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Yahoo
an hour ago
- Yahoo
My 80-year-old neighbor became a surrogate grandmother to my 3 kids. They enjoyed crafting and talking and I appreciated how unhurried her life was.
My family formed a strong bond with our elderly neighbor, Kay, after moving next door to her. The friendship, reminiscent of simpler times, provided emotional support and cherished memories. She became a surrogate grandma to my three kids and provided an important connection for me. When my family moved into our forever home in 2019, we made it a point to introduce ourselves to the neighbors. My husband jokingly calls this house our "toe tag house" — the place we'll stay until we expire — so it felt important for us to know the people around us. Mike and Kay were our next door neighbors, their house is just through an undisturbed thicket. They were the first ones we connected with, exchanging pleasantries and pies. Kay and I became fast friends. Although we had nearly a 50-year age gap, we had one very important thing in common: We adored my kids. They (then ages 2, 4, and 8) visited her nearly every day, so often that Kay had to implement a boundary: If the curtain on the sliding glass door was open, they could come in, if it was closed, they had to wait. They would color, craft, go on nature walks, help with chores, and just sit with her and visit. She became a surrogate grandmother to them, and we all felt pulled to her, it was like gravity wanted us to be around her. Our friendship was completely unplugged Spending time with Kay reminded me of childhood in the '90s, when time with my grandma came without the interruption of phones or social media. I rarely touched my phone at Kay's unless I was snapping one of the few pictures we have together — because I knew one day I'd need them. Eventually, I started slipping over after the kids' bedtime so we could chat in her back room. I called those nights our "therapy sessions." Just two women talking about real life while the world outside slowed down. She didn't drain my social battery, she recharged it Time with Kay didn't take anything out of me, instead it gave me what I needed to show up better for everyone else: coworkers, clients, my kids' teachers. At her house, I'd kick off my shoes, curl up on the couch, and soak in her wisdom. She told stories about the trips she and Mike used to take, and I hung on every word. The Kay I knew rarely left home or changed out of her cotton nightie, but in those stories, she came alive in a different way. Her homebound nature resonated with me. I loved how unhurried her life was. Most of my friendships revolve around doing things — lunch, errands, events. Kay taught me that the best ones don't need all that. If the conversation feeds your soul and the company keeps you warm inside, it's enough. And with her, it always was. I knew we didn't have forever Over time, Kay's health declined. Breathing became harder. Any illness landed her in the hospital. On my last day with her, she was having a panic attack about her breathing trouble, and she cried in my arms as I comforted her and held her hand. I laid in her bed with her for a little while, until her daughter arrived and I knew it was time for me to go. I told Kay I loved her, she said it back, and I went home. She passed away a few days later — on Christmas Eve in 2024. Telling my kids was devastating. Watching their hearts break wrecked me. They're still grieving. So am I. When we pass by her backyard and see the curtains on the glass door closed, I choke back tears every time. But where that thicket used to be is a mowed path. We still visit Mike and soak up the memories of Kay together. I don't regret a second of becoming best friends with someone I knew I couldn't have forever. She brought me back to life and reminded me what matters most: the laughter, a strong bond, and good company. Read the original article on Business Insider Solve the daily Crossword
Yahoo
2 hours ago
- Yahoo
My ‘mankeeper' wife always wants me to share my feelings. Why can't she just leave me alone?
So it is called 'mankeeping' now, is it? Not 'nagging', or 'pestering', but a nice touchy-feely expression which gives every woman – especially my wife – the right to badger me multiple times a day about how I am 'feeling'? Last week my wife of 38 years, Diana, reported on this new psychotherapist term, 'mankeeping', in which couples are suffering a detrimental effect on their relationship because women are having to do all the 'emotional heavy-lifting'. 'Mankeepers' grumble that their male partners fail to share their innermost feelings and emotions with them, so they in turn feel shut out of their lives. This very much struck a chord with me as Diana asks me about 10 times a day if I am 'OK'. It drives me crazy – and I think most men will agree. I fear mankeeping will now become the word of the month in our household – and another stick to beat me with. Yet I do not need to be mankept by my wife or anyone else, thank you very much. We men want mainly to be left alone with our thoughts. We are not all emotional husks and we do have deeply felt emotions that do occasionally come out and, yes, need to be talked about. Just not 10 times a day. To avoid the never-ending 'How are you feeling? Are you sure you are alright?' series of enquiries about my health, both mental and physical (we're both now 64 years old), I have adopted a kind of rictus grin to allay any fears Diana might have about my state of mind. Sadly, I don't think it works. I spent 10 years as a TV war correspondent, reporting from Iraq, Kosovo, Sierra Leone and Albania, and, because some of my colleagues now have PTSD, Diana wants me to 'vocalise my fears'. Yes, the plight of civilians I witnessed – brutalised and trapped in these places – during my career did have a profound effect on me, and the memories are very deep-rooted. But that is where I want them to stay. If I opened that Pandora's box in my mind on a regular basis I very much doubt that our marriage – or even myself as a sane human being – would survive. Those memories need to be shared only by the camera operators and other journalists I have worked with over the years, not my wife and children. In other words, people who can relate to those things. When I get together with like-minded people – mostly men, but I also have female war correspondent friends – we do share feelings and emotions, without the fear that we are burdening someone with them. Because that is how I feel – my emotions are mine. I don't want anyone else dabbling in my soul. Of course not many men have witnessed such trauma – but I think most do feel like me, that they'd rather trundle on from day to day not thinking about anything very deeply, just putting one foot in front of the other, getting jobs done and looking forward to a beer. I cannot understand why women need to take their emotional temperature seemingly 20 times each day and tell each other everything. It's as if they are constantly mentally patting themselves down, asking: 'Am I happy?' Men are not like this. We deal in facts and realities, and practical issues such as: 'Must get more AdBlue for the car.' When my wife looks at me with that annoying 'caring' expression and asks: 'What are you thinking?' I have to swiftly make something up on the spot that I think will please her, when the real answer is 'nothing whatsoever'. The term mankeeping was coined by postdoctoral fellow Angelica Ferrara, a postdoctoral scholar at America's Stanford University, and a visiting fellow at the London School of Economics. The term, she says, 'describes the unreciprocated work that women do to manage the emotional and social needs of the men in their lives, an under-recognised form of labour resulting from men's declining social networks'. Now hold on there! I have quite a few close friends, and we talk a lot. OK, mostly about cars and football and very little about our feelings – but that does not mean the closeness is not there. It is there, in an expression, in a nod, in a hand on the arm. We don't need to emotionally bleed all over each other to feel our support. I know they are there for me, and would go to the ends of the earth if I needed them. But we deal with personal issues through jokes and light banter. I rely on them to cheer me up – not constantly mop up my spilt emotions. I can do that myself, thank you. If I really think about it, I don't want to be seen as weak by anyone, especially not my wife or children. That's my self-worth as a man. I remember an episode in the TV show Friends where one of the characters complains that her boyfriend has never cried. She pursues him until he breaks down and suddenly, he can't stop weeping. Soon after, she leaves him. Point proven! I hate crying in front of my wife. She says it is a 'strength' but to me, I have failed if I let go to that extent. That isn't my role. I would far rather unburden myself to people who really know what I am feeling inside – and this only very occasionally. In many ways this has been very helpful to us as a couple – I hope my wife now understands that emoting all over the place makes me feel much worse, not better. I don't enjoy it. I find it confusing and hurtful, and it stirs up way too much inside. Call me old-fashioned, but I believe in stoicism and presenting a brave face to the world. And, at the end of the day, I like to know I've kept my head down, worked hard and earned a drink. We really are that simple. Broaden your horizons with award-winning British journalism. Try The Telegraph free for 1 month with unlimited access to our award-winning website, exclusive app, money-saving offers and more. Solve the daily Crossword
Yahoo
3 hours ago
- Yahoo
Councillor undertakes special Lakeland Rowing Club boat naming ceremony
A ROWING club's two new boats have been christened in a special naming ceremony. Cumberland councillor Sally Lansbury attended the naming ceremony for two newly acquired boats at the Lakeland Rowing Club's picturesque premises on Derwentwater Isthmus, Keswick. The event marks a significant milestone for the club, made possible through funding from the UK Shared Prosperity Fund (UKSPF), administered by Cumberland Council. The new boats—a four-seater quad and a two-seater double—will be officially named 'Tyan' and 'Methera'. The names were voted on by club members and reflects the club's Cumbrian roots and connection to the local community. Cllr Lansbury christened the boats, a ceremony that welcomes a boat to the water and is intended to bring good luck and safe travels. Sally said: 'Lakeland Rowing Club is a great example of what enthusiasm, ingenuity, hard work and determination can achieve. "With just a few shipping containers to work from and based on the Isthmus, members past and present have created a thriving club to provide rowing opportunities for Keswick's community. "I congratulate the current committee and fundraising team for their successful purchase of these two new vessels. "The club is providing wonderful opportunities for local people.' READ MORE: 15-week crackdown on illegal use of e-bikes across Cumbria | News and Star Cumberland Council supports Keswick's sports clubs and community groups through the Lakes to Sea Panel. Anyone seeking funding to enhance their facilities or to purchase equipment can contact Lakeland Rowing Club, based in Keswick, welcomes beginners, recreational and returning rowers, coxes, coaches, and prospective sponsors.
