Dearly deleted
Please know that your posts are not deleted, that you are not deleted; it’s just that my email inbox is having a heart attack. I believe this is a common condition with inboxes, but I’m not sure.
Dearly deleted….
Spot the difference
Here are two photographs (I concede that these are not very good photographs but that isn’t the point of this game). Okay, so you know those newspaper games where there are two pictures that, at first glance, look identical and you have to find the differences? Well, here are two photos that are different from each other in numerous ways but there is only one significant difference. Can you find it?
Love story 90 – My camellia tree
I think we have over 20 camellia trees here – it is too rainy for me to go out and count them so it’s on my long list of ‘things to do’. Anthony planted most of them when he and his mother and brother first came here (he was 21 I think so it was before I was born and that’s why I don’t necessarily know all the details).
After we got married, he started planting more – I’m not quite sure why and, not being the least bit interested in gardening, I didn’t take much notice. But one day, on one of his rare days off from milking the cows, Anthony coaxed me to hop in the ute and drive one hour north to a camellia nursery called Heavenly Gardens. Booooooring, I thought, as I strapped little toddler Ming into his car seat, but I resigned myself.
When we got there, we were greeted by the owner, an ancient looking woman, almost bent double with a back condition, like an upside down L. She and one of the men who worked there, showed us through forests of camellias while I tried to allay my own boredom by allaying Ming’s. Then, all of a sudden, I saw it, a tree in full flower, each one like a ballerina. It was nothing like any of the camellias we had at home; it was much more beautiful and it was really unusual. My interest sparked, I inquired about it but the elderly woman said it was the only one she had, it was very rare and it was definitely not for sale. Her off-sider pointed out to me that it was planted in the ground and well established so there was no way she would sell it to me.
It came time for morning tea and the elderly woman and her off-sider welcomed us into a shed to share tea and cake and we sat down together while Ming vroomed around the shed with a pretend car. I said to the elderly woman that I was not a gardener but I really loved the tree and, with a twinkle in her eye, she told me that the boys would have to dig it out of the ground, and that she really didn’t want to sell it. “I wouldn’t take anything less than $350,” she murmured, looking into the distance nonchalantly.
“It’s a deal!” I exclaimed. Anthony, who was sitting next to me, had overheard this little exchange and pinched me on the bum, whispering, “Are you crazy? It’s only worth $50 at most. Nobody pays $350 for a camellia.”
But already, the elderly woman had somehow signalled her troops and three men, including her off-sider (who later told us he was a nephew), were walking away from the shed with shovels in their hands. My heart did a grin flip! I pulled my money out of my back pocket and gave it to the elderly woman who smiled softly at me. Anthony sighed and hurried down to fetch the ute. Then he helped the men load the tree on and I shook hands with nephew who told us to drive out and around the side of the nursery. He had a mysterious expression on his face.
Well, we drove around and he loaded three more potted camellias onto the ute. They weren’t the same as my tree but they were still lovely. The nephew said, “The old girl really ripped you off, so this is to make up for it. She won’t know.”
Not long after, we heard that the elderly woman had died and that Heavenly Gardens had closed down. By this time Anthony had planted my tree for me and look at it now – 16 years later!
I am going to pick some now and take them into Anthony at the nursing lodge.
Assertiveness
Daffy: I’m scared, Bubble. Godfrey is approaching me.
Bubble: Stand up straight, Daffy, and he’ll have much more respect for you. Oh, and if he speaks to you, answer in a loud voice, not your usual whisper.
Godfrey: Good afternoon, young man.
Daffy: GOOD AFTERNOON, SIR!
Daffy: Wow, that felt good and he just walked past me – he didn’t tell me off or anything! I just wish I could have looked him in the eye, but I’m too frightened.
Bubble: I can give you daily lessons in eye contact beginning right now, Daffy. Okay, now look at me and try not to blink.
Daffy: I did it, I did it, Bubble! I looked Godfrey straight in the eye for a whole minute. He was asleep but it still counts for my certificate doesn’t it?
Bubble: Well done, Daffy, but I will need to give you a few more lessons [sigh!]
Smiling isn’t simple
In advanced stages of Parkinson’s Disease, the facial muscles stop working properly. This is why Anthony’s face sometimes resembles a mask in its expressionlessness. As facial expressions are one of the main ways in which we humans both show and ‘read’ emotions, a blank face can make things very difficult.
For Anthony, smiling isn’t simple. Out of all of the PD symptoms, I find this one of the hardest to deal with because I miss him smiling at me. An expressionless face looks decidedly unfriendly and miserable and (selfishly, I guess) I want him to not only smile, but to laugh the way he used to – loud and long and with his face all crinkled up.
Extreme antics – like Ming monkeying around – can produce an Anthony smile and sometimes, if I exaggerate an anecdote or laugh at my own joke, I will get an Anthony smile. But mostly, no – no smile.
Yesterday I had the wheelchair taxi bring Ants to his nephew’s place not far from our farm. It was there that I discovered a small mirthy miracle in the form of a beautiful baby, Anthony’s great-niece.
Thank you, beautiful baby girl, for making Anthony smile!
Thank you, Mr Tootlepedal
This is the photograph given to me by Mr Tootlepedal. I had to keep it to myself for a day or so because I was like a child with a new toy; I didn’t want to share it.
A little while ago I asked Mr Tootlepedal if he would give me a photograph and he said of course and asked me to choose, but then I asked him to choose and this is the one he sent me. He isn’t even putting it on his own blog, so it is kind of all mine, and even signed!
I am going to get it framed and put it in the kitchen where I will see it many times every day because I know that each time I look at this bird, my heart will experience a wingbeat.
If you want to know what kind of bird this is you will have to go to Mr Tootlepedal’s wonderful blog.
My best friend
Yesterday morning he walked away very quickly without looking back.
He gave me no warning and I regretted not having treated him with more respect, even gratitude.
Once he’d gone, I was bereft. I called all of the authorities to find him for me again but nobody could help.
I knew in my heart he would come back eventually but I didn’t know when.
His moody unpredictability engraged me and I let the misery of his absence seep in.
I kept myself busy with things I usually did with him; I began categorizing my writing, my photos and my address book.
I even thought of baking a cake but of course he doesn’t like cake.
Imagine my joy when just an hour ago he returned.
He was a little dishevelled and confused.
I gave him a big hug and said he was my best friend.
I apologized to him for not having acknowledged this earlier in our relationship.
He seemed happier and much friendlier, and he seemed to have missed me too.
The internet.
Thank you, Nia!
As many of you know, Nia, who lives in Turkey, and who I only know via the blogosphere, handmade me four pillow covers and posted them to me a little while ago – a gift! I found some filling and took one in for Anthony at the nursing lodge. Today I finally remembered to take a couple of pictures of it.
I have bought Nia four little Australian things which, as soon as I have found where I put them, I will post off to her to say thank you. Here is her site but I realize many of you already know this wonderful woman.
Anthony loves the pillow, but said, a bit sadly, “It’s too good to be in here.”
“But you’re here,” I said.
“I know,” he said, stroking Nia’s pillow gently.
“Stop this nonsense,” I said, picking up the pillow and smacking him lightly on the head with it.
He actually smiled!
Thank you, Nia.
Golden Valley update
Yesterday, two women from the Balingup Historical Society came to visit Anthony in the nursing lodge. The first photo is of Helen with Anthony and the second is of Carol with Anthony. It took me an incredibly long time to achieve the bad lighting in the first picture and the blurriness in the second – ha! Oh well at least I have a bit of a record of what was a couple of hours of pure pleasure.
Together, we established that, in amongst that massive box of photos, there were sixteen of Golden Valley from when Anthony was a boy. Unfortunately he isn’t in any of these photos but some of the trees he planted are. It was the loveliest visit, with lots of laughs as Anthony kept referring to his first girlfriend who still lives in Balingup.
Each and every photo provoked a little story, memory, date and it was such a fantastic experience for me/us to meet these two dedicated woman who are so keen to preserve this history. If I wore a hat, I would take it off for them.
Thankyou, Carol and Helen for making Anthony’s day unforgettable!
jmgoyder 