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.
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.
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
I went into the nursing lodge this afternoon armed with red wine. Don’t get me wrong here; I am just attempting to emulate the arvo drinks we used to have – that pre-dinner ritual. Obviously Anthony can’t have more than a tiny glassful and I just have a light beer. We made friends with a new resident whose son and daughter-in-law were visiting and gave them what was left of our bottle of brandy (I fetched it from Anthony’s room). It was fun – sort of. A couple of the nurses were hilariously encouraging of our little pub crawl.
I helped a nurse help Ants to the dinner table then hugged and kissed him for the millionth time and left. On my way home I realized how hugging/kissing beats the hell out of red wine. Yeah, I know that is commonsense but I have never had a lot of that – still learning!
When do you last remember being a kid?
Today, when the counsellor asked Ming this question he had to think for a long moment before admitting that it was in primary school – seven years ago.
When do you last remember having a dad?
The answer was the same – primary school. Ming remembers Anthony picking him up every day when I was at work. It was Ming’s first year in high school when Anthony’s health began to deteriorate dramatically.
Of course these questions were asked after Ming and I had already divulged various details about Anthony’s illnesses, my grief and Ming’s anger. I had shed tears about Anthony, Ming had explained his wanting to be in control and we had laughed a lot. The counsellor was surprised by our mutual willingness to seek help. She said that usually one person is willing and the other reluctant. Ming immediately said, “I just want to fix our relationship.” More laughter.
It was also mentioned that Ming and I are more like siblings or partners than a mother and son – yes. It was good, it was great, it was exhausting so we came straight home instead of going to see Anthony because he is at the heart of the conflict between Ming and me and it seemed best to take our lighter selves home rather than risk a visit that would make Ming heavy with anger and me with sadness. Selfish? Yes. I have already tried to ring Ants but no answer so I guess he has been seated out in the sun which he loves. When I do get hold of him I will tell him about the appointment and reassure him that I will be in tomorrow for a red wine.
On the way home Ming asked his own good question:
Why didn’t the counsellor give us the answer to our predicament?
“That’s next week,” I said, laughing my head off!
In the morning, Ming and I are going into town to an appointment with someone who will help us to cope with each other, the farm and Anthony’s deterioration.
I told Ants about this appointment when I saw him this afternoon with my red wine and he wanted to come along too but I said I couldn’t take him as it was too early in the morning etc. etc. and then I finally admitted to him that Ming’s anger would only be exacerbated if Ants were present.
“So he hates me then,” Anthony said, spilling his wine.
“No, Ants, he hates both of us at the moment,” I said.
“But why?”
“Because you are so sick and I am so sad.”
“Okay – just come here afterwards.”
And we will.
I don’t know how to tweet, or text, or play tag but I just got tagged by Susan at http://susandanielseden.wordpress.com/2012/10/06/i-am-actually-taking-a-tag-because-this-one-is-cool/
Now, she knows I have an aversion to awards but she still tagged me! Her punishment is the Hot Potato Award which, if you read her above post, is something she has been craving for some time.
For those of you who don’t know, the HPA is an award I created some time ago as my way of avoiding award nominations, not because I am ungrateful or ungracious, just because I was too lazy and inept to understand all the rules! The HPA is an award that comes with no rules – you just get it (if I give it to you – hahahaha!)
Susan’s blog is brilliant – check it out!
Okay, back to my texting lesson.
With my cousin from Sydney the other day. She and her beautiful daughter have now gone back home.
When Ming was a baby I used to call him ‘my little beautiful’. I would accompany this with tickling so that whenever I said ‘my little beautiful’ he would giggle and gurgle with the delight of anticipation.
I love laughing. I LOVE LAUGHING! Lately, though, there hasn’t been much to laugh about so my thirsty sense of humour seems to be grasping at the tiniest little things and latching onto them. Yesterday, for example, Ming and I were in a shop choosing birthday gifts for three of his friends – one girl and two guys. Ming had decided to buy perfume for the girl and cologne for the guys so we were examining the contents of the locked glass cabinet when he pointed to a tester bottle (you know, so you can test if you like it or not by spraying it on yourself). He said, ‘That looks like a good brand, Mum – Tester.’
I looked at him, thinking he was joking, but his expression was serious. ‘That’s a tester, Ming.’
‘Oh, do you know it?’
‘It’s a tester – it’s not a brand.’ By then I was nearly hysterical with laughter and Ming was blushing as the shop assistant opened the cabinet.
This incident keeps leaping, unbidden, back into my mind and making me laugh all over again.
A bit later on in the day, we met my mother and our visiting cousins at a restaurant overlooking a bay. As my mother and I stood at the counter ordering our food, she said the strangest thing to me. She said, “Where’s the water?” I pointed to the bay so she headed back to the cousins and Ming who were seated almost on top of the bay. I wondered if perhaps my mother might be losing the plot. Once I was again seated at our table, she asked me again and I suddenly realized she meant drinking water. Again, I became nearly hysterical with laughter; we all did.
I guess you had to be there!
Then, last night, when I rang Anthony at the nursing lodge to say goodnight and he said, ‘Hello, my beautiful,’ and my heart grinned.
I am home after a day with cousins and Anthony and our next-door-neighbour drops in with a freshly cooked meal. I am gobsmacked at her kindness. She doesn’t ask about Anthony because she already knows and cares more than any neighbour I have ever had. Every morsel of her meal is a gift.
I am at the local shop getting milk and bread etc. and I am trying to be flippily quick but the woman serving me catches me eye’s heart and asks, “How is Anthony?” And I dissolve into tears in the middle of the shop, and she hugs me across the counter and, beyond embarrassed, I hug her back. She doesn’t even know Anthony but she must see him in my clumsy stance, inside my bones; it’s probably the limp I’ve developed to counteract the impotence of my sorrow.
How is Anthony?
Not good.
I am helping the wheelchair taxi driver to get Anthony into the taxi and he is sullen and sad and I am bereft and all of a sudden his brother turns up unannounced and shakes Anthony’s hand as if everything is normal – as if this is normal. As the taxi drives off, this brother says, “He looks well, doesn’t he.”
A lot of people say that these days, and these words are either inane, naive or just plain stupid.
How is Anthony?
Not good.
I am home after a day with cousins and Anthony and our neighbour drops in with a freshly cooked meal. I am gobsmacked at her kindness. She doesn’t ask about Anthony because she already knows and cares more than any next-door-neighbour I have ever had. Every morsel of her meal is a gift.
jmgoyder 