I should have kept my mouth shut!
Well, it’s drizzling rain and I have the flu, so I rather miserably went outside to let the gang out of their pens later than usual this morning and, almost immediately, all these fights broke out. Seli (one of the ganders) was attacking Baby Turkey; Tapper (duck) had left her nest of unhatched eggs to give one of the Bubbles (turkey) a huge bite on the bum; and then the other Bubble and Zaruma (Tapper’s ‘husband’) started fighting viciously- really viciously. I had seen them do this before but this was really horrible so I kept trying to break them up and then all of a sudden, as I was yelling “Stop it!” they both ended up in the slimy green pool at the centre of the yard and, because I was so close and yelling, my mouth and nostrils were immediately filled with the goop of their splash and a wave of it speckled me from head to toe.
This is the embattled Zaruma who is usually bright white with orange legs and feet, so all of the black stuff on him is the same as what catapulted into my mouth! I have used half a tube of toothpaste; next time there is an incident, I will definitely keep my mouth shut!
My mother
My mother is only a year older than Husband which is, I guess, a little weird and sometimes quite funny. She herself has been battling some health issues lately and yet her strength, resiliance, generosity and support is breath-taking. This poem is for her:
When I was a baby, she scalded my face
With fire-kissed love
When I was a little girl, she beat me
At Scrabble
And Monopoly
When I was a big girl, she sliced into me
And removed the gremlins one by one
When I was a teenager, she terrified me
With her unexpected games of hide and seek
Then she lost my father….
She lost my father
But she found him for me again
When I was 20, she chased me to Europe and back
With her proud, protective angel wings
Then she broke my heart
Losing her breast
The pillow of my infancy
When I was 30, she destroyed everything I believed
About my ugliness
When I was 40, she broke into my house
Of dog-eared cards
And reshuffled me a new deck
She wrecked my basement
And built me a balcony
When I was 50, she put poison into my chalice
Turning blood-sorrow into silvery wine
She turned my stomach
Into twisting, twirling hilarity
She grabbed me in a headlock so fierce
So loving
So hot
That my breath wavered in awe
Of her strength
My anchorage
My sister
My friend
My daughter
My mother….
My mother
My
Mother
I wish I could be as good to her as she has been to me….
Love story 10
The Aga was fuelled by kerosene, not wood, and it was Husband’s pride and joy. He had only had the Aga for about a year when I first came into his life.
Inna said I had to be very careful with it and she showed me how to use the hot plate (on the left), the simmering plate (on the right), the hot oven (at the top of the bottom) and the slow oven (at the bottom).
Here is a picture of what it looks like now – no different from what it looked like then, because, over the decades, Husband has polished it and trained Son and me to do the same!
I had never seen such a beautiful thing so when Inna suggested we make some grapefruit marmalade on it, I readily agreed. She showed me how to chop the grapefruit up into chunky bits the way Husband liked it and she showed me how to proportion the sugar and water and we put it on the hot plate to boil. Inna didn’t warn me that it might boil over when I settled her down for her afternoon nap.
It boiled over and so did Husband when he came in from the dairy. This put a slight halt to our romance!
Nostalgic nuances
These pictures are of Woodroffe, the youngest of our three Sebastopol geese. He and his sister, Diamond, are about a year old now. Woody was only a few days old, but Diamond was a few weeks old, when we first got them, and it has made a huge difference in terms of my relationship with them. Woody is pattable and very tame but Diamond is quite shy and aloof.
Woody is on the far left.
This is Woody now!
When Woody was a baby, Husband still lived here at home. Woody’s name was inspired by Husband’s family’s famous ancestor, George Woodroffe Goyder.
The trouble is, I am beginning to think Woody might be a girl!
Standing up straight
The following is a copy/paste of an email I just send to myself and to Son in response to a phonecall from a beautiful relative who suggested we need a bit more routine with Husband in order to overcome the horrible rut the 3 of us seem to be in.
Son and I discussed things and he handwrote our new routine+rules and we shook hands in agreement because I have finally come to the point where bringing Husband home overnight is impossible due to the latest phase of his Parkinson’s.
Even though, as one of my friends pointed out to me on the phone last night, I am rather frighteningly, transparently, honestly ‘out there’ on the blog, there is a lot of in-between-the-lines/behind-the-scenes stuff I have not divulged, including those lost hours of staring-into-space inability to even wash the dishes…
So I am elated about this new plan and I am determined to make it work for Son’s sake.
New routine:
Monday – no visit
Tues – Dad home all day while Son at Music school
Wed – no visit
Thurs – Mum visit Dad for lunch at nursing lodge
Fri – no visit
Sat – Dad home for day
Sunday – optional visit Dad
New rules:
Dad can’t stay overnight here ever again
Mum to ring Dad at 11am and 7.30pm every day (instead of every couple of hours).
I think this is a great idea and I am not going to get sad about it because it beats the hell out of my random routine so far and it gives us all some predictability in the face of such unpredictability.
Son’s face lit up with relief when I agreed with him and he said, giving me a hug, “Mum, please let us be a team from now on – please!”
“Okay,” I said.
Poignancy is now in purgatory and pragmatism is my new friend because it always stands up straight.
So tonight, I rang Husband to tell him about the new routine but he just said, “I’m watching the news, Jules, can you ring a bit later?”
Cheer up!
Emery 1: Is Julie okay?
Emery 2: Shut up, Emery 1, and eat your dinner – I’ve saved you the crusts
Emery 3: Those funny little chicks out there yesterday were rather cute weren’t they!
Emery 2: (munching) Well they’re gone now aren’t they?
Emery 1: Oh, poor Julie
Emery 2: They were just guinnea fowl – get over it!
Emery 3: You really are callous aren’t you and you’re the female of this group!
Emery 2: I am not a female!
Emery 1: Actually, I think Emery 3 might be right, Emery 2 – you could be a female
Emery 2: Hell, I hope not!
Angelina: Where’s Julie?
Bubble: I’m not sure. I think she’s out there somewhere looking for those chicks.
Angelina: I hope she finds them! I’ve been looking for them too, you know, just out of curiosity.
Brad: I hate to say this, Angie, but I think a fox might have taken them.
Angelina: If so, I think we better gather around the back door and make sure Julie is okay.
Brad: Good idea – let’s go – let’s cheer her up!
Gone
Well, the baby guinnea fowl (they’re called ‘keets’) are all gone. There is no sign that they ever existed in the first place – no little feathers or corpses, nothing – and our 12 adult guinneas are roaming around as if nothing ever happened. If Son and I had been away for a couple of days, we would never have known and would probably have assumed the broken eggs had been eaten by something. So we let nature take its course and nature swallowed them up into animal heaven I guess. I am more shocked than upset and wish I had at least rescued a few but most of the advice given to me suggested to let them be with the mother(s).
I only held one little lost one in my hands for a few moments before Son discovered the rest with the adults, so we put it back with them. I still have a tiny thread of hope we might find one or two but it’s a very thin thread. So, another lesson learned the hard way. I will be much more careful when Tapper’s eggs hatch (if they ever do!) although I think ducks are better mothers than guinneas.
I wanted to take a photo of them yesterday but I didn’t because I was afraid of this – afraid of taking a picture of something we might lose. But I trusted that mother guinnea, and the fox lights, and nature, and I knew it was just as much a risk to take the babies away and put them in a brooder in the house because they might be too shocked.
The image of them cheeping and running around with the adults in the back paddock is a good memory and I have decided to refuse to feel regret and remorse because there isn’t any point. They are gone.
A strange day
Today was a bit of a strange collection of moments so I have decided to write this post in point form:
- Son and I arrive at nursing lodge at 11.30am to have lunch with Husband (we had arranged meals for us too – amazing and only just found out we could do this any time!)
- Husband has difficulty getting out of the armchair in his room but the three of us slowly make our way to the dining room (Son getting grumpy, me getting hungry)
- We get to the dining room to find staff have set up a special table just for us out in the garden area (I am amazed and impressed by this thoughtfulness)
- Our meals are served to us as if we are in a restaurant and we all sit down (although by the time I get Husband into his chair and sitting comfortably, our roast dinner is getting a little cool and Son is beginning to grimace ferociously)
- We all begin to eat and Son and I take turns trying to open the special beer for Husband which requires a bottle opener which is not something nursing lodges have on hand
- Husband starts eating his meal as if it is his last meal ever (he has always eaten enthusiastically), so Son and I do the same until we are full then Husband asks for our leftovers – Son’s cauliflower and my potatoes)
- I try again with the stupid beer bottle and then Husband takes it from me and gets a fork and opens it easily (Son and I crack up laughing at our bleeding fingers and our ineptitude)
- Husband gives us both a twinkly-eyed look before telling us fondly that we are both hopeless and has a couple of sips of beer
- We exchange short, unfinished, weird conversations between mouthfuls
- Dessert arrives – some sort of creamy thing that Husband wolfs down in a state of pure bliss (I begin to feel a bit guilty that I haven’t made more desserts for him over the years!)
- Husband begins to say strange things and all of a sudden it happens; his eyes go dead, his head drops towards his chest and he is almost unconscious
- Son and I exchange looks, wondering if he is pretending (yes, Husband has a wicked sense of humour); we watch and wait and then realize it’s for real
- I go and get a nurse to come and see. I say, “This is what happened at home on Easter Monday when I got the ambulance. I just thought I should show you.”
- Several nurses come and get a bit of a shock because Husband’s eyes have rolled back, he has gone pale and he is unresponsive
- A doctor is rung, a senior nurse is contacted, a hoist is brought outside to get Husband into a wheelchair back into his room and to bed
- Son and I stay with him for another hour or so during which a nurse comes and takes his blood pressure etc. Gradually, Husband comes out of whatever it is and focusses on us but not quite – his eyes are still sharky and vague
- Son and I leave after tucking him in on his side, the way he likes to lie down and we put the ANZAC Day channel on the television for him
- Husband murmurs why are we leaving (by this time we have been there nearly 3 hours – okay, not long, but long enough)
- Son and I get home and have a bit of a tiff (neither of us are particularly upset, just frustrated I guess)
- We get out of our ute and I hear cheeping from the bush where the guinnea fowl’s eggs are and Son finds one little chick all alone, so I take him into the house with me, thinking the rest haven’t survived
- Son then discovers a dozen of them out in the back paddock with all their mummies, so we take the little one back to the group and now we are hoping they will survive tonight (I did a lot of quick research and made some phonecalls to people who know about guinnea fowl and the majority think letting nature do its best is a good call
- As dusk approaches Son and I discover that all but one guinnea mum have flown into the trees and this one dedicated mother has all the chicks under her in the paddock so we put both of our fox lights on either side of her and we are now hoping for the best until tomorrow morning
- I then ring Husband and finally get through and he says, groggily, “Where are you? I’m at home,” and I say “No, I’m at home and you’re at the nursing lodge because you had one of those turns again.” I then tell him about the guinnea fowl chicks and he is delighted in a subdued way, then asks, “But what about me?”
- “I don’t know,” I say, “Try to get some sleep, please!”(He agrees this is a good idea and I tell him I will be in tomorrow).
- I rang the nursing lodge a moment ago and spoke to a nurse who said Husband was calling out for me, over and over again and I told her I couldn’t get through to him on his phone so would she check him out and say goodnight for us and she said of course and reassured me
- And outside, between those fox lights, one mother guinnea fowl nestles her chicks underneath her and I hope for the best….
Gosling advice needed for one of my readers please!
I have copy/pasted an interesting query here so if any of you poultry people have advice for Ashley, please comment here or see her comment on my ‘Imprinting’ post from way back. Thanks in advance.
Ashley M commented on Imprinting
While I was driving home 2 nights ago in the pouring rain, I found a newborn gosling in the middle of the road. When I ran and picked him up i looked around for any others or even the mother and it turned out he had been separated. I went to a local feeds store and picked up starting feed. So far, he’s been eating very well and is really happy. He has been following me around at my very heels and hates to be separated from me. So, I’ve had to sleep with every night. I’m assuming he’s imprinted on me and it’s the cutest thing. This morning i didn’t shut my bedroom door all the way and he ended up in my bathroom while i was taking a shower and i ended up putting him in with me. He loved it!!! again, he remained at my feet. I’m only 19 and a freshman in college, thankfully, living on my own in my apartment. I purchased diapers for him so I’m curious to see how that turns out. My concerns are him maturing and learning to fly. I would be so heart broken if he flew away south in the winter and never returned. If you could let me know what else i can do to raise him and what to expect when he matures. Thanks, Ashley!
jmgoyder 