Fleeting

The blue sky that began the day had disappeared by mid-morning. Fortunately I spotted this view on my early trip up to the cowshed to collect a churn of milk.

With it I have made my first blue cheese: a Fourme d’Ambert-type. (I can’t say it’s the real thing because it’s made in NZ, not the Auvergne in France.) It is purported to be the oldest cheese in France, dating back to Roman times. That surprised me: I thought cheese in Europe would have predated the Romans by some centuries.

It was straightforward to make, although the hour of gently stirring the curds was pretty boring. I’ll find out in February if it’s any good. 

I’m kicking myself for choosing a slow-maturing cheese for my first blue. I’ll make a Camembleu next, which will be ready after four weeks. And I will slowly work my way up to my ultimate blue cheese: a Stilton (-type).

The news from my #3 brother’s bedside is that he has been unconscious for the last seven days, during which time he’s therefore neither eaten nor drunk anything. (He is not on a drip.) 

The wonderful dementia care home staff are sitting with him and report no signs of any pain or discomfort, although his breathing is shallow and increasingly laboured. His son is visiting regularly, as is my brother’s best friend and a former neighbour. There is ‘end of life’ medication available should he show any signs of distress, but it seems he may be gently drifting away. 

So once again I have the constant expectation of a call from another brother to tell me he has died. We have been here several times before of late, but it does seem this time he won’t suddenly wake up and ask for grapefruit juice - which happened four weeks ago, after three days of being unconscious.

I fervently  hope I don’t experience a similar end of life. At least we have a limited option for ending it when we choose in New Zealand, under The End of Life Choice Act (2019). It doesn’t go far enough in my opinion, but it is better than no choice at all.