jmgoyder

wings and things

Dusk

It is difficult to take photographs at dusk, especially if you have an inferior camera and/or an amateur photographer, and/or if that same amateur photographer is a bit rusty. Nevertheless, and despite the poor quality of the shots, this particular amateur photographer thoroughly enjoyed getting herself back out there last night.

For some reason, many of the peafowl like to congregate on the roof of the wash-house at dusk, sometimes just to look up, which they are very good at.

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On the other hand, this same roof has also become the stage for some ferocious scuffles between the King peacocks. This photo was taken during a short truce because I didn’t click the camera in time to capture the battle. It’s okay, they didn’t hurt each other; one just flew away. In the background you can see the top of a palm tree pretending to be a peacock.

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And here is Gutsy9 in meditative mode.

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I handed in my application today for the ‘lifestyle assistant’ job at the nursing home and am excited at the possibility but trying not to get my hopes up. It’s part-time which is perfect for me and the usual shift seems to be from 3-6pm which is also perfect. I told Anthony but lately he has been so sleepy and confused that he didn’t really understand until I said, “Well, the money might be good” at which his eyes lit up – ha! Money is something he is constantly worried about, having been a hard-working, frugal farmer for all of those decades. And, yes, it would be good to be earning a wage again and doing something I have always wanted to do – interact, relax with, comfort, and share a joke with people who have dementia. All those years ago, when I was a nurse, there was never any allotted time for this and the notion of lifestyle assistance was unheard of. How wonderful that this nursing home employs people in this way.

If I get the job I won’t be home until after dusk some days. This is probably a good thing as I think I am better at morning photos!

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Catching up

After weeks of fighting a tenacious flu that kept coming back after each course of antibiotics, I finally got a chest x-ray which was clear (phew!) but my dr seems to think it was probably a case of pneumonia treated with the wrong antibiotics (I saw another dr to begin with because mine wasn’t on duty). So now I am on a fifth course of two different antibiotics and already feeling a lot better instead of a little bit better. It is such a relief because, despite being well enough for my mama’s 80th b’day and well enough to visit Ants most days and to do some volunteer work, it is only now that I am beginning to feel normal well ha!

As my role as ‘care-giver’ has become most of my identity now, I have a bit of a terror problem when I get sick because I am so needed by Anthony so to have been given the gift of a clear chest x-ray is like gold!

I’ve been trying to catch up and re-connect with blogger friends but have now decided to simply read blogs in a from-now-on mode rather than go back to see what I might’ve missed. It’s been a bit of a relief, too, to let go of the self-imposed feeling of obligation to blog every day if I just don’t have the time or inclination. Perhaps someone should write a book about blog psychology because I get the impression that other bloggers often suffer the same kind of ridiculous guilt. Interesting.

My volunteering at the nursing home, though interrupted by this flu, because you are not supposed to go in there if you are sick (paradoxically, this is probably where I first got infected), continues to delight me and I have now sent an ‘expression of interest’ email in response to last week’s advertisement for a “lifestyle assistant” in the dementia wing. This is a permanent part-time position from 3-6pm for someone to provide activities while the nursing staff conduct the evening showers. As I have already been volunteering in this wing from 3-4pm on the weekends, I am familiar with each of the ten residents and have developed a bit of a rapport. Tomorrow I will fill out the application form and hope for the best. I think this kind of arrangement would be a perfect match and hopefully there will be no perceived conflict of interest as Anthony is not in the dementia wing. I am quite excited about this job possibility and the money would be a relief!

Ming has a job he loves at a restaurant called ‘Corners on King’ so he is gradually becoming independent financially and in other ways. He hates for me to make him any food so my tactic has been to make him a smoothie every morning into which I pack a punch of secret ingredients (if you want to know the secret ingredients you will have to email me!) For those who don’t know, Ming has, from birth, had a rather extraordinary unhungryness – long story which I can’t be bothered telling now but my best illustration of this is the 40C degree day, when he was about one, in which Ants and I had to use a syringe to push a bit of milk into his ungreedy little mouth.

The last few years have been enormously challenging with me having to resign from my job as university lecturer; Anthony’s permanent admission to the nursing home; my mother’s horrifying injuries after falling from her bicycle; the car accident and court case and cousins’ heroic recoveries; Ming’s two scoliosis operations; some friendships rekindled and others on hold; peace, joy, guilt and wretchedness in equal amounts; Ming’s short-lived, but loved, dairy worker job abandoned due to his spine; finding out that you really love eggs on toast; and that if you don’t like what you look like, you need to stop looking at yourself and look away…..

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…. and finding out that the width of hope is immeasurable!

Catchya later….

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What a peculiar blog!

I have just looked back to discover that tomorrow will mark the third anniversary of this blog. The reason I was looking back was because I want to find, in amongst all of the bird stuff, everything I have written about Anthony and Parkinson’s disease and how he, Ming and I have coped. I thought it might be useful to compile these entries into one document and see if it works as a whole, maybe as a book. Apart from the wonder of all the friendships wrought via blogging, it has also been wonderful to find that I have a record of these past three years because I don’t think I would have remembered otherwise, except as a kind of blurry fog of joys and sorrows – mostly joys.

The birds, and the wings idea, have punctuated the last three years in real and metaphorical ways. Many have now been lost to fox attacks, I have given the emus away, and all three of the original caged birds have been set free. We now have a dozen peafowl, nine guinneafowl, five geese and one duck. The casualties have been heartbreaking and I have decided not to acquire any more due to their vulnerability to fox attacks. Gutsy9 is still thriving and one of the two peachicks hatched last year has survived and I think there will be more chicks soon. I have stopped interfering in the way natural selection works. All of the birds still take bread out of my hand and give me enormous joy (except Godfrey, the gander who likes to bite me!)

But everything changes and now that most of my daytime hours are spent in the nursing home, the birds and I don’t commune as much. Hence, when they hear my voice, they come running AT me with a mixture of love and greed (for wheat) that it is hilarious to watch. And even the birds who are gone continue to live on via Anthony’s hallucinations. Almost every day he points them out through his nursing home window. The outdoor tables and chairs become turkeys; the lawn is speckled with chooks and guinneafowl; and the flowerbeds are parrots. I can see them too.

It seems a rather peculiar blog in its higgledy-piggledyness and some of my entries make me cringe, but hopefully I will be able to draw out enough of the love story to compile a coherent record that might be helpful to others who live with Parkinson’s disease.

Here is a picture of the nearly grown up peachick, still very much attached to his mother (in foreground)!
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Birthday girl!

Okay so today is my mother’s 80th birthday and nobody can believe she is that great age because she looks so young. We met up at the nursing home at 11am so that Anthony and I could give her ‘the book’ together and (sigh of relief) Meg loved it, despite its falling apart with messy fullness! Then we went out for lunch with a sprinkling of special people with the surprise star being Meg’s first great-grandchild who has just turned 1.

On Saturday we have the party, a 2-hour boat cruise which is just family because, if we had to include friends, it would have entailed a ship!

All of the grandchildren wrote something for Grandma to be included in the birthday book and here is what I did with Ashtyn’s words:

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Ashtyn is Meg’s first grandchild, my fantastic first niece, my god-daughter, Ming’s godmother and, in so many other ways, the star of the family. She and Meg are very much alike in that their presence at any occasion elicits a lot of attention because they are both so beautiful!

So, Mama, you are now 80 +
Weird
wondrous
YOU!

Note: I will CHANGE the subject tomorrow!

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A white peacock twirls: a haiku (or two)

A white peacock twirls
in an old, red dairy shed,
his dance ancient, new.

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He wrestles the wind
and the dust of the old shed,
to be absolute!

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Another person dies

A few moments ago I found out that a neighbor had died and I got the most terrible shock. His office was next to mine at the university a decade or so ago, but then he retired to run a farmstay. Not so long ago, I gave him my emus because he had bigger yards. He was known fondly as ‘Farmer John’. I have sent a private message to his wife, and will go to the funeral, of course, but am still reeling that he is actually gone.

He left the university to follow his dream of having a farmstay and, with incredible hard work, and his wife’s support and culinary expertise, he made a success of it. I salute him.

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Gutsy 9 – my fantastic bird-in-hand

For those who don’t know, G9 is a peachick who, for some reason (maybe because she was half blue/half white) was abandoned by whoever hatched her. I caught her as she was scuttling, terrified, into the old dairy and pretty much raised her with the hands of Ants and Ming.

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Today, I decided that I would come home earlier than usual from the nursing home. I told Ants I had to go and feed the birds and dogs, and then said I would see him later.

Ants: You won’t come back.
Me: What do you mean? I always come back!
Ants: Not, yes, what car?
Me: Our car, silly!
Ants: How many calves? I need those people for the fireplace
Me: Only ten left to feed. Ming will do it. I know who you mean for the fireplace.
Ants: Are you sure?
Me: Yes, should we ring tomorrow?
Ants: You do it – something is wrong with me.

When I got home, I went straight out to find Gutsy and, as usual, she was waiting for me:

I’d like a word, Julie

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You’re always out and about and I feel ….

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Oh I think I’m going to cry – how embarrassing!

G9!

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Five seconds

Today, I experienced, for the first time, five seconds of what I always knew was inevitable. For five seconds (and I know it was exactly five seconds because I kissed Anthony five times – three on the nose and two on the forehead – all in quick succession, to remind him….)

Ants!
It’s me – Jules!
Ants!

A syllable for each peck of a second.

This is the first time Anthony hasn’t recognized me and, even though it was only five seconds, it is good to have had that little taste of forewarning/arming because I still have time to develop some tactics and hopefully some wisdom.

When I told my mother about the five seconds of unrecognition (yes, ‘unrecognition’ is a word – I checked) she squeezed my hand but I quickly reassured her that I was fine with this first of what will be many unrecognitions. (It’s kind of weird being comforted by your 79-year-old mother about your 78-year-old husband!)

In what I think will be the near future, the challenge for me will be in how to reassure Anthony that I am indeed Jules, his wife, without embarrassing him. I know this because lately he asks a lot for his mother and many others of his family who are now deceased. Sometimes I say they are all well but very busy but sometimes (for example if he is distressed, as he was for his mother again the other night), I will gently remind him that she is gone.

I was thrilled today to have a conversation with a friend of mine, Ann, who now works as a clinical instructor at the nursing home (she and I both left our jobs at the university at around the same time). Ann told me that she has been showing all staff, including domestic staff, a DVD about Parkinson’s disease that explains, among other things, why someone with PD can sometimes walk, and other times be totally unable in which case encouraging words are useless. Interestingly, the DVD also explains why a person with PD may not respond to a greeting, and therefore appear to be unfriendly. Ann told me that she pointed out to the staff that people with PD need time to process the greeting and should, instead of rushing past with a “Hi Anthony!” and disappearing, wait for his response.

After all, it only takes around five seconds for Anthony to say “hi” back.

On the other hand it only took one second for Anthony to say “Rubbish! Throw it out the window” about the cupcakes I made for him last week!

The kiss Yes, I know I’ve posted this photo before but I love it!

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YES

YES?

It was because we were friends first – you my ‘big brother’ at 40ish and me a kid at 17. Is this why I continue to need to be close to you for most of every day now?

I ADORED YOU, so much so that your mother noticed and winked and encouraged, but you were too respectful, and I was too innocent. When you take my hand now, you smudge it into yours. My hands are small and yours are large but, when we have an arm wrestle, I have to pretend to be weak.

I remember how you gentled a more vivid blush into my cheeks than usual, when, for the first time, you took my hand and dragged me outside to see the once-a-year bloom of the moon-flowers. Now, contrary to your theory, the moon-flowers bloom haphazardly, unpredictably, and more than once a year.

Today, you couldn’t form words, so you were mostly incoherent, and totally confused and it was a bit of a struggle for me, but my presence helped, I guess – and when you seemed to be asking me something with your sliced up words, I just kept saying yes and you were okay with that.

YES.

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I am so fortunate

I awoke to a soft wind that sounded like a distant ocean. Its breath cooled my face and stroked my hair. Through the window I watched as it choreographed so wild and unpredictable a dance for the blossoming pear tree, that the giggling wrens couldn’t keep their footing and toppled. More and more birds arrived as if to join a game – doves, parrots, willy wagtails, crows, butcher birds, their laughter contagious, raucous, fantastic. I could see all of this from my bed but suddenly I wanted a closer view so I leapt out of bed and pressed my nose against the screen of the open window. There, beneath the tree, stood all of the peafowl, spread out in a circle on the sun-dappled lawn, their feathers frolicking out of control. And that’s how the wind made itself visible to me this morning.

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