Enough
Ming (18-year-old son): We need to talk.
Me: Yes.
Ming: I’ve had enough!
Me: Yes.
Ming: Your life is consumed by Anthony.
Me: Yes, sorry – I’m just trying to….
Ming: Mum, what do you want in life – what do you want in life now?
Me: Good question.
Ming: I know what I want right now, Mum and it’s got nothing to do with my ambitions.
Me: What do you mean?
Ming: I just want you to be happy again.
Me: Oh, that is a wonderful suggestion and how exactly do you plan to do it?
Ming: If you just listen ….
Me: What? Listen to you tell me off for every time I put too much water into the chook pen? Listen to you tell me off for ringing you on your mobile when you’re late? Listen to you tell me off because I’ve run out of weetbix? Listen to you tell me how to do every bloody thing as if I were born yesterday?
Ming: Please, Mum!
Me: Yes, what is it, oh fount of all wisdom? Have you found a magic potion for Dad?
Ming: That’s what I mean – it’s all Anthony, Anthony, Anthony.
Me: So you are saying I neglect you?
Ming: No! You are the best mother, I had the best childhood with you guys but now is sort of hell and sometimes I want to go away.
Me: So do I.
Ming: Why can’t we be a team – do the farm jobs together?
Me: I’m not very good at teamwork.
Ming: Why won’t you talk to me like we used to?
Me: I don’t want you to share the misery.
Ming: I already do, Mum! You have to let go of Dad emotionally – you have to trust the nursing home to look after him. He is fine!
Me: So how did you let go?
Ming: I just did – ages ago – so I could survive.
Me: Are you saying that my own misery is leaking into your life now?
Ming: Yes. Can you please stop it?
Me: What – the grief?
Ming: Yes, because I’m still here and you’re still here and the farm is beautiful and we are going to make it better.
Me: And why would that happen?
Ming: Because I love you.
Lethal lethargy
It has crept up on me a bit – not the lovely, luxurious lethargy that our birds can afford, but a more insidious, tap-dripping kind that, this week, became a pouring leak.
On Monday, Ming and I had planned to go into the local town together to do some jobs we had been putting off; I cancelled our arrangement.
On Tuesday, Ming and I had planned to go into the local town together to do some jobs we had been putting off; he cancelled our arrangement.
Today, Ming and I had planned to go into the local town together to do some jobs we had been putting off; we cancelled our arrangement.
It was the ‘together’ aspect of the above that we were both intent on doing; the job/errands didn’t matter as much. But we failed. Ming did his own thing and I did mine and we hardly spoke to each other except to express mutual disappointment – mostly his for me and I don’t blame him …
one
little
bit.
I was feeling a little desperate because I couldn’t seem to crawl out of this lethargy that is so disillusioning for Ming because he wants me back the way I was before, in much the same way I want Anthony back the way he was before. The latter is impossible, but the former isn’t and …
before
is
before.
Ming doesn’t come with me much to visit Anthony any more (visiting Anthony is about the only thing my recent lethargy hasn’t strangled), so I do that by myself but I often come home with the sadness and Ming cannot stand it and this is …
perfectly
devastatingly
understandable.
It is hard to remember when we last laughed in ways that weren’t forced or cynical or a tiny bit hysterical.
I finally got myself to do something social today and went to my neighbour’s place for a coffee. Ming was so concerned that I wouldn’t venture out that he stood on the front veranda and waved me off as if I were going to climb Mount Everest!
When I got to my neighbour’s house, we didn’t talk about my lethal lethargy because it didn’t need to be said. Instead, with her delightful daughter-in-law, we chatted about a whole array of topics and neither of these fantastic women asked me the dangerous question: How are you? I was, I admit, terrified that this question would come up and that I would cry and make a fool of myself.
My neighbour took the lethal out of my lethargy and, without even knowing she did it, injected me with her …
warm
undemanding
energy.
Thanks, Kaye!
A mother’s brilliant love
My ma wrote this for me this morning!
Destiny.
You could have been born
in the slums of Djakarta
or Windsor Castle
or the child of a Cult
or blind
become a rock star
or an astronaut
or Mother Teresa
You could have been
A suburban housewife
Or an inventor
Or an athlete.
You could have discovered gold
Or been a surrogate mother
Or a member of ABBA
Or scavenged for food
On the rubbish heaps in India
You could have been a boy. Or a twin,
Or disabled or a concert pianist
You might have
Become a drug addict
Or climbed Mt Everest
Or saved the gorillas
Or joined the Hitler Youth
You may have been born in Israel or Bethlehem
Before Jesus’ time
Before the dinosaurs
You might have been Eve.
But you are Julie.
And
“All the days ordained for me
Were written in your book
Before one of them came to be.”
M.L.
My mother with my son after his scoliosis surgery.
Yearning
I am laughing and chatting and listening to music and watching the birds and giving Ming a hug and cooking dinner and turning the television on and washing the dishes and changing the sheets and blogging and reading a good book and checking facebook and deciding whether to give the emus half a cabbage or a whole one and half-noticing the sunset and hoping the phone won’t ring and hoping the phone will ring and making a shopping list and trying to find my diary and paying bills and answering emails and making a to-do list and feeling glad about some things and sad about other things and thinking about pruning the roses and baking bread with the flour I bought a few months ago that probably has weevils in it and wondering whether to have a coffee or a tea or a diet coke or a beer and feeling hungry and feeling sick and wanting to go to bed and wanting to wake up and cleaning out my office and organizing my paperwork and resigning from my job and loving my friends and loving my family and loving the dogs and wishing I had continued to write columns for magazines and wishing I had written more than one book by now and and hating getting older and loving getting older and wondering what it would be like if we had more than one kid and remembering how I nearly got frostbite in Canada and wishing I had rung Tulia in PNG before he forgot about me and wishing I remembered everybody’s birthdays and wishing we had more money and laughing and chatting and helping Ming with lyrics and loving grammar and being amazed that he has the fireplace lit and feeling glad that it isn’t going to be as cold tonight as it was last night and wishing the day were night and the night were day and dreaming about eating fairy floss and Disneyland and sunburned shoulders and feeding the squirrels and wanting to find the keys to wind all of Anthony’s clocks and opening my mouth to say something to Ming but he is busy and wondering how my niece’s preparations for her wedding are going in Scotland and thinking it might not work to take Jack the Irish terrier into the nursing lodge and wishing the kitchen staff would bend the rules and give me scraps for the chooks and delighting in the anticipation of fresh eggs and thinking how lucky I am to live in such a beautiful place and wondering why good people suffer and reminding Ming to set the alarm so he will get up to help milk the cows for the neighbours and finding the library book I lost several months ago and laughing because I forgot to remember to do whatever it was and then ….
…. it hits me like a car crash – the grinding metal of grief and I stop breathing, terrified that there might be another slamming of brakes, swerving of lights, skidding of tyres but, instead, there is silence, so I creep into the bathroom and lock the door and put the noisy fan on so that I can muffle into my collar the horrible sounds coming from throat so that Ming won’t hear me or worry about me or get impatient with me or wonder where his dinner is and, eventually ….
….I come out of the bathroom and into the light-filled, Aga-warmed kitchen and continue to stir the stew I have made with fresh vegetables and meat and Ming comes into the kitchen excited about his new lyrics and a new tune and wants me to listen and, once again, I am laughing and talking and listening to music, knowing that by now Anthony will be asleep.
Funny incidents
FUNNY INCIDENT 1
Anthony and I just had a nostalgic talk on the phone about the Captain Stirling hotel (where he thought he was last night). He remembers vividly his delusional episode which I find rather remarkable. I remind him of our stay there when I was heavily pregnant.
Me: You took me to the cheapest hotel in Perth, with a room that didn’t even have a bathroom so I had get up and go to a communal bathroom a million times during the night because of being pregnant and needing to use the loo. Your were such a tightarse!
Anthony: I thought it was quite romantic.
Me: You really ARE deluded!
Anthony: Remember bumping into Ed in the bar? [distant relation around Anthony’s age]
Me: How could I forget that! Remember how we didn’t understand why the bar was so crowded with middle-aged women?
Anthony: And Ed told us is was ‘Grab a granny night’!
Me: It was appalling! So why did you think you were there last night?
Anthony: Because it looked exactly like the Captain Stirling.
Me: So you’re okay today?
Anthony: Yes, I’m not there today.
Me: Where – at the Captain Stirling?
Anthony: Yes, I’m back here.
Me: Okay, I’ll be in later – I love you.
Anthony: [mumbles incoherently – this is happening a lot now]
Me: I can’t hear you – what did you say?
Anthony: I love you.
Me: Well it’s about time you said that!
Anthony: I couldn’t remember the words.
You gotta laugh!
FUNNY INCIDENT 2:
Ming and I have the usual mother and son conflicts and after a particularly horrible argument, which Ming later insisted on analysing every nuance of until we were reconciled (rather exhausting), we had this conversation-
Ming: Mum, I don’t want to see any of my friends for awhile.
Me: Why? What’s wrong?
Ming: Nothing. It’s just that I want to work on repairing our relationship.
Me: You really are unique, kid!
Ming: I try.
We both laugh!
FUNNY INCIDENT 3
Adolescent peacock 1 [we have too many for me to name them!]: Is Julie watching?
Adolescent peacock 2: She’s trying to take pictures you idiot! Turn around.
White adolescent peacock: I think I’ll leave you guys to it.
Angelina: Those two peacocks are getting very cocky aren’t they, Malay.
Malay: Hey, watch your language!
Tina Turner: Don’t worry, New Kid, around here this is considered normal behaviour.
New Kid: How do they do that feather thing?
Tina Turner: I don’t know and I don’t care!
Phoenix 1: Their need to flaunt themselves deeply saddens me. It’s a sign of the times. I prefer to let my beauty speak for itself.
Adolescent peacock 2: I told you to turn around. Do you think Julie wants a picture of your bum?
Adolescent peacock 1: I can’t turn around because you’re in the way. I’ll try again tomorrow – I’m exhausted.
New Kid: I’m having a bit of trouble adjusting to this place, Malay.
Malay: Don’t worry, New Kid, I was born here and I’ll look after you.
A better life?
Today has been eventful.
A lovely place has been found for Arthur (see previous post) and he will be leaving in a day or so. Ming (Son) has told him the hut is no longer safe and we have to have it inspected for wiring (which we do).
One of the guinnea fowl was cowering in the corner of the emus’ lean-to, so Ming helped her get out. I think she wants somewhere safe to lay eggs, so here we go again!
Ming and I went out for lunch despite suffering from gastro. We had to go because it was a promise we made yesterday when we had our long discussion. I had chilli prawns and now feel amazingly better!
Anthony got angry on the phone this morning (first time ever) and said he was hurt (first time ever) that he couldn’t come home for the night so I have arranged to pick him up for the day tomorrow. His uncharacteristic upsetness has cast a shadow on today, but tomorrow will be better.
I have nearly caught up with the washing and folding of clothes.
Ming is a happy chappy.
I am too but I seem to have this spare water balloon full of tears that keeps landing in front of me, making me afraid to smile, or take the next step.
Ming said he read the post about him on Facebook and hated it but then he grinned.
One of my two PhD students has finished and submitted his thesis.
Anthony just asked me on the phone (I ring him several times a day when I can’t get in to see him) if I still loved him and I said yes.
During lunch, Ming said we were not to talk about Anthony so we didn’t.
The ute is making a funny sound.
I had a dream last night that I was having an argument with someone and a hippopotamus squashed her.
The main car’s side mirrors are smashed and I still haven’t rung the insurance company.
Nearly all of the young peacocks now have long feathers.
Wild galahs and 28s are everywhere.
There is a rat in the washhouse which only Ming has seen, so I need his company to do the washing.
I have a mother who is a best friend.
The electricity has not gone off now for a couple of days.
I have resigned from my job at the university.
I will never, ever wish for a different life.
I will never, ever wish for a better life.
This is a better life – this is the best life.
His name is Menzies
There is nobody like this son of ours – nobody! I never stop feeling lucky to have such a wonderfully weird kid. Menzies. (Don’t worry, I think weird is wonderful!)
This morning he made me laugh my head off because he sounded just like John Cleese in Fawly Towers when he was trying to get all of the birds to stop coming to the back door. “Why do you have to come so close to the house? WHY? Go away!” At the time he was wearing a black dressing gown, a black hat, and thongs, and he resembled someone who might have escaped from an asylum a century ago. Menzies.
This afternoon (after I had visited Anthony in the nursing lodge), Son and I had a dreadful argument during which we both bashed our heads against the kitchen door. Menzies.
This evening, Son convinced me to sit down at the kitchen table and talk things through (instead of our usual tactic which, lately, is to avoid each other). Menzies.
We talked about the past, present and future; we talked about Anthony; we talked about everything and, each time I felt we had said enough, Son would ask me to sit down again so we could finish the conversation and reconcile. Menzies.
Anthony named him after his his mother’s brother’s middle name, Menzies, a Scottish Gaelic name that is pronounced Mingus. Menzies.
Everyone just calls him Ming. Menzies.
He is my hero, my conscience, my muse, my prison, my freedom and everything else.
But always, for both Anthony and me, Ming is the best thing since sliced bread!
Menzies.
And he is an expert at turning a bad day into a good day.
Ming
Unchopped wood
Here is a typical little scene of when Anthony/Husband comes home for the day:
I hear yelling outside as I am preparing lunch. I hear the slow chopchop of the axe. More yelling – Son to Anthony. I hold a grrrr tight in my chest.
Then, like a constant re-run of an old episode ….
Son (running into the house in a panic): Mum – Dad is trying to chop the wood again! He won’t stop!
Me (stirring the fish mornay for lunch): Is he okay?
Son: Yes, but what if he chops his leg off?
Me: If he chops his leg off we will deal with it. Just stop yelling at him. Let him do it – please – let him do it.
Son: Well do I supervise or what?
Me: Only if you don’t yell at him.
Son: Grrr!
Anthony usually manages to chop enough wood to start a fire in the fireplace before exhausting himself. Before he moved to the nursing lodge we would have a fire going 24/7 because he feels the cold so badly. But, when he isn’t here, Son and I don’t bother because, until next February, when Son’s spine is totally healed from the operation, he is not allowed to do things like chop wood, lift heavy objects, ride his motorbike.
So, except for when Anthony is home, that pile of wood remains unchopped and the fireplace unlit.
The warmth of Anthony’s presence is much more than metaphorical!
jmgoyder 