jmgoyder

wings and things

It’s time for an inspection!

Yikes! Dina is coming out to the farm tomorrow to pick me up for lunch at a brewery not far from here. This means she will spot any residues of chaos in the house and Ming’s shed.

Okay, just to refresh your memory, Dina is the wonderful woman who helped us to declutter and reorganise the house and sheds. Her business is https://www.chaostoclear.com.au

So I have around 25 hours to hide do my pile of paperwork, and Ming (who isn’t home yet from gallivanting down south) has even less time to make his shed presentable.

A few weeks ago, Dina, a mutual friend and I went out for lunch, and they picked me up. I wasn’t sure if they’d come into the house or not so, in the hour before they arrived, I went into a neat-and-tidy frenzy. Well they didn’t come in so that was a bit of an anti-climax and, during lunch, I told them and Dina laughed.

But tomorrow is different. Tomorrow, as part of her service, Dina will be conducting a follow-up inspection at my request.

Now don’t get me wrong; Dina is the kindest, most uncritical decluttering expert I know (well I don’t know any others) and I am not a slob (mostly). But she is also very frank and I am a bit disorganised. This makes for a beautiful friendship but OMG I only have 24 hours left!

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Yikes!

22 Comments »

Nonsense

Whenever Anthony says something during our afternoons together, I either hit ‘mute’ on the television, or ‘pause’ if it’s a dvd.

This is so that I can listen and respond to whatever he is saying, or trying to say. His voice has become very whispery and sometimes croaky lately and, even when he does get the words out, they sometimes
don’t
make
sense….

The following dialogue is an example of how weird and wonderful our conversations can be. I am learning how to be unafraid of nonsense, to enter its world in an Alice-in-Wonderland kind of way, to talk, listen, laugh and pause.

Anthony: How did you know where to find me?

Me: Instinct.

Anthony: You have good instincts.

Me: I know.

PAUSE

Anthony: Can you get this calf to get out of underneath the….

Me: What?

Anthony: This bbbb mmmm toothpaste.

Me: What? Try again.

Anthony: The cat toothpaste.

Me: The toothpaste is free, Ants, and there’s no cat here. Anyway I thought you hated cats.

Anthony: There are five.

Me: You’re hallucinating but I’ll shoo them away, anyway; is that better?

Anthony: Not much.

PAUSE

Me: So, do you think I look different today?

Anthony: No.

Me: Ants, I am wearing a dress for God’s sake. I never wear dresses!

Anthony: Oh.

Me: So what is different about me?

Anthony: Your legs are shorter.

Me: Oh.

Anthony: Is Mum okay?

Me: My mum or your mum?

Anthony: Ours.

Me: She’s fine.

Anthony: Where’s Ming?

Me: He’s at work but he’s coming to visit soon.

Anthony: Does he know I’m at the Rose Hotel?

Me: I’ll tell him.

Anthony: Where is your mother?

Me: Why do you always want to know where my mother is?

Anthony: Well she should be here and I’m worried about her eyes.

Me: Can we just watch the show, Ants?

Anthony: Haven’t we seen this, Jules?

Me: Well it’s a series, so yes and no. We are now up to the third season.

Anthony: Can you bumblebee the cardboard over there?

Me: What?

Anthony: Can you mmmbrrr oh my words don’t. What’s the thing wrong again, Jules?

Me: Ants, you have Parkinson’s, plus you are really quite old. And you have very strange ears.

Anthony: I have perfect ears!

PAUSE

Anthony: You have a sexy stomach.

Me: WHAT? Stop looking at my stomach – I ate too much lunch!

Anthony: Look at mine – I’m thin.

Me: Well there’s no need to rub it in.

PAUSE

Anthony: There’s that baby again.

Me: It’s not a baby; it’s my handbag! See!

Anthony: I think we should go to Golden Valley [his childhood home].

Me: Not today. It’s too cold.

PAUSE

Anthony: Jules?

Me: Yes?

Anthony: Bbbb mmmm – oh I can’t speak.

Me: Do you want the rug on your knees?

Anthony: That’s the elbow, good.

PAUSE

Me: You’re adorable and I love you.

Anthony: Mmm.

Me: You’re supposed to say it back.

Anthony: What?

Me: ‘I love you’.

Anthony: I know you do.

Me: No, I mean you’re supposed to say ‘I love you’ back to me!

Anthony: You already do.

PAUSE

Me: I’ll show you a picture of Ming dressed up as a nurse for Halloween, okay? You are going to be shocked.

Anthony: Nothing shocks me.

Me: Okay, check this out!

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Anthony: He is magnificent!

I rest my case: nonsense is a good thing!

23 Comments »

Special K

‘Special K’ is the nickname I have chosen to give my 13-year-old, 6’2″ nephew, not just for the sake of his privacy, but also because he is especially special.

This is a difficult post to write but here goes: Special K was one of the five children injured in a car accident in which Ming was the driver … a bit over two years ago.

Special K was the only one thrown out of Ming’s ute, his leg was broken badly, and he was subsequently emergency-helicoptered to Perth with his father (my youngest brother). And yet this brave and beautiful boy, instead of screaming, helped everyone to calm down. I don’t know how he did this because I wasn’t there; I was at the other end of a suddenly-silent telephone call in which Ming said, “Mum, I’ve had an accident.”

Fast forward to now and all of the children have recovered physically except for Special K who needs an operation to remove the plate from his leg. He might even need another smaller plate inserted; I don’t know.

Ming and I were talking about life and death yesterday and he admitted that he thinks about the accident every single day.

Me: But you were so philosophical at the time, Ming! You kept reminding me that nobody died!

Ming: You were a mess, Mum.

I think the fact that Special K has to have an operation on his injured leg has thrown me back to that dreadful night and reminded me of how resilience works. IMG_0240

As you can see from the photo, Special K is almost as gorgeous as our brand new 007!

[This post is for you, Jo – mother of all mothers!]

34 Comments »

This, that….

20150927_143929This,
that….

Well I got back from Perth last week and the first thing I did was to rush to my new beaut vegetable garden and also check the chooks. I fed and watered both with a sense of quiet glee.

The second thing I did was to go inside and log on. When nothing happened I didn’t panic since all the green lights were indicating merrily that the internet wasn’t too far away.

Six hours later, having spoken to six different technical support people, all of whom were amazingly patient, kind and positive (with the exception of one woman whose sighs, when I didn’t understand her click34xcableetc instructions, became thunderous on loudspeaker) were confident.

At one point, during this ungleeful, longwinded experience, I rang Ming who said that when he got home he’d sort it out in a jiffy. Well he tried, and even spoke to other technical support people, to no avail.

The Ming then said, with great compassion and a generous hug, “Maybe you’re just not intelligent enough, Mum….?”

I let his observation linger for the ten days during which I had no internet except via my phone. When I began to get the 5s mixed us with the Ss, I gave up.

Anyway, yesterday the replacement modem arrived at the post office and Ming picked it up, brought it home, connected it and voila!

So what am I supposed to do now? I can’t possibly answer all of the zillions of emails and comments and facebooky stuff; I can’t possibly catch up on ten days of my blog friends’ blogs; I can’t even catch up with what I was going to do before I lost the internet because my blog kind of reminded me of what to do.

I survived my ten day blip of no internet, but the person most affected by my off-the-internet-radar status was my beautiful mother. Meg and I have a strong internet relationship via email and Facebook, but she is more attentive to messages than I am, so, when I lost the internet, she was the first to miss me.

And today is her birthday. She is 81, looks 61 and acts like 21. So today Meg came to the farm to see the vegetable garden then we went to a local winery for lunch. The secret surprise was that Ming and A. would join us and that was a fantastic thing!

It’s great to be blogging again. That internet blip taught me something really profound: I need the internet!

One of the hardest things for me now is having fun – the guilt of it. Lunches with friends, learning how to garden with new friends, figuring out the future, altering and/or discarding things in this old house, renewing ….

This,
that,
and the other….

51 Comments »

I am so cool!

I feel the heat terribly and, as some of my friends may remember, a couple of summers ago, I developed a condition called “pompholyx“.

(Warning: if you click on the above link you might be grossed out by the pictures, just as I was by the condition).

Anyway, since one of the triggers is excessive perspiration, which I vividly remember my dad having and now it’s obviously my turn, I made a big decision. Air conditioning!

I pretty much live in my writing room, which used to be Gar’s bedroom (Anthony’s mother). Anyway, her 1970s air conditioner died last year, so last week I made the call and the aircon. guys and the electrician installed it this morning. It’s not a particularly hot day (only in the mid-20s C), but as I waved my saviours goodbye, I was already dripping, despite wearing a sweatband.

And now? Ahhh, the bliss of being so cool and the comfort of knowing that when the temperature hits 40 degrees (any time soon as summer approaches), I will have a safe haven! Okay so, in the big scheme of things, pompholyx may not seem like such a serious condition but it drove me quite mad for months a couple of years ago.

I was reminding our doctor the other day and he immediately looked at my hands where, during a funny little heatwave last week, the blisters had begun to appear.

Me: You can’t see them now – I scratched them off and it wasn’t that bad.

Doctor: Mmmmm.

Me: But I can feel them coming back – the blisters. So I think I might need botox to stop me sweating? I read about that possibility.

Doctor: No. I’ll order some blood tests; it could be hormonal.

Me: Yes, of course, but I don’t think it’s just menopausalish because I perspire a hell of a lot more than any of my equally menopausal friends!

Doctor: Mmmmm.

Me: And remember how we discussed cranio-facial hyper-hydrosis, or whatever you call it, last year? That’s me! It’s just my face, head and hands – the rest of me sweats normally.

Doctor: Mmmmm.

Okay so the doctor doesn’t do the mmmmmm thing loudly but it’s definitely a component of our conversations, with a chuckle here and there. I much prefer the mmmmm.

Anyway, as the young aircon. guys were leaving, I apologised for the peacock noise (it’s spring, so they are yaaaaawking constantly). One of the guys said ‘They are so cool!’

I agree and here are a couple of shots of Prince minus his back view!
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As this beautiful white peacock does his twirling, fanning, wonderful dance, his feathers muscle their way into the breeze and sing:

I am so cool!

49 Comments »

The suffering conundrum

I just don’t get it. Why does one person cop multiple illnesses? And why does this seem to happen to the beautiful people?

Later this week I will be travelling to Perth to meet my friend at the airport, after which we will spend two luxurious nights at a resort. During the days, I will take my friend to her medical appointments; in the evenings we will sip wine, eat pizza, and reminisce.

She was the first kid to say hello to me on the bus to school after my family moved from PNG to Australia. Since then, we have had years of little contact due to busyness, geography etc. but, more recently, have reconnected.

‘How is it possible for you to still laugh?’ I asked her on the phone tonight, to which she replied with her laugh.

My friend suffers severe eye conditions and an unhealed broken foot and yet she can still maintain laughter within her suffering. How does she do this?

I haven’t mentioned her name because she is very private but I so wish I could salute her publicly because she is amazingly philosophical and pragmatic.

And maybe she and I will make a bit of sense out of the suffering conundrum when we see each other in a couple of days. I can’t wait!

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Sorry about that image. Prince always seems to want to give me the back view. Here is a better view.

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35 Comments »

Cycling!

I have discovered a route around this countryside that is hopefully truck-free; I have bought a new bicycle pump; I have dusted the cobwebs of my bicycle; I have made myself determined ….

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Argh!

40 Comments »

An argument about Anthony’s smile

You know how I’ve been saying how wonderful it is to see Anthony smiling again, and that I’ve been crediting myself with having made a huge effort to get that smile back? Well, Ming disagrees.

Today was a day off work for Ming so he went to see Anthony and I had a day at home. When he got back he told me that he had Anthony laughing!

Ming: Mum, Dad never lost his smile!

Me: You don’t see him as much so you don’t know – anyway you can always make him smile because you’re Ming!

Ming: So can you and so can anybody!

We left it at that; after all there is no point having an argument about a smile. Nevertheless our brief argument got me thinking about Anthony’s Parkinson’s ‘mask’ (the blank, unblinking, slack-jawed expression on his face, typical of PD). And I realised that the only reason I see this more than anyone else does is probably because, when I visit, I am there for hours so I see the fluctuations.

For example, when staff come into Anthony’s room and banter or flirt with him, he smiles; when friends and relatives visit, he smiles; when Ming and I visit, he smiles. So perhaps I should adjust my thinking to the possibility that it has become easier to conjure/coerce that smile? Maybe Anthony’s smile, and even his laugh, was always there, always ready to be there.

Maybe it was my own smile that went missing for so long.

20 Comments »

Ordinary

For the last several weeks I have been making pot after pot of pea and ham soup, freezing it in little batches, or serving it to friends and family, but mainly eating it myself. I just can’t seem to get enough of it!

I take it into the nursing home and share it with Anthony often. He is a ruthless great food critic. Some of my experimental additions weren’t very successful; for example, the addition of chilli, mint, capsicums and curry powder didn’t work. I mean it was edible, but it just wasn’t pea and ham soup the way it’s supposed to be, you know?

Having run out of my last batch, I over-enthusiastically over-filled the slow cooker and had to transfer half of the ingredients to another big saucepan before the kitchen floor became a lake of pea and ham soup. So now I have two simmering pots filling the empty house with aroma.

The usual ingredients are split peas, chopped vegetables (onions, garlic, celery, but not capsicums) and, of course, a ham hock. But I do have one extra secret ingredient and I think this makes MY pea and ham soup superior, ha!

Tomorrow, the answer to this conundrum will be posted, as well as a photo shoot of the finished soup. I am hoping that, universally, kitchens, restaurants, food journalists, and people with nothing else to do, will clamour at my blog-door.

But that probably won’t happen because I’ll take a small batch of this big new batch of pea and ham soup into the nursing home and Anthony will taste it and just say, “Not bad” and then we will have the following argument:

Me: What do you mean ‘Not bad’? Why can’t you ever say it’s fantastic or wonderful?

Anthony: Because it’s, well ….

Me: What?

Anthony: Ordinary.

Almost every day, I go in and sit next to Ants, watch television, chill out, answer emails, wrestle with my iPad, for several hours – and he and I have these strange, fragmented, haphazard, conversations. Sometimes it seems really lazy to just sit there with him, always with my hand on his arm, watching Dr Phil then going back to our current series, West Wing.

He is sleepier and sleepier every day this week. I wonder what next week will be like apart from a surplus of pea and ham soup.

Next week will be ordinary, and ordinary is a joy.

22 Comments »

‘Doggone!’

I’m sure Blaze was calmer last time I took him into the nursing home to see Anthony. This time, instead of following me in, he ran across the road to a block of flats and wouldn’t come back until I sat down in the parking lot and pretended I had food in my handbag.

Once I’d grabbed him, I carried him into the nursing home to see Ants. I had envisioned a cosy afternoon watching television with Blaze on Anthony’s lap, snoozing. But Anthony was in the dining room and, despite staff being able to get him to shuffle, using his walker, nearly all the way to his room, both a wheelchair and the hoist were eventually required to plonk him into his armchair. In the meantime Blaze and I went out into the back garden area, then visited a couple of the residents, then sat in the foyer.

When Ants was settled, I carried Blaze in and shut the door wishing I’d persevered in trying to find his leash. He was too excited to stay on Ants’ lap for long and kept wandering around curiously and trying to get out. He’d been patted and admired by staff and residents so I guess he wanted a bit more action. I accidentally shot a whole lot of little videos when I was actually trying to take a photo. The following is the only one that doesn’t include my expletive-ridden “Why won’t this camera work?”

Giving up on the camera, I took about 50 photos with my phone, which all look exactly like this one.

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Fake caption: Man’s best friend.
Real caption: Jules, take this bloody dog away!

In light of this remark, and, after Blaze had done several hundred laps of Anthony’s room and bathroom, refused to relax on Anthony’s knees, turned his nose up at the water in the water bowl I’d brought in, I decided it might be time to go.

It was at this point that I realised there was a power failure because I couldn’t get Anthony’s television to cooperate. Then I got a text from my mother asking me if I were coming to my brother’s barbecue. I answered saying I thought the barbecue was the next day and I had Blaze so might only be able to drop in for a quick drink.

Unfortunately, my departure from the nursing home was delayed when I couldn’t find my car keys. It was suggested by several Blaze-loving staff that I could re-trace my steps. So I shut Blaze and Ants into Anthony’s room and went back to the flats where Blaze had first run away. No keys. I then went back to my car and looked underneath. No keys. Back inside the nursing home, I went back to all of the residents I’d visited. No keys. I went outside to the garden. No keys. I went back to Ants’ room to find them both nonplussed as I emptied my handbag of all its contents. No keys. I rang my mother and said, “No keys”.

Finally (an hour and a half after annoying everyone in my vicinity, especially Ants!) I remembered sitting in the foyer with Blaze. With hope hugging my heart, I shut Blaze in with Ants and ventured to the foyer and … there they were!

I said a (b)elated goodbye to all, gave Ants a big kiss, and came home, promising myself I would never take Blaze into the nursing home again without a leash; and never ever again lose my car keys.

Today, the latter has already happened!

33 Comments »