jmgoyder

wings and things

Enough is enough

I have been struggling to write about something for a couple of days because, despite the fact that I am fine with being honest and open about stuff in this blog, on Sunday our family situation became, for me, unbearable and I gave up. I couldn’t write about it except metaphorically (the ‘despair’ post for eg.)

That’s what happens, I think, when you have been enoughed enough – ha! But, on Sunday night, I realized that being this cringing wimp wasn’t helping so I gave up giving up and got angry instead.

I became Godzilla and it was very satisfying! I said NO, I said I am the boss, not you, I said enough is enough.

The teenager from hell suddenly reverted to his usual angelic personality and it has now lasted 48 hours. There is hope.

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Gramophone glee

I finally took delivery of the gramophone I bought for Anthony a while ago so yesterday I met my mother and sister-in-law at the nursing lodge and we cranked it up. Anthony was invisibly thrilled – ha – but it was definitely a success. It just fits into the cupboard in his room so that’s good because now, whenever I go in, I can bring it out and put it on.

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It’s nearly yesterday!

In just a few minutes, Today will become Yesterday and Tomorrow will take over.

Good! I have fallen into the most beautiful friendship with Tomorrow because Tomorrow is so wise, patient and extraordinarily constant.

Today and Yesterday have been impossibly difficult, lately so I have reminded them that Tomorrow will always be my favourite day – always.

Gotta go – Tomorrow is just about to arrive. Yeeha!

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Aha!

I just figured it out! As soon as I did, I raced into the living room and kicked that idiotic despair out of my favourite chair and it ran, terrified, from the house.  Now I just have to clean up its mess.

My despair-repellant formula will be available for sale soon, so keep tuned.

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Despair

Despair came to visit today even though I had already told it to go way so many times and thought it had finally given up. It knocks on the door a lot and I ignore it and feel safe because the door is locked. But today, it picked the lock and broke in and, whammo, smashed me just as I was putting the kettle on. And when I fell down, it kicked me and kicked me until I begged it to stop, to please go away. It stopped kicking me but it didn’t go away.

So that was a few hours ago and I have since gotten up, washed the tears off my face and am now developing a plan of how to get rid of it because it’s sitting in the living room, waiting. Do I play the waiting game too and hope, in time, it will give up and go away? Or do I go into the living room and confront it. Despair has the advantage of course because it stopped me from doing all of the things I wanted to do today by snaking its way into my conversations with my son and non-conversations with my husband. It burned the kettle dry and whipped the wind up to blow all of the clean clothes off the line and into the dust of the driveway.

It’s pretty clever, this despair, because it has positioned itself in the middle of the house and created a sort of dividing line between my son’s room and my office, so every time he and I have tried to have a chat, it whips into the conversation and, with incredible skill, turns all the good words into corpses, turns our blue eyes black and laughs derisively when we both slam our doors and give up.

The trouble with banishing despair is that it might simply go somewhere else and inflict itself on someone else, so I have to figure out how to kill it. It has never been so presumptuous before, never made itself so at home before and, when I last sneaked a peek, it was dozing comfortably in the living room, waiting. Waiting for what though? Is it waiting for another mother/son argument, for another wife/husband disappointment, for another bird to be killed by the fox, for another glass of my tears?

How will I kill it before it kills me? I know it hates me laughing because once I saw it shrivel when I laughed. And I know it hates me loving because once I saw it vomit when I hugged Ming and Ants at the same time so maybe I can kill it with more laughter, with more love. But somehow I don’t think that will be enough. After all, this despair has already been able to permeate all of our laughter and love with little drops of dead fly poison.

I wish I had the solution to this predicament.

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First crush

It was mid-semester break at the local university where I worked so I took Ming in with me. He was nearly four. I’d only done this once before and it’d been a disaster because there was nothing for him to do except run up and down the hallway, vrooming, which wasn’t really appropriate at exam time.

This time I had a drawer full of paper, textas, finger puppets, matchbox cars and chocolate frogs ready, and for awhile this worked really well. I closed my office door and started preparing for the following semester while Ming played and drew pictures happily on the floor.

Inevitably, Ming got bored, so finally I opened my office door and told him he could go up and down the hallway quietly. He raced out.

After a few minutes I realised it was just a bit too quiet and, worried he’d wandered outside, I darted into the hallway just in time to see him dragging a chair from one of empty lecture rooms into the hallway and across to another lecture room. This was a big job for a little guy and I retreated to my doorway and watched, unnoticed, while, grunting with exertion, he finally propped the chair up against the closed door.

I knew there was some sort of community seminar going on in that room and earlier I’d bumped into the woman conducting it and said a quick hello. She’d seen Ming and crouched down at his eye-level and ruffled his hair, saying, “You’re a handsome devil aren’t you!” But it wasn’t until I saw him clambering onto the chair to look through the small window into the room where she was giving some sort of presentation that I realised how much impact she’d had on him.

I tip-toed up behind him to watch this woman through Ming’s ‘little-boy’ eyes. She was certainly beautiful; she was young, slim, olive-skinned and her black hair fell to her waist. Ming was so transfixed that he had no idea I was there until she suddenly noticed us peering in. She was so startled that I whisked Ming off the chair and back into my office, embarrassed.

But, much to my surprise, he ran straight back and picked up the chair, which had fallen over, and clambered onto it again to have another look. I quietly left him to it.

A few minutes later, I heard voices in the hallway, indicating that the seminar had finished. Ming toddled back into my office, an ecstatic smile on his face.

“Come an’ look, Mummy,” he said, pulling me away from my desk and into the hallway. The woman was walking away but, for some reason, she turned back and saw us watching her. She waved, and Ming waved back. Then she was gone. He sighed.

“That’s a bootiful womin, isint it, Mummy,” he said, looking up at me, his eyes full of light. I was flabbergasted. Was he in love?

It took weeks to wear off!

…..

Now that Ming is 18 he has experienced a few more crushes and been crushed by them as we all are at that age. It is strange to think that I was, at his age, falling in love with Anthony. I wonder who Ming will end up forming a relationship with and I hope she will be kind to him like the woman in the story above. If she isn’t, I will bop her!

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This odd little family

I love this odd  little family of mine – the three of us – Anthony, Ming and me.

Ants is 76 and in a nursing lodge due to advanced Parkinson’s and cancer, and Ming is 18 and suffering a disease called adolescence.

I’m kind of in the middle at 50ish.  I love them both equally but sometimes it’s almost as if I have to make a choice about who needs to be prioritized. Do I privilege my husband or my son?

That is a very good question.

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Just for fun!

Just for fun, I sent my kissing peafowl photo to Robyn at http://throughthehealinglens.com/ to see if she could improve it. And look what she’s done – amazing difference!

Here is the ‘before’:

And here is  the ‘after’ – Robyn’s version:

I love it! Thank you, Robyn.

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‘Fluxuation’ versus ‘fluctuation’

Hello

Okay, so in my previous post, I used the word ‘fluxuation’ instead of the word ‘fluctuation’. The link below proves that I was, indeed, incorrect.

http://wiki.answers.com/Q/What_is_the_definition_of_fluxuation

I just received a phonecall from a friend who alerted me to my spelling error, so I went back to the post and was just about to correct this until I realized that, in fact, ‘fluxuation’ is a much better word because it implies flux which is what I was trying to convey. Yes, I am quite sure now that I intended to use ‘fluxuation’ so I will now ring my friend back and tell her that I was being incredibly clever and that she mustn’t be afraid of neologisms and extraordinarily brilliant metaphorical linguistics.

Actually I did make a spelling error. Whoops!

Lots of love

Fluxy

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Concertina conversations

Anthony’s increasing confusion confuses me! This afternoon, our conversation fluxuated between ordinary and bizarre on a minute-by-minute basis. Ming and I were there for a couple of hours and these were some of the things Anthony said:

“So where are we all sleeping tonight?”

“E. came to see me today.”

“No, I don’t hallucinate at night. I get locked up and nobody is here.”

“Don’t bring me any more of these cakes because I can’t stop eating them.”

“Where will you be tonight?”

“Where do you live now?”

“I’ll just have a tiny red wine, Jules, that whole glass yesterday did me in.”

The reason I get confused is that a totally lucid sentence can be followed immediately by a totally wacky sentence, then some mumby jumbly sentences, then a lucid sentence, then another wacky sentence and on and on it goes. I find it difficult to keep up, and to know when to go with the flow or contradict Anthony (for example to reassure him he is not locked up and there are plenty of staff around all night).

I don’t feel tragified by this because we had a good time with Ants and, even though he can’t smile or laugh properly, Ming did lighten the mood with his antics (doing a dance with one of Anthony’s walking sticks, kissing Anthony sloppily on the nose, being cheeky to the nurses and to my mother when she arrived to partake in the red wine session.)

Leaving to go home is always hard. After I kissed and hugged him goodbye, he said:

“Couldn’t we try me coming home for the night?”

“Where are you going now?”

“Do you still live at Bythorne?”

“I love you.”

Concertina conversations!

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