November has till now been mild, I had a window open,
suddenly a cold blast entered. I got up closed the window,
which was once called a Porthole by a strong young seaman.
The cold blast, unfamiliar with being indoors settled on
old people's homes and how badly they were treated;
abandoned by a family for whom they had become a burden.
I switched on the heating and the cold air soon dissipated.
Today I bought 100 kilos of smokeless wood, it was heavy
going, pushing the trolley to the car, a young man took pity,
helped unload the load and put it in the trunk of my car.
When I came home, I sat down and cried a little, this is what
it is coming to, 100 kilos is an obstacle and I have to buy more
before winter is over. Freedom is the ability to move and be
able to look after oneself; I fear for my future, sooner or later
I will be a prisoner of old age, but I will not surrender yet.
