Kia ora koutou, its true that roses don’t seem to last long enough. There’s that first flush of buds, then the swelling of the flower, the lushness of the blooms and if you’ve chosen well, a delicious perfume, then just as you think this is why I love spring, the blooms droop, die, need to be deadheaded after which you then wait for the next lot to appear.
Of course just as I make plans to deadhead the spent blooms it rains so the garden looks dreary and sad, drooping heads everywhere. I can still see the blooms, not actual detail but the lushness, so I can also see the lank fading of the blooms as they droop and wither.
Dead heading is a tricky business these days, not only because I can’t see the dead buds clearly but mainly because I can’t see my fingers clearly either, or the blades come to that, so there’s the definite possibility (probability?) that I might cut my finger off instead of the dead rose. Friends are good in these circumstances because they take over the deadheading and I peer from the window.
The other thing I notice is how hard it is to find the broad beans. I always tended to miss some anyway but now I think I miss a lot. I only like broad beans when they’re young and I only grow a few, which means that while they last my daily green vegetable is broad beans. The poor faithful silver beet is lush and green but has to wait until the beans are finished. Fortunately, from the silver beet point of view, the broad bean season is pretty short.
I’ve noticed the differences more this spring I think – inevitable when you depend on peripheral vision. Being able to see only out the side of my eyes is hard because its often fudgy and, nearly always, misses detail. For example I can count out tablets and then only see some when I come to swallow them. I know I’ve counted them out which is a real blessing because they have to be there so I peer around, use my fingers, to herd them into my line of vision.
The kitchen bench is in front of windows which makes it easier to prepare food. Any job that’s been done a million times is easier anyway because my fingers know what they’re doing and the familiarity of the motions seems to get the job done without too much trouble.
So the familiarity of things is not only a blessing but a necessity. The electric jug in the same place, the baking ingredients are taken from the cupboard, in the same order, peered at, put on the bench in the same order, peered at again before I start, then put back in the cupboard in the same order. I rely on the plates and cutlery being in the same place when I reach for them.
Sometimes I think its a bugger not being able to see my face in the mirror and sometimes I think its probably a blessing. I can, of course, feel my hair, so when I comb it and pat it, those lifetime repeated gestures, I know (sort of) when it feels like its okay and when its not. There’s not a lot I can do if its not okay though. Best to be philosophical about it. I’m lucky its got a wave because if it does look a bit untended maybe people will think its the wave?
There’s an online programme, Sight Unseen, which is prepared and presented by Lynley Hood and Mary Butler, so if you know anyone who would benefit from reading/listening to other people with poor vision talk about their challenges and how they manage them, then have a listen or a read. As you know my computer is set up with large print so I can still read but its good for me to have these other options too, to get into the swing of listening, before I actually have listening/audio as the only alternative.
There’s something very reassuring about listening to other people’s experiences and solutions and realising for certain that you’re not the only one in the world with this problem. If you have a family member, a friend or lover, who might like to hear other people’s stories, point them towards Sight Unseen. They will not be disappointed. Just the opposite. They’ll be informed, intrigued, interested and involved.
As for the broad beans they’ll go on giving because once the beans are finished their stems and leaves will get chopped up and trenched into the garden. I read somewhere years ago that the stems and leaves have everything the soil needs. Having seen my mother and our neighbours dig most greens back into the soil once they were finished this season’s job, I think they probably knew that too.
In the meantime, I’ll go out and peer at the branches and see if I can locate the beans.
Renée
