendly. Miniatura is all in one hall with a hundred stands, last time I counted.  It is in miniature, so that is like visiting a hundred shops in a day, which, of course is one of the utterly brilliant things about it.  This might be a day for comfortable shoes, perhaps.  I always think people who bring little cases on wheels for their purchases are very sensible.  Stand holders are various in terms of up to date, some have smart phones hooked up to card reading machines, some are old fashioned, like me and can only take money, though I do take cheques drawn on a British bank.  The only drawback of the NAEC that I have discovered, is that there are no cash machines in the building.  There are banks on site, but closed at the weekend.  I understand that the farm shop near the entrance did offer cash for a small purchase with a card last show but cannot guarantee it.  I suggest you bring a bit of everything and somebody strong to follow you and carry it all.

As always with this show, above all others, the content is carefully curated and exhibitors are by invitation.  The majority of them are artists but because it is Miniatura there are always items in all price ranges.  So there will be things you want and the advice is to get it if you see it and you want it.  As you know I make one of every doll; even though they are made from my own moulds, individuality abounds. Many other craftsmen produce similarly idiosyncratic items.

I’d like to tell you a secret that I know from my side of the stands, and that is that there is a lull  after the show begins before the shopping frenzy occurs.  So there is time to scoot round the whole show if you are quick and early and have serious FOMO.  A very experienced miniaturist once told me that the thing to do was begin at the back of the hall and work forwards, which worked for a while until everyone cottoned on.  There is no lull time for haberdashers, wood suppliers and retailers but they do tend to have multiples, keep watching and dash in if you see a gap, would be my advice.

On Sunday morning before the show opens, stand holders are requested to open up, so that other stand holders can shop with them, which is practically a reason to turn into an exhibitor, unless you are on your own, which I have been for years.  The impossibility of shopping the show while standing behind my stand, is frustrating.  But this time I’ll have a friend.* I also have  money, a shopping bag, a credit card, a loose cheque folded up, a couple of extra tenners down my bra, a spare pair of shoes and a sandwich.

See you there!

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*Woohoo!

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Choosing a care home.

The continuing deterioration of my Step-mother-in-law is a prompt to write about this topic because most of us, faced with the responsibility of caring for a demented family member, are going to have to make decisions about the next step, which may well be residential care.

In the cartoon, the Simpsons. Marge says: You should be nice to your children because they get to choose your old folks home.

It’s funny because it is as true as it is depressing.  As usual I’m not going to attempt to advise you, just relate my experience and research in case it’s a help to you.  The reason you need to be happy with your choice is that your demented person will almost certainly predecease you and you will subsequently have to live with your choice and the outcomes it generated.

There is another possibility, you may not outlive your demented person, in which case the choice of care becomes even more crucial.  I was faced with this possibility for two reasons.  The first was that my mother’s location and mine were an hour and a half’s drive apart.  Sometimes the roads were not good, sometimes the traffic was terrible, in the five years of commuting, once, twice or more times a week, there were some dodgy moments.  We had had a terrible road traffic accident a couple of years previously on the return from my father’s birthday, I was nearly decapitated by a tree trunk, clipped by the car in front, rising into the air and heading for our windscreen.  The OH rapidly steered the car into the middle of the road and the trunk, which was at least five feet long (it was a wooded area in which tree management had been taking place) glanced off the screen.  For years I had problems in the car and still do have a feeling of panic if I am in the the car and a car next to me goes backwards without warning.

The second reason was that I knew after a few years of caring for my mother that I was not well.  I had tests for cancer during her care which came up borderline.  As you know if you are a regular reader, I have been ill ever since my mother’s death and am only now finally on the mend but still under the care of the hospital on two counts.  Caring for someone can be very stressful, stress is not good for your health.  My mother had previously been abusive, whether caring for someone who has been nasty to you is harder or easier than someone who has been lovely to you is difficult to say but makes little difference practically speaking if the responsibility is yours.

Therefore you need to research not only various care homes near to you or near to your demented person, if you live at a distance, but also what the policy of the care home is if the relative (that’s you) dies.

As always the finance is the sticking point, it can affect the care in unexpected ways.  For a few weeks SMIL has been very difficult to talk to; very aggressive, very inclined to throw the phone away.  On a few occasions the care staff advised me not to talk to her if she was swearing or shouting.  Later I learned that SMIL’s medication had been reduced in an effort to save money.  It has now been restored and she is able to talk again.

Why would a care home reduce the medication?

Dementia medication is horribly expensive.  Pharmaceutical companies exist to make money, if dementia is everywhere (which I know from your emails) then that’s a lovely worldwide customer base.  There is no incentive to work to cheapen production in any way.  Certain types of medication are more expensive to produce, for example, liquid sedatives are many times more expensive than pills.  I’m sure I told you that SMIL had developed a technique of holding the pills in her mouth until the administering staff disappeared and then spitting them out.  If you are running a care home to whom do you give the more expensive liquid sedative?  Is the the noisy one, is it the one who is on the way out?  Is it the younger one?  How do you choose?

There are several types of care home.  My mother was fortunate to have near her a complex of care homes founded between the wars and run as a charity.  Because the care home was a charity it was not allowed to make a profit.  Consequently the staff were paid good wages, attracting good and experienced carers and proper career carers.  Also my mother was allowed to choose her own decorating scheme both paint and carpet in her little flat with her own bathroom and her own furniture. A walk in wardrobe was built for her, when I explained how important clothes were to her wellbeing.  To her last week she enjoyed dressing up and making an entrance to the sherry afternoons with the small orchestra.  There was a minibus to take ambulant residents to a very nice upmarket supermarket, shops and places to visit.

SMIL’s home is run as a business and has just changed hands again.  If you run a care home as a business you are doing it to make a profit, if it is your livelihood, you have to do so.  Care homes are often huge houses that have become homes because they are too expensive or enormous for one family to live in.  Demented people, sitting around, can become very cold.  In the current fuel crisis, if you are considering turning the heating off to be able to pay for it, how would you feel if the care home you were running as a business suddenly quadrupled its heating bills?  You can’t turn the heating off, you’ll kill the residents and then you won’t have a business.

One of the advantages of my mother’s care home was that they had a policy of keeping long term residents on for free if the money ran out.  Moving my mother from twenty-four hour care in her own home at the cost of £13,000 a month to the care home meant that she had to be, funded, in the care home for long enough to qualify for free care if something happened to me.  I did some very careful sums, whilst fending off the equity provider, who was downloading to me monthly the money to pay the care agency.

SMIL’s daughter sought help from the county council.  In the UK councils have a duty of care to their council tax payers.  If you access this free care, which is most likely to be someone popping in to check on the demented person in their home, you are putting yourself and your cared-for person in the hands of the agencies providing the care.  Because I funded my mother’s care privately by the sale of her house to an equity release agency, I had the say-so at all times and was able to establish a dialogue with my mother from first diagnosis which meant that she actively chose at all times what happened to her.  I provided booklets I had made explaining her disease to her and talked to her about it at all times.  I never made a decision without consulting her, which continued up to and including her move to her care home.

I was helped by my mother’s personality.  She was very difficult, always but also being a battler was not going to give in to despair and was happy to be consulted and to make the decisions.

Whatever you decide about residential care for your demented person will be made easier if you have established the dialogue from early in their disease.  Running away in a panic or expecting someone else to do the work will not stand you in good stead.  Ideally you want to get the trust of your demented person at the outset.  They might be demented but they are still a human being with rights.  At every stage you can know the right thing to do by imagining yourself in the place of the demented person.

Doing the research on care homes fairly soon is a good idea.  Dragging someone demented round numerous facilities in the same day is unlikely to make your demented person easier to deal with. A better strategy might be to do the research and a bit of visiting yourself alone and make a short list, then do the discussion, maybe produce some booklets to look at and then visit the demented person’s shortlist, maybe on a few days with rest days between and then compare notes.

If you live far from your demented person you are more likely sooner to need assistance to care.  Whether to move your person closer to where you live or move them into a residence in the area they are already living is a consideration.  In the main demented people do best and are happiest in familiar surroundings, if you are moving them to a residential facility near to their present location it will help them because they may already have opinions of care homes near to them.  If they are able to be taken on days out of the home they know the area.  The landscape of their lives may have changed, but not the place.  The longer their surroundings are familiar the less demented they will be and the happier, which helps you.  Admittedly this leaves you commuting, but it also means you can escape back to your home.

One factor you need not take into great account is the promises of friends who are not family members, to visit or help, the count of the number of people who were going to visit my mother at home and never did so, was unimpressive but exceeded the number of people who stayed away altogether.  In the care home that number dwindled.  For a while her friend and hairdresser visited and then stopped.  I rapidly became a hairdresser.

It is a harsh reality that if you are the principle carer the only people you can really rely on to help you are those you pay to do so.  All the more reason to get to grips with what help is on offer early on in proceedings.  You may wish to have a plan B in case the care home scenario becomes urgent.  This could be the case if you become ill yourself or if some other misfortune befalls the cared-for.  I lived in fear of my mother breaking a limb and ending up in plaster, amazingly, though she fell many times, the only thing she ever broke was the furniture.

I did say at the start of this column that I would not tell you what to do.  So now I’m going to tell you what not to do.  Don’t pretend it isn’t happening.  The sooner you find out about your demented person’s disease and appear confident and knowledgeable, the more your demented person will trust you and relax, and then the less friction there will be.  You can find out online a vast amount.  Look up accredited agencies, such as the Alzheimer’s Disease Society, use your search engine to find help near you, go to the next doctor’s meeting with your pre-prepared written list of questions, go through all the leaflets in the hospital waiting room and collect any that might be helpful.  Knowledge is power, which is really why I am writing these dementia diaries.  I seek to empower you by my experience, so that, at the end, when the job is done you can feel happy with yourself.

We all have times in our lives when our lives are not our own.  Having a glittering career, making tons of money, looking good, all these might feel like a point and purpose of life but the real measure of a person is what they do when the chips are down and they are called upon to help a fellow human not only for no profit whatsoever, but sometimes at their own expense.

If you can do it you won’t need me to tell you that you are on the side of the angels, you will know it, enough to conjure happiness with yourself from misery.

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