Tears, teas and family trees

It started in Montana. The parents: a young British couple, making the endless trek way back in the late 1800s to midwest America, in search of prosperity from the mines.

One of the children born there, in 1892 was our grandma, Carrie. But her mum Annie and her siblings returned to the UK some time later, alone.

Fast forward to wartime London. Air raid sirens. Hiding in the shelter. The Blitz. Some of Carrie`s nine children being packed off to the country as evacuees, with their gas masks and ration books.

And to now. Just two of the nine remain. And at each funeral, like the special woodland burial for Joan yesterday, we gather and regroup, to say goodbye and to celebrate a life, taking comfort from each other. A ready made crowd: spouses and partners of those we`ve lost, and my generation, the cousins: more than twenty of us, some greying now; some resolutely not ; several reaching for reading glasses when it`s time for the next hymn; others singing from memory; defiantly spec-free. We`re there with our own children now; some, parents themselves: a new layer learning about the importance of family; keeping in touch, and being there for each other.

So,we hug, and weep a bit, and remember the family times we had together at Grandma`s house in Willesden Green; the practical jokes we played on each other; our fascination at being allowed to peep inside the mahogany, paper lined glove drawers at `Mildred Trimms`, the haberdashery shop Grandma used to work at, round the corner.

We`re scattered across three continents now. But the bond between us is strong. As we strolled back from the burial for tea yesterday, we mused glumly, for a moment, about what a sad year it had been for funerals--how hard it was to even try to recover from one, before we were back in black again.

Inevitably, we reasoned, the bigger the family, the more frequent the farewells will be. That`s the price you pay. But the bigger the family,the more plentiful the hugs will be too; and the stronger the support when it`s needed. There`s a ready made network of people you know you can, in a heartbeat, call on. Way more precious than anything you could mine in mid-west Montana, way back when. And much, much closer to home.

PS: When you lose someone, it`s not only sad, it`s a lost link to the past. And you realise that if you`re tracing your family history, the clock`s ticking a little faster.     Our family FB group`s been

buzzing since yesterday,many of us determined to find out more about our Montana connections before it`s too late.Who do we think we are? Not sure but tales are emerging of a Sheriff`s badge somewhere and the odd bar room brawl! Ever traced your family history? How did you get on? And is it time for `Who Do You Think You Are` to focus more on the `ordinary people`? Let me know what you think! 

Angelina and Helen: big risks; big decisions

The actress Angelina Jolie has revealed that she`s had a preventative double mastectomy to reduce drastically her risk of developing breast cancer. Her risk was rated as very high. It`s one of the biggest, most sensitive and emotional decisions any woman can face....one that nurse Helen had to consider too, because of the high incidence of the disease in her family: my family. Here`s a reminder of my brave cousin Helen`s story, in her words .

"Having my annual check ups was always an interrupted night's sleep and that absolute breath holding moment until the doctor said everything was clear. I knew this was my breast cancer prevention. Then a month before my annual check I dreamt that I had a breast lump, I even dreamt the location. It was one of those dreams that when you wake up for a split second you think it may be real life. I was so disturbed by my dream that I checked myself...and there it was. It wasn't an easy find, and the consultant couldn't believe I'd found it as it was right against my rib cage." 

"So all in that one afternoon I had mammograms, ultrasounds, biopsy and a diagnosis of a grade 3 invasive tumour. It absolutely blew my mind. I like to feel I am Mrs Together but I could never have imagined how that diagnosis would have reacted with me. I instantly felt like my breast was filled with a growing dog poo or some filthy alien that had to be removed at all costs.When my biopsy results came back that it wasn't cancer, I actually felt little relief. The diagnosis was still affecting me greatly. After my lumpectomy and subsequent all clear I knew that I never ever wanted to go through that experience again, and  I knew I didn't want to have to tell my husband, my children, my sister, my mum that I had breast cancer ever again. 

"It was then a year of research, finding my dream team of surgeons, choosing my surgery type, the best support network and counselling, that I had my preventative bilateral mastectomies."

"I was emotionally and physically ready. I had every piece of information to hand, I had logistics sorted. It wasn't until I was recovering from my surgery that it really hit me how BIG it was. Nothing can prepare you for that. Immediately after the surgery you live for the minute, the absolute helplessness of the days after major surgery are overpowering but you have to just get on with it as the deed is done and you don't have an option but to do anything else. It was tough, really tough. I went through times of feeling like a freak show, being a medical display mannequin! 

"Now, I am back to life as normal. The relief of no more scans, no more 'back of your mind' fears is more than I could have hoped for. Knowing my risk is now about 1% is a fantastic feeling." 

Breast Cancer Care ‏@BCCare42s

If you want to talk to someone about genetic risks for #breastcancer or preventative treatment, call our helpline on 0808 800 6000 from 9am

Breast Cancer Care ‏@BCCare16s

Find out more about breast cancer in families, genetic factors & risk-reducing surgery http://bcc.cx/RxDFpq 

Scanties in the pantry...sort of

I`ve just been on a brisk two mile walk through my kitchen. Well that was the plan.

In theory, it`s easy when you`ve got a treadmill in the corner. It`s great for rainy days, or those occasions when you can`t be arsed to get the full running kit on. It`s quite liberating, clocking up the kilometres in little more than your undies, without the risk of arrest, or hilarious laughter from passers by.

Anyway, it was while I was striding out past the fruit bowl, that I realised how grubby the bottom of the long kitchen curtains were. So I hopped off, slid them off the pole and shoved them in the washing machine.

And even though I`d only burned enough calories for three dry crackers and a slimmer`s soup, I didn`t get back on the mill. Too much to do.  If I`d been pounding (it`s actually little more than a shuffle) along on my morning mile, there`d have been no stopping me. No distractions, see?

But for the past few days, I`ve been unable to concentrate on anything for very long. Thought it might be the weather...you know...when there`s a `storm in the air`. Or too much coffee? Or maybe it`s in the genes. My late mum started knitting me a chocolate brown tank top in the early seventies and just couldn`t sit still long enough to get the damn thing finished. Never got it. (Probably for the best, in hindsight).

Anyway, I`ve concluded Twitter and my i-phone are to blame for my short attention span. (I`m now stopping to check which song mentioned `short little span of attention` . Know it? ) Twitter conversations are 140 characters long, tops. Information about anything, including song lyrics, is there at my fingertips. Nearly everyone I need to contact is right there, too, because, like me, they have a burning need to keep their phone in their pocket, or close by. If you`re impatient, like me, it`s perfect. And even though it`s Sunday, if I need food, a bottle of wine, or something to wear, I can just jump in the car and get it.

Is that a good thing?

While our house is wired to the world to suit  this frenetic pace of life, there are still reminders of the relaxed and rustic life the Edwards family lived after building this place in 1928. We`ve seen photographs of three generations under one roof before we`d added a room here and there; showing children feeding the chickens by the back door (and no treadmill in sight). And a pigsty, half way down the garden, now completely overgrown.

Not sure I could`ve waited that long for bacon buttie, but I guess, once the sty`s residents had been er...processed...the results were well worth waiting for.

How about you? Loving life in the fast lane? Or relishing those moments when you can just slow right down?

If you`ve read this far without getting as distracted as I do, by the way...thankyou!

Have a good day

@janemcintyre12 on Twitter  (please RT for me? Thanks!)