It is now almost four weeks since my neighbour Margaret was taken by ambulance to hospital. I've walked up to visit her every day but one and I have to say today she looked like the cat that got the cream. She's been told she can go home next Wednesday and she has started to make plans. The hairdresser is booked for Thursday. Meals on Wheels have been advised to restart deliveries and she's writing me a list of things I need to put in place. She's good like that. In fact, she puts me to absolute shame when it comes to lists and record keeping. Every bill that has ever been paid is recorded. Every appointment mapped out. Pension days, bin days, mowing man days are all listed. As soon as the Sunday paper arrives she highlights then lists the programs for the week. And while she's been in hospital she's studied the menu and written out her menu plan. She can tell you what she will eat next Tuesday. I'd be flat out remembering what I had for dinner tonight. And yet she relies on me. To be honest, she bosses me about. But at the end of the day I don't have to do it. I choose to because it's the right thing, it's the neighbourly thing and I'm very fond of her. It will be good to have her home. The birds are looking forward to it. The dogs are looking forward to it and I'm kind of keen to walk a route that's not to the Mater. I suppose I could drive but if I became a list person the record of parking costs might be enough to see me admitted for stress.
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