This has been a month of intense communications.
My parents have a wide circle of friends dating back from school, university, and "bachelor pad" days. Somehow, all these close friends have become extra aunts and uncles; collectively known as "the little family". They all turn up to every wedding, every christening, every silver and ruby wedding anniversary party. They are all godparents to each other's children.
So, I have grown up knowing them all, but not really knowing them well. Now, with my mother in hospital, I have been in touch with so many of them on a somehow more personal, more adult level.
I find myself emailing or writing letters to people I have never met, only heard about. I makes lists, keep a diary record of who rang when, who needs to be written to or rung back. This is not a burden or a weary duty, as I feel as though I am accumulating a treasure hoard of people who love and care for my family! The contact with all these caring, concerned people makes me feel loved and cared for as well.
I suppose it helps that the news is, after the first major shock, on the whole, good. "She's making steady progress, it will be a long haul, your card arrived yesterday and she loved the picture, that you so much for your news".
With all this going on, it is slightly harder to carve out time for meeting up with my own friends. I've bailed out of going to church for two Sundays in a row - last Sunday I needed the time to sleep and do domestic stuff - this Sunday, my family have decreed that we are abandoning the current reality to spend the day at a big Victorian Christmas Market/Event in another city.
I had a birthday letter from a friend, full of great news about her family, and made a "thank-you and catch-up" telephone to another friend which was overdue by several months. I've several "we must get together for a coffee sometime" dates to book in...
For now, I need to put my socks on, brush my teeth and hair and get to work. Ukuleles, samba and djembe classes await me - at least, decibellically speaking, it will be a fairly gentle start!
Wednesday, 28 November 2012
Monday, 26 November 2012
Monday 26th November - Surprise!
Today has been very surprising!
1 The bridge over the River Arun was NOT flooded! That was a nice surprise - I felt quite apprehensive as I drove towards it this afternoon. I had taken the precaution of checking the tide tables, as
heavy rain + high winds + high tide = moments of terror as you swim your car across the bridge
2 There was a splendid chocolate cake on the front door step complete with birthday candle (rather squished into the cake by the lid, but still light-able. I had made myself a lemon drizzle cake yesterday on the assumption that if I didn't make myself a cake, there might not be one! Thank you, ministering angel!
3 After we had eaten our supper, I was presented with the cake stand (which we won in a raffle at the hospital on Saturday afternoon and caused considerable confusion for my mother, as she thought that the cardboard box it came looked like a pizza delivery box) full of lavishly iced chocolate cupcakes, decorated with the letters to make H A P P Y B I R T H D A Y. So, far from having NO birthday cake, I ended up with three birthday cakes!
5 And there were presents as well! I LOVE the television play "The Flint Street Nativity" and lost my copy of the DVD several years ago - must have lent it to someone. It is "required watching" every Christmas - just need to make sure I have a box of tissues ready for the bit where the little boy (Stephen Tompkinson) can't bear to say his lines...
I look forward to having the time to get knitting something with the lovely yarns; until then I'll just cuddle them.
The One Word for today will be Surprise! in big curly letters.
1 The bridge over the River Arun was NOT flooded! That was a nice surprise - I felt quite apprehensive as I drove towards it this afternoon. I had taken the precaution of checking the tide tables, as
heavy rain + high winds + high tide = moments of terror as you swim your car across the bridge
2 There was a splendid chocolate cake on the front door step complete with birthday candle (rather squished into the cake by the lid, but still light-able. I had made myself a lemon drizzle cake yesterday on the assumption that if I didn't make myself a cake, there might not be one! Thank you, ministering angel!
3 After we had eaten our supper, I was presented with the cake stand (which we won in a raffle at the hospital on Saturday afternoon and caused considerable confusion for my mother, as she thought that the cardboard box it came looked like a pizza delivery box) full of lavishly iced chocolate cupcakes, decorated with the letters to make H A P P Y B I R T H D A Y. So, far from having NO birthday cake, I ended up with three birthday cakes!
4 There was a bouquet of roses from my husband, waiting for me when we got back from visiting my mother in hospital. We eat supper when we get back - very late, about 9pm, so I wasn't paying much attention and never even noticed the flowers.
The card on top of the clock was written by my mother; if you have been following this blog, you will know that she had a major stroke on 30th October, so for her to have written a birthday message is something really, really special.
5 And there were presents as well! I LOVE the television play "The Flint Street Nativity" and lost my copy of the DVD several years ago - must have lent it to someone. It is "required watching" every Christmas - just need to make sure I have a box of tissues ready for the bit where the little boy (Stephen Tompkinson) can't bear to say his lines...
I look forward to having the time to get knitting something with the lovely yarns; until then I'll just cuddle them.
The One Word for today will be Surprise! in big curly letters.
I thought "I'll just log in and get this post written" and guess what! Even Google knows it's my birthday (that's a bit creepy, actually). Here's "my birthday GoogleDoodle":
I'm very glad today ended on such a cheerful note for me; we visited my mother today, and every day she gets to be more like herself. Which includes the good AND the not-so-good. Today, like yesterday, she was rather "down", but in the way that anyone stuck in hospital, feeling out-of-sorts, faced with depressingly adequate institutional food, unable to fettle for oneself, struggling with tedium, would feel down. It would be lovely to report that she is in fine form, and great spirits, full of vim and vigour, but that's not the reality of her situation, let alone facing the consequences of a major stroke. Of course there are going to be "down" days. That has to be a part of returning to normal. It would be more scary if she wasn't affected by her situation!
Having said all that, it is still hard to see her stuck in hospital and not be able to wave a magic wand. However, my lovely family has managed to wave a magic wand for me. Abracadaba!
Sunday, 25 November 2012
Sunday 25th November - The Dreamtime
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| The Persistence of Memory http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Salvador_Dal%C3%AD |
The other night something woke me briefly, and I found myself in the middle of a series of events involving running away, fighting, rescuing, chasing, winning, losing - what? I have no idea. There was some kind of arena with a tall, arched colonnade. The place was brown - brown stone columns, brown ground, brown sky. I felt as though I was stuck in an episode of Star Trek.
Eventually I managed to persuade myself that I was awake, and this was a dream, and escape back into my bed, my duvet, my bedroom. I was able to force the brown landscape to leave me, and think in technicolour again.
We visited my mother yesterday; she was deeply asleep, so we went away and came back 20 minutes later. She was waking, confused, and cross with my father for standing in the middle of the ward shouting all night, and sleeping in another patient's bed, and hanging his jacket on the back of a chair. She was very angry with him for behaving so badly, upsetting the other patients, causing so much trouble. "You should behave yourself, and be more supportive".
This is her normal state on waking, and it is deeply distressing for my father to get all this thrown at him in a continuous angry rant.
I think that these are dreams and nightmares that have made their way into her real world. Once she gets stuck in this frame of mind she gets increasingly upset and fearful. To begin with, when I assured her that my father had been at home all night, and never come near the hospital, her reaction was to accuse me of thinking that she was going mad. This frightens her more; but eventually, as I talked to her, she began to consider the possibility that she wasn't mad and it might be a dream.
Once she has properly woken up (we have found that it is a really helpful if the nurses come and rearrange her pillows and generally shuffle her about) everything is OK again; the dream-state mother recedes and the real, lively, intelligent, sharp-witted, amusing mother emerges.
She has started "playing" (her word) with her fingers and toes, wriggling and flexing her good foot, straightening out her fingers (even though it is clearly painful), using her good leg to make her bad leg bend and stretch. This is the real person, now taking her recovery into her own hands, literally.
I swear, I swear, I truly swear that I saw, we all saw, that she wriggled the toes of her left foot. The nurse warned me that this might just be a "reflex reaction"; whatever it is, it is SOMETHING!
Sunday 25th November - Looking to the Skies
I realise that I take what I see in the skies as my hope, inspiration, meditation for the day.
The patterns of clouds, the colours, delicate shadings and gradations of hue all speak to me in some way, as I travel hither and thither through the week. I'd like to take more pictures of skyscapes, but I'm always busy, busy, busy and can't stop now.
On Thursday, the colour of the sky was the palest, most beautiful blue. The clouds arranged themselves in gentle billows, as though in a watercolour painting; careful shadings of dove grey shaded with pink stroked into a wet wash, the colours blending with utmost subtlety. I taught in two schools that day, one in the morning, one a good 45 minutes drive away in the afternoon. The lessons were bustling, active, with lots achieved in each session; djembe, and a year 5 and 6 class lesson on the intricacies of sonata form in the morning, ukulele and recorders in the afternoon. Then home through a golden dusk for piano teaching. A good day.
On Friday my daughter commented on the sky; a clean pale, slightly greenish blue topped by a knife edge layer of clouds as a weather front travelled across at high level. The beauty of the colours lifted my spirits as I braced myself for a long, hard day; exam rehearsals, recorders, samba, theory and piano lessons from 9:45 am until 6pm.
Yesterday was rain, rain, rain. Dark grey washed into pale grey washed into mid grey. The rain, and the clouds were persistent, but still not a uniform colour or texture.
Even the worst of the weather seems to come from a beautiful, subtle skyscape.
The patterns of clouds, the colours, delicate shadings and gradations of hue all speak to me in some way, as I travel hither and thither through the week. I'd like to take more pictures of skyscapes, but I'm always busy, busy, busy and can't stop now.
On Thursday, the colour of the sky was the palest, most beautiful blue. The clouds arranged themselves in gentle billows, as though in a watercolour painting; careful shadings of dove grey shaded with pink stroked into a wet wash, the colours blending with utmost subtlety. I taught in two schools that day, one in the morning, one a good 45 minutes drive away in the afternoon. The lessons were bustling, active, with lots achieved in each session; djembe, and a year 5 and 6 class lesson on the intricacies of sonata form in the morning, ukulele and recorders in the afternoon. Then home through a golden dusk for piano teaching. A good day.
On Friday my daughter commented on the sky; a clean pale, slightly greenish blue topped by a knife edge layer of clouds as a weather front travelled across at high level. The beauty of the colours lifted my spirits as I braced myself for a long, hard day; exam rehearsals, recorders, samba, theory and piano lessons from 9:45 am until 6pm.
Yesterday was rain, rain, rain. Dark grey washed into pale grey washed into mid grey. The rain, and the clouds were persistent, but still not a uniform colour or texture.
Even the worst of the weather seems to come from a beautiful, subtle skyscape.
Wednesday, 21 November 2012
Bonus Post - Wednesday 21st Nov - Christmas Sorted
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| http://www.firebox.com/product/5602/Christmas-Dinner-in-a-Can?via=xmas_home |
In view of the current chaos in our household, I am Seriously Tempted to order half a dozen of these cans...
All you do is open them, and 12 minutes later your Christmas Dinner is hot and ready to eat. No cooking, no washing up, no stress... and only £5.99 each.
(hmm. Might be lacking in the flavour and festivity department though...)
Wednesday 21st November - Where now?
I mithered over how to get to the hospital - google said it's route would take 38 mins, along roads that I had never been along before. The alternative - backtracking until I could join the route I know - would have taken too long. In then end, I followed the google maps route. The roads were empty enough that it was possible for me to snatch quick glances at the printouts of the maps as I went along, and in the end I only missed one turning. Par for the course.
Coming back, it was dark, and I always get hopelessly confused trying to get through the muddled mixture of roundabouts and turnoffs in the main town that I have to somehow traverse. It is complicated by a roundabout with a bus lane right through the middle: an approaching bus with suddenly switch ALL traffic lights abruptly to red (all entrances and exits from the roundabout a traffic-light controlled) while it thunders straight across without any reduction in speed.
I'm always phased by this roundabout, and tonight I exited too early, tried to get back on track and ended up hopelessly entangled in the "Leisure Complex" - a labyrinthine car park serving a mish-mash of cinemas, bowling alleys, fitness centres and restaurants. I extricated myself with great difficulty, and plunged straight into interminable traffic queues on the final stretch of dual carriageway, stretching for miles.
We all crawled along, first merging into one lane, then forced to merge into another lane, and then faced with these two signs... Luckily, the finale of the Mozart Piano concerto in E flat for two pianos started on Radio 3, and I managed to remain optimistic that the nightmare would end.
So, where now, with my mother? The consultant says she is making good progress, only time will tell, she is medically stable and ready to move to another hospital where they have a special stroke rehab unit - all well and good. It is far too soon to make decisions, frame thoughts, form ideas about what the future may hold. I am worried about whether she will regain movement in her left side - any movement? some movement? or not at all? Her repeated insistence that her left side has always been weak doesn't bode well, unless we manage to galvanise her into making a real effort. If she has always been in the habit of not using her left hand, then it will be so much harder to rebuild the connections. Time. Patience. Hope. Count blessings; speech, swallowing, memories, conversation, ability to read and absorb information. We have been very lucky.
Saturday, 17 November 2012
Saturday 17th November - My middle toes
I've managed to get my music "magazine" - ok - I admit, it's a blog, but I think of it as an online magazine - up, if a day late this week. Here's the link
www.themusicjungle.co.uk
and I try and post three "articles" every Friday evening.
The inspiration for one of the articles, "How many fingers on each hand?" came from considering what it must be like to deal with the situation when your brain is "disregarding" one side of your body. As happens when you have a stroke.
As a music teacher I see this "disregarding" process happening all the time. The young child sits at he piano, an struggles to move the correct finger. Where, exactly, is the fourth finger of their left hand? They can see it, but cannot "connect" to it. If I touch the finger for them, the connection comes alive, and they can try and play it.
I see this with older beginners too - I'm talking about people who have decided to start learning the piano in their sixties and seventies. They sit there, baffled by their inability to complete the apparently trivial task of interpreting the very, very basic music, and translating the dots on the page into movements of the fingers. They are frustrated by the unexpected difficulty of playing even the simplest tune. It is much worse when it is a tune they know well. I am about to enter the Christmas Carol season, and all the students, of every age, will try and play the carols at "singing speed", long before they can coordinate their fingers.
But, hey, it is a problem that I deal with too; often, when I am learning a new piece, I have to stop and figure out the sequence of movements I have to make with my fingers in order to play the chords or counterpoint that I see on the page. I will have to understand, and then learn the mechanical actions before I can then develop a musical interpretation of the passage.
So it is with my mother. I am filled with joy to hear that the therapists are teaching her how to hold a tumbler with both hands, her "good" hand and her "disregarded" hand. I am so happy to hear that she is now able to drink clear, unthickened water. And I think that I have a glimmer of understanding of the extreme mental effort it takes her to complete a simple action such as conveying a cup to her lips.
If you try and wriggle the middle toes of your left foot, you, too, can experience what it must be like to work on reconnecting a "disregarded" finger, hand, arm, foot, ankle, leg. Yeah. It feels weird.
www.themusicjungle.co.uk
and I try and post three "articles" every Friday evening.
The inspiration for one of the articles, "How many fingers on each hand?" came from considering what it must be like to deal with the situation when your brain is "disregarding" one side of your body. As happens when you have a stroke.
As a music teacher I see this "disregarding" process happening all the time. The young child sits at he piano, an struggles to move the correct finger. Where, exactly, is the fourth finger of their left hand? They can see it, but cannot "connect" to it. If I touch the finger for them, the connection comes alive, and they can try and play it.
I see this with older beginners too - I'm talking about people who have decided to start learning the piano in their sixties and seventies. They sit there, baffled by their inability to complete the apparently trivial task of interpreting the very, very basic music, and translating the dots on the page into movements of the fingers. They are frustrated by the unexpected difficulty of playing even the simplest tune. It is much worse when it is a tune they know well. I am about to enter the Christmas Carol season, and all the students, of every age, will try and play the carols at "singing speed", long before they can coordinate their fingers.
But, hey, it is a problem that I deal with too; often, when I am learning a new piece, I have to stop and figure out the sequence of movements I have to make with my fingers in order to play the chords or counterpoint that I see on the page. I will have to understand, and then learn the mechanical actions before I can then develop a musical interpretation of the passage.
So it is with my mother. I am filled with joy to hear that the therapists are teaching her how to hold a tumbler with both hands, her "good" hand and her "disregarded" hand. I am so happy to hear that she is now able to drink clear, unthickened water. And I think that I have a glimmer of understanding of the extreme mental effort it takes her to complete a simple action such as conveying a cup to her lips.
If you try and wriggle the middle toes of your left foot, you, too, can experience what it must be like to work on reconnecting a "disregarded" finger, hand, arm, foot, ankle, leg. Yeah. It feels weird.
Thursday, 15 November 2012
Thursday 15th November - time sliding by - hospital food
Oh well. Missed three days! I've failed the National Blog Promotion Month Challenge good and proper now!
The days are concatenating into a confused jumble; I can only sort out what has happened by thinking through who which schools I have visited, day by day, and then trying to add in the missing bits. This morning I discovered that I was sitting all curled up in a corner of the settee in the morning, like one of the cats, staring at the television breakfast news without actually taking in the newsweathertrafficreports...
It's not the juggling of the timetables and schedules that finishes me off - although it is pretty wearing. It's the little last-minute adaptations that crash the system and derail the train of thought.
On Monday's hospital visit was very unsatisfactory - I think we only spent about 10 minutes with my mother, and that was all rather confused and disconnected.
On Tuesday we didn't go; my brother was staying overnight so he went with my father. The news was all right - and all right should be good enough, but it isn't somehow. They had a discussion with the medics, who basically said what we were all expecting - making progress, too soon to know, be patient...
On Wednesday we arrived before supper had been cleared away - my word! Grim doesn't begin to describe it, especially arriving fresh from watching Masterchef on television. Under the cover was a soup plate containing a flattened dollop of pinky-beige puree (chicken casserole?), a flattened dollop of pale green puree (peas?), and a flattened dollop of grey-white puree (potato?). Not surprisingly it was untouched. There was also a mug of vegetable soup, an good colour, but the flavour so delicate as to be undetectable. I know, because I tried it. Ugh. I do appreciate the difficulties of providing interesting, delicious, appetising purees, en masse, to be transported on heated trolleys - but my mother is an excellent cook. She serves up roast lamb, chicken liver pate, sauerkraut with three kinds of pork, potatoes with cream and nutmeg, broad beans in mustard sauce, jugged hare, fresh fish, home-made curry, steak-and-kidney pie, nasi goreng....
Depresssed, I called in at Tescos this afternoon to try and find something better. I bought a couple of sachets of superior baby food to test, and also some soup which I planned to heat, thicken with extra potato and puree, and take with me, still warm, in a flask.
Before I could construct there soup, I heard from my father that she had lasagne for lunch - real food, cut into small pieces - and found it perfectly adequate. Oh Wow! She had the stroke on 30th October, and was nil-by-mouth for the first week. Now, 15 days after it all happened, she is eating real food!
She also looks better and seems so much more alert. She can remember how to operate the tablet that we got for her at Christmas to look at pictures and discuss the work that is happening at the flat (renovating the kitchen and bathroom) with plenty to contribute.
What a great way to finish off the week.
Not sure who gets to eat the baby food...
The days are concatenating into a confused jumble; I can only sort out what has happened by thinking through who which schools I have visited, day by day, and then trying to add in the missing bits. This morning I discovered that I was sitting all curled up in a corner of the settee in the morning, like one of the cats, staring at the television breakfast news without actually taking in the newsweathertrafficreports...
It's not the juggling of the timetables and schedules that finishes me off - although it is pretty wearing. It's the little last-minute adaptations that crash the system and derail the train of thought.
On Monday's hospital visit was very unsatisfactory - I think we only spent about 10 minutes with my mother, and that was all rather confused and disconnected.
On Tuesday we didn't go; my brother was staying overnight so he went with my father. The news was all right - and all right should be good enough, but it isn't somehow. They had a discussion with the medics, who basically said what we were all expecting - making progress, too soon to know, be patient...
On Wednesday we arrived before supper had been cleared away - my word! Grim doesn't begin to describe it, especially arriving fresh from watching Masterchef on television. Under the cover was a soup plate containing a flattened dollop of pinky-beige puree (chicken casserole?), a flattened dollop of pale green puree (peas?), and a flattened dollop of grey-white puree (potato?). Not surprisingly it was untouched. There was also a mug of vegetable soup, an good colour, but the flavour so delicate as to be undetectable. I know, because I tried it. Ugh. I do appreciate the difficulties of providing interesting, delicious, appetising purees, en masse, to be transported on heated trolleys - but my mother is an excellent cook. She serves up roast lamb, chicken liver pate, sauerkraut with three kinds of pork, potatoes with cream and nutmeg, broad beans in mustard sauce, jugged hare, fresh fish, home-made curry, steak-and-kidney pie, nasi goreng....
Depresssed, I called in at Tescos this afternoon to try and find something better. I bought a couple of sachets of superior baby food to test, and also some soup which I planned to heat, thicken with extra potato and puree, and take with me, still warm, in a flask.
Before I could construct there soup, I heard from my father that she had lasagne for lunch - real food, cut into small pieces - and found it perfectly adequate. Oh Wow! She had the stroke on 30th October, and was nil-by-mouth for the first week. Now, 15 days after it all happened, she is eating real food!
She also looks better and seems so much more alert. She can remember how to operate the tablet that we got for her at Christmas to look at pictures and discuss the work that is happening at the flat (renovating the kitchen and bathroom) with plenty to contribute.
What a great way to finish off the week.
Not sure who gets to eat the baby food...
Monday, 12 November 2012
Monday 12th November - On the Road
I've covered about 70 miles today. The weather has been depressing and rainy all day, the roads greasy and wet, but the scenery has been fantastic. I wish I had been able to stop and take pictures.
Part of my route goes through a beech wood. It is a main A road curving sinuously left and right and up and down through the trees. The leaves are now almost all a golden tawny brown, falling in gentle drifts on the passing cars.
We did our usual evening zoom up to the hospital, late enough to have missed the worst of the rush hour. The view is less attractive:
Part of my route goes through a beech wood. It is a main A road curving sinuously left and right and up and down through the trees. The leaves are now almost all a golden tawny brown, falling in gentle drifts on the passing cars.
We did our usual evening zoom up to the hospital, late enough to have missed the worst of the rush hour. The view is less attractive:
The streetlights and car lights make confusing patterns. It is easy to get disorientated, navigating along strips of samey roads. Some of the roads are cluttered urban single-carriageways, lined with close-packed shops and houses. Others are featureless dual carriageways slicing through wastelands and industrial estates. The route is punctuation with a random sequence of traffic lights, roundabouts, bus lanes and unexpected changes of direction.
Last night we took two wrong turnings coming home. Today we managed to get it right.
My mother was very tired when we visited her this evening. Most of the visiting hour was entirely taken up by - shall we say "domestic personal necessities" - but when these were completed we had a brief opportunity to hear her news. She has been sitting in the chair for several hours - something that is very tiring. She is also able to eat her lunch by herself. She says this is a great improvement, as she can control how much food she eats, and how quickly she eats it. The chocolate custard desert gets a thumbs down - too claggy.
There were twelve new cards today, and a couple of letters - she is overwhelmed by everyone's kindness, and spends hours going through them, reading them all with great care and attention and examining the pictures..
Sunday, 11 November 2012
Sunday 11th November - Houseguests and Fish
"Houseguests, like fish, begin to stink after three days" I believe this quotation is attributed to Benjamin Franklin.
A dear friend arrived from Canada on Friday night, stopping over between Europe and home. He heard at short notice that he would have to come over - could he come and stay the weekend? OF COURSE! He's the sort of guest who doesn't seem to mind letting himself into the house because we are at work, sitting waiting until I finish teaching piano at 6:30pm before I say more than a few words to him, or having to sleep on an air bed in the sitting room. It's okay that my husband had to work all of Saturday morning, that I disappeared off to visit my mother on Saturday afternoon.
For all three of us, the weekend, in spite of the way we were working to tight time-tables and rigid schedules, was a brief oasis of calm in the middle of hectic, fast-paced weeks.
We didn't need to entertain, or plan outings, or go out of our way to make things special. We find eachother's company restful and restoring.
We just seem pick up from where we left off. This time we hadn't seen each other for just over a year, when we went to Canada and spent two weeks staying with him and his wife and family, for their daughter's wedding, and to see where they lived. And they live within a couple of hours of the Niagara Falls! Somewhere that I never expected to see, ever.
I don't think that we started to stink after three days, on that occasion.
And three days for this visit, in spite of the current domestic turmoil, was far too short. But the three days were an unexpected blessing, and he didn't smell of fish either!
We will be visiting my mother later this evening. I have made some apple sauce, and a thick, sieved vegetable soup in case she has been turning up her nose at the hospital meals again. Maybe a bit of home cooking will appeal? Who knows.
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Opened can of surströmming (wikipedia)
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For all three of us, the weekend, in spite of the way we were working to tight time-tables and rigid schedules, was a brief oasis of calm in the middle of hectic, fast-paced weeks.
We didn't need to entertain, or plan outings, or go out of our way to make things special. We find eachother's company restful and restoring.
We just seem pick up from where we left off. This time we hadn't seen each other for just over a year, when we went to Canada and spent two weeks staying with him and his wife and family, for their daughter's wedding, and to see where they lived. And they live within a couple of hours of the Niagara Falls! Somewhere that I never expected to see, ever.
I don't think that we started to stink after three days, on that occasion.
And three days for this visit, in spite of the current domestic turmoil, was far too short. But the three days were an unexpected blessing, and he didn't smell of fish either!
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| Kusaya (くさや) is a Japanese style salted-dried fish and fermented fish. It is famous for its malodorousness, and is similar to the pungent fermented Swedish herring called surströmming. (wikipedia) |
We will be visiting my mother later this evening. I have made some apple sauce, and a thick, sieved vegetable soup in case she has been turning up her nose at the hospital meals again. Maybe a bit of home cooking will appeal? Who knows.
Saturday, 10 November 2012
Saturday 10th November - Low Blood Sugar?
My mother always met us from school with a biscuit or snack. "Don't say a word until you've eaten this" she would say.
Following her example, I would take a drink and a snack with me and give it to the children as I met them at the gates of their infant school. "Here, have a drink, have a snack" I would say, leaving the rest of the conversation until later.
Years later, my husband used to commute to London. Usually he drove to the station, but Occasionally I would have to drop him off at the beginning of the day and collect him in the evening. On one hot, humid summer evening I opened the car window and held out a chilled bottle of Perrier water, beaded with condensation, ready for him to grasp as soon as he reached the car. The envy of the other commuters was almost audible. He had the lid off the bottle and half the contents drained before I had even opened the door.
My mother started the snack-straight-after-school routine, because my brother and I would be grumpy and cross when school had ended. Eventually, my mother realised that we hadn't actually had a bad day. It was just "low blood sugar"; we were tired, hungry and thirsty and it was making us bad-tempered.
Occasionally I have had a busy day and forgotten to eat enough, or drink enough (and I don't mean wine!). I suddenly find that I am feeling wobbly, can't concentrate, and feel scratchy and bad-tempered. If I manage to realise what is going on, then a drink and biscuit is all I need to get back on track again.
Today, when we went to visit my mother, we found her querulous, confused, and confusing. After yesterday it was all a bit worrying and disappointing. We had brought the bridge column in, and a catalogue for choosing tiles for the bathroom renovations, and ideas for the kitchen which is also being rebuilt. None of these diversions were going to be at all appropriate.
As time went on, and after chatting with the nursing staff, we discovered that she had rejected breakfast, and only had a few spoonfuls of lunch. The staff were concerned that she wasn't eating enough, and were very happy for me to see if she would eat some of her favourite yogurt, which we had brought in.
Success! She ate the equivalent of half a small tub, and suddenly perked up. The tiles have been chosen (white for the main part of the bathroom, turquoise inside the shower cubicle), she read a letter from a friend, and settled to sleep with Dinu Lipatti's magical piano playing in her ears.
Half a tub of yogurt. Such a simple remedy.
 |
| http://forums.doyouremember.co.uk/threads/3529-Cadbury-s-Skippy |
Following her example, I would take a drink and a snack with me and give it to the children as I met them at the gates of their infant school. "Here, have a drink, have a snack" I would say, leaving the rest of the conversation until later.
Years later, my husband used to commute to London. Usually he drove to the station, but Occasionally I would have to drop him off at the beginning of the day and collect him in the evening. On one hot, humid summer evening I opened the car window and held out a chilled bottle of Perrier water, beaded with condensation, ready for him to grasp as soon as he reached the car. The envy of the other commuters was almost audible. He had the lid off the bottle and half the contents drained before I had even opened the door.
My mother started the snack-straight-after-school routine, because my brother and I would be grumpy and cross when school had ended. Eventually, my mother realised that we hadn't actually had a bad day. It was just "low blood sugar"; we were tired, hungry and thirsty and it was making us bad-tempered.
Occasionally I have had a busy day and forgotten to eat enough, or drink enough (and I don't mean wine!). I suddenly find that I am feeling wobbly, can't concentrate, and feel scratchy and bad-tempered. If I manage to realise what is going on, then a drink and biscuit is all I need to get back on track again.
Today, when we went to visit my mother, we found her querulous, confused, and confusing. After yesterday it was all a bit worrying and disappointing. We had brought the bridge column in, and a catalogue for choosing tiles for the bathroom renovations, and ideas for the kitchen which is also being rebuilt. None of these diversions were going to be at all appropriate.
As time went on, and after chatting with the nursing staff, we discovered that she had rejected breakfast, and only had a few spoonfuls of lunch. The staff were concerned that she wasn't eating enough, and were very happy for me to see if she would eat some of her favourite yogurt, which we had brought in.
 |
| http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dinu_Lipatti |
Half a tub of yogurt. Such a simple remedy.
Friday, 9 November 2012
Friday 9th November - The Week Ends
Friday night, 9:45 pm
What a week this has been.
There came a point, on Wednesday night, when I ground to a complete halt. I reached the point where I couldn't speak properly: I was trying to explain some technical point to a piano pupil and the words came out in a completely random order. I was rather disconcerted, twice over; once at hearing the garbled nonsense I was saying, and twice at the student's apparent lack of bemusement. So, do I normally gibber at them in their lessons? Perhaps I do. Well, they seem to keep coming anyhow.
This weekend will be fairly packed, but at least I won't be in a position of professional responsibility (i e teaching) for most of it. I am due to lead a Sunday School group - 6-8 year olds - after the Remembrance Day Parade. Last year I thought we would beat swords into ploughshares - that did not go entirely as planned, in that we made the swords but ran out of time before we had beat them into ploughshares. Well, we had a great time even if the Bible message got totally lost once we started making swords.
My mother continues to improve; today's highlight was when she started working through the bridge column of the Times newspaper.
In matters mental she is making great progress. The physical side is going to take a lot longer. It reminds me of the difficulty that my older adult beginners have in learning how to use their fingers in new ways in order to play the piano. It takes determination, patience, and endless repetition. Not forgetting courage, optimism, and undying hope.
What a week this has been.
There came a point, on Wednesday night, when I ground to a complete halt. I reached the point where I couldn't speak properly: I was trying to explain some technical point to a piano pupil and the words came out in a completely random order. I was rather disconcerted, twice over; once at hearing the garbled nonsense I was saying, and twice at the student's apparent lack of bemusement. So, do I normally gibber at them in their lessons? Perhaps I do. Well, they seem to keep coming anyhow.
This weekend will be fairly packed, but at least I won't be in a position of professional responsibility (i e teaching) for most of it. I am due to lead a Sunday School group - 6-8 year olds - after the Remembrance Day Parade. Last year I thought we would beat swords into ploughshares - that did not go entirely as planned, in that we made the swords but ran out of time before we had beat them into ploughshares. Well, we had a great time even if the Bible message got totally lost once we started making swords.
 |
| http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Contract_bridge |
In matters mental she is making great progress. The physical side is going to take a lot longer. It reminds me of the difficulty that my older adult beginners have in learning how to use their fingers in new ways in order to play the piano. It takes determination, patience, and endless repetition. Not forgetting courage, optimism, and undying hope.
Thursday, 8 November 2012
Thursday 8th November - Random non-sequiters
1. I was remembering the celebration laid on for Uncle Terry, who died just before Christmas a couple of years ago. In accordance with his wishes, we celebrated his life on his birthday, 8th November, by climbing up St Catherine's Hill, just out side Winchester, where he grew up. I don't know how many there were - his brothers and sisters, sons and daughters, brothers- and sisters-in-law, nephews, nieces, offsprings of children and nephews and nieces - quite a party. As dusk fell, we set up two humungous rockets, aimed towards St Cross Church way down below. The rockets had been filled with his ashes. One touch of a match to the blue touch-paper, and the sky lit up with brilliant streaks and stars, and the air was filled with sizzles and splutters and bang. We stood there in the gathering dark, chorusing "ooooh" and "aaaah", sipping champagne and toasting his memory.
It took a while for us to all meet up at the Pizza Express in the city, as the "young things" went galloping round the mizmaze (we could see their torches, and hear their shouts, but it was now completely dark). The rest of us gingerly picked our way along unfamiliar paths, getting lost, discovering unexpected stiles, ditches and bramble patches.
What a day. What a way to go!
2. Today I was attempting to teach a class of 10 and 11 year old children the intricacies of "Sonata Form". We are at the very, very early stages of our journey, and I was trying to encourage a discussion about form, and how we structure poems, stories and music. All my carefully planned, leading questions were completely wasted. We were being terrorised by a large and very dopey wasp, zooming and dive bombing the children as we sat in a circle on the floor. Nothing could be achieved until the wasp finally settled on the curtains some way from our circle, and the muffled screams and squeaks (from the girls) and cries of "squish it", "kill it" "I'll get it" (from the boys) ceased. Gender stereotyping seems to be firmly in place by age 10, however you try and avoid it.
3. My mother continues to improve slowly. At night, when she can't sleep, she constructs elaborate and detailed plans for the improvement of local facilities for nursing care and nurses homes which she can recount to us in visiting hours.
4. I need to sleep. Goodnight!
It took a while for us to all meet up at the Pizza Express in the city, as the "young things" went galloping round the mizmaze (we could see their torches, and hear their shouts, but it was now completely dark). The rest of us gingerly picked our way along unfamiliar paths, getting lost, discovering unexpected stiles, ditches and bramble patches.
What a day. What a way to go!
2. Today I was attempting to teach a class of 10 and 11 year old children the intricacies of "Sonata Form". We are at the very, very early stages of our journey, and I was trying to encourage a discussion about form, and how we structure poems, stories and music. All my carefully planned, leading questions were completely wasted. We were being terrorised by a large and very dopey wasp, zooming and dive bombing the children as we sat in a circle on the floor. Nothing could be achieved until the wasp finally settled on the curtains some way from our circle, and the muffled screams and squeaks (from the girls) and cries of "squish it", "kill it" "I'll get it" (from the boys) ceased. Gender stereotyping seems to be firmly in place by age 10, however you try and avoid it.
3. My mother continues to improve slowly. At night, when she can't sleep, she constructs elaborate and detailed plans for the improvement of local facilities for nursing care and nurses homes which she can recount to us in visiting hours.
4. I need to sleep. Goodnight!
Wednesday 7th November - Food for a Crisis
A friend knocked on the door today bearing a great dish of beef stew - how wonderful! What with one thing and another, even superwoman has to give in and take a night off, and I'm no superwoman.
My standard response to a family in crisis is to take round a roast chicken, pan of cooked new potatoes and bag of ready-to-eat salad. I reckon that it can all be eaten hot or cold, used to make sandwiches, or even thrown away for that matter. The gift of a ready-to-eat meal is very much appreciated when the rest of your life is being turned upside down.
We have a system at church now that swings into action whenever "meals-on-wheels" looks like being a helpful response. Generally, families with new babies can reckon to have a week or so of a meal being delivered to their door every day. When I think that it could take me a whole day to peel a couple of potatoes in between feeding, changing, rocking, changing, feeding a tiny baby.... I wish this system had been around when my children were born!
.....
Well, the beef stew was delicious, and generous, and the rest is in the freezer ready for another evening. Thank you!
I started this post early in the evening, meaning to add news of my mother. Then I went to bed. So, my first National Blog Promotion Month Fail. I had meant to go and visit her this evening, but as time went on, I knew that I had reached the end of what I was able to do. My father rang from the hospital, to ask if I was going, so that he could let my mother know. He said that she was falling asleep, after a hefty dose of painkillers for her stiff neck and achy legs, so I said I 'd stay at home. She has been moved from the bed nearest the nurses station to the far corner by the windows. Her old place has been taken by a new patient who is much the same state that my mother was when she arrived, grey, semi-conscious, wired up to drips and monitors. In contrast, my mother spends a lot of time sitting in a chair, positioned so she can look out of the window, with all her cards and letters close at hand so she can read through them. She looks more alert, and more relaxed. She reads the letters closely for family news, gossip, descriptions of goings-on in the bridge club, scraps of information about life outside the hospital. And this is all in less than 10 days!
My standard response to a family in crisis is to take round a roast chicken, pan of cooked new potatoes and bag of ready-to-eat salad. I reckon that it can all be eaten hot or cold, used to make sandwiches, or even thrown away for that matter. The gift of a ready-to-eat meal is very much appreciated when the rest of your life is being turned upside down.
We have a system at church now that swings into action whenever "meals-on-wheels" looks like being a helpful response. Generally, families with new babies can reckon to have a week or so of a meal being delivered to their door every day. When I think that it could take me a whole day to peel a couple of potatoes in between feeding, changing, rocking, changing, feeding a tiny baby.... I wish this system had been around when my children were born!
.....
Well, the beef stew was delicious, and generous, and the rest is in the freezer ready for another evening. Thank you!
I started this post early in the evening, meaning to add news of my mother. Then I went to bed. So, my first National Blog Promotion Month Fail. I had meant to go and visit her this evening, but as time went on, I knew that I had reached the end of what I was able to do. My father rang from the hospital, to ask if I was going, so that he could let my mother know. He said that she was falling asleep, after a hefty dose of painkillers for her stiff neck and achy legs, so I said I 'd stay at home. She has been moved from the bed nearest the nurses station to the far corner by the windows. Her old place has been taken by a new patient who is much the same state that my mother was when she arrived, grey, semi-conscious, wired up to drips and monitors. In contrast, my mother spends a lot of time sitting in a chair, positioned so she can look out of the window, with all her cards and letters close at hand so she can read through them. She looks more alert, and more relaxed. She reads the letters closely for family news, gossip, descriptions of goings-on in the bridge club, scraps of information about life outside the hospital. And this is all in less than 10 days!
Tuesday, 6 November 2012
Tuesday 6th November - The Waiting Game
Waiting is an art form in itself.
I was taught "waiting" at the convent primary school I went to: standing in line waiting for school dinners. I can remember that we lined up in a maze of interconnecting corridors that ended in the dining room. We were allowed to chat in whispers, but were expected to stand still and not mill around or swap places.
The reward for such patience was mixed: it might be something really good, and ending with sponge pudding and custard. It might be spinach, slimy and gritty, or "red" cabbage, boiled to a pale dove grey stringiness. The convent grew acres and ACRES of spinach and red cabbage. I used to see them in threatening rows in the vegetable garden, my heart sinking as I contemplated forthcoming harvest.
Being able to sit and wait patiently is a valuable skill. However, it throws you upon your own resources, especially if you haven't brought anything to fill the time.
I'm a great one for chatting to whoever is sitting next to me, if we are both feeling sociable. Otherwise, I might use the time to plan things - menus, Christmas present lists, lesson plans, holiday plans. It is easier to make lists if I have pencil and paper, otherwise thing fall out of my mind as fast as I try and slot them in.
Sometimes I "play" music through in my head, or revisit favourite places or walks.
I went through a phase of trying to learn poetry, but this is not a skill that I have developed to any great level. Like learning songs, I know the tunes but not the words. Most of the songs I have learnt are the ones I teach all the time: "Bee, bee, bumble bee, stung a man upon his knee, stung a pig upon his snout, I say you're out" or "Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight, wish I may, wish I might, have the wish I see tonight". Short, and quite sweet, but hardly "literature"!
My mother is having to spend hours and hours just waiting. During the day there is a fair bit going on - doctor's rounds, observations, physio, speech therapy, occupational therapy fills a certain amount of time, but in between, and in wakeful night-time hours she is thrown on her own resources. I wasn't able to visit her today, but I heard that she was moved from her bed to the chair for a while. That will have made it easier to see what was happening around her. She had a go at reading a book, and has asked for a "Good Food" magazine. The CD player and headphones have made a great difference, and the steady stream of get well cards is very, very important. I am telling everyone to keep them coming. Next week, and the week after is when they will bring a welcome breath of the outside world into the slow, constant, unchanging rhythm of hospital life.
I was taught "waiting" at the convent primary school I went to: standing in line waiting for school dinners. I can remember that we lined up in a maze of interconnecting corridors that ended in the dining room. We were allowed to chat in whispers, but were expected to stand still and not mill around or swap places.
The reward for such patience was mixed: it might be something really good, and ending with sponge pudding and custard. It might be spinach, slimy and gritty, or "red" cabbage, boiled to a pale dove grey stringiness. The convent grew acres and ACRES of spinach and red cabbage. I used to see them in threatening rows in the vegetable garden, my heart sinking as I contemplated forthcoming harvest.
Being able to sit and wait patiently is a valuable skill. However, it throws you upon your own resources, especially if you haven't brought anything to fill the time.
I'm a great one for chatting to whoever is sitting next to me, if we are both feeling sociable. Otherwise, I might use the time to plan things - menus, Christmas present lists, lesson plans, holiday plans. It is easier to make lists if I have pencil and paper, otherwise thing fall out of my mind as fast as I try and slot them in.
Sometimes I "play" music through in my head, or revisit favourite places or walks.
I went through a phase of trying to learn poetry, but this is not a skill that I have developed to any great level. Like learning songs, I know the tunes but not the words. Most of the songs I have learnt are the ones I teach all the time: "Bee, bee, bumble bee, stung a man upon his knee, stung a pig upon his snout, I say you're out" or "Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight, wish I may, wish I might, have the wish I see tonight". Short, and quite sweet, but hardly "literature"!
My mother is having to spend hours and hours just waiting. During the day there is a fair bit going on - doctor's rounds, observations, physio, speech therapy, occupational therapy fills a certain amount of time, but in between, and in wakeful night-time hours she is thrown on her own resources. I wasn't able to visit her today, but I heard that she was moved from her bed to the chair for a while. That will have made it easier to see what was happening around her. She had a go at reading a book, and has asked for a "Good Food" magazine. The CD player and headphones have made a great difference, and the steady stream of get well cards is very, very important. I am telling everyone to keep them coming. Next week, and the week after is when they will bring a welcome breath of the outside world into the slow, constant, unchanging rhythm of hospital life.
Monday, 5 November 2012
Monday 5th November - A new week
Today was sunny and bright and cheerful and dry - a sparkling day, full of promise. What a way to start the week!
On my way to teach samba and djembe (African drumming), I crossed the River Arun at on the A272 at New Bridge, near Billingshust. I didn't have time to stop and take pictures, but after the rain at the weekend, the water level was close to the level of the road, and the surrounding fields were great flat expanses of water. I think this picture below must have been taken when there was a dry spell. When there has been a prolonged spell of heavy rain, it is well worth checking the tide tables, as the bridge can be impassable at high tide in these conditions.
I found this picture on a website devoted to the River Arun; http://www.myriverarun.com/index.html
It is full of pictures and information about the River and its history.
Anyway, I had no problems today and went on my way, nearly into Hampshire.
In the after noon I retraced my steps, and carried on north to visit my mother in hospital. The weather stayed cheerful, and I only got lost once in the amazing labyrinth that is the A23 between Crawley and Salfords. Dusk was approaching, and the clouds were becoming a deeper and deeper pink against the clear blue sky. The message of hope that I read in the weather turned out to be true - today my mother was able to have something to eat for the first time since her stroke last Tuesday. What a relief! I found her sitting up and listening to music (a recording of his final recital at the 1950 Besançon recital) and looking through get well cards. My father and brother stood in attendance, handing the cards over one by one.
We finished the day with a family supper - the table is still clear. This could become a habit!
On my way to teach samba and djembe (African drumming), I crossed the River Arun at on the A272 at New Bridge, near Billingshust. I didn't have time to stop and take pictures, but after the rain at the weekend, the water level was close to the level of the road, and the surrounding fields were great flat expanses of water. I think this picture below must have been taken when there was a dry spell. When there has been a prolonged spell of heavy rain, it is well worth checking the tide tables, as the bridge can be impassable at high tide in these conditions.
 |
Bridge over the Arun, Nr Billingshurst:
2009
|
It is full of pictures and information about the River and its history.
Anyway, I had no problems today and went on my way, nearly into Hampshire.
In the after noon I retraced my steps, and carried on north to visit my mother in hospital. The weather stayed cheerful, and I only got lost once in the amazing labyrinth that is the A23 between Crawley and Salfords. Dusk was approaching, and the clouds were becoming a deeper and deeper pink against the clear blue sky. The message of hope that I read in the weather turned out to be true - today my mother was able to have something to eat for the first time since her stroke last Tuesday. What a relief! I found her sitting up and listening to music (a recording of his final recital at the 1950 Besançon recital) and looking through get well cards. My father and brother stood in attendance, handing the cards over one by one.
Sunday, 4 November 2012
Sunday 4th November - Sunday Lunch
A crisis can be a catalyst for good. The crisis situation is still very much there, but along the way, good things happen.
Today I managed a feat which had seemed impossible. I went from this
to this
in a single morning. There was an urgent need for a proper, sit-down family Sunday lunch, and so I knuckled down and just cleared the decks. There has been a bit of a cheat: the piles of paperwork, unfiled resources, post-it notes etc etc have just been stacked on the bench between the table and the wall, but never mind. The four of us, my father, my husband, my daughter and I, were all able to "sit-at-table" and eat our lunch in a civilised manner.
We had to evict the cat first... she had been curled up on the chair at the end, steadfastly ignoring all the kerfuffle.
Today I managed a feat which had seemed impossible. I went from this
to this
in a single morning. There was an urgent need for a proper, sit-down family Sunday lunch, and so I knuckled down and just cleared the decks. There has been a bit of a cheat: the piles of paperwork, unfiled resources, post-it notes etc etc have just been stacked on the bench between the table and the wall, but never mind. The four of us, my father, my husband, my daughter and I, were all able to "sit-at-table" and eat our lunch in a civilised manner.
We had to evict the cat first... she had been curled up on the chair at the end, steadfastly ignoring all the kerfuffle.
Normally we eat on our laps in the sitting end of the room, watching television. Shock horror, what a terrible example. Well, maybe, maybe not. We are all grownups now, so we can choose how we live our lives. And at least we are all eating the same food, and the same time, in the same room. That's pretty sociable, in my book.
Eating in the hospital is a different affair. Five of the six beds are occupied, by patients with very different needs and abilities. Only two ladies are given plates of food, by catering staff who greet them by name. One tucks in with gusto, the other struggles to manage the spoon and is very slow. I suspect the nursing staff will help her later, but want her to try and become more adept first. One lady is always asleep, one is on fluids only, and my mother is NBM. The contrast, between the isolated mealtimes of the five patients on the ward, and our own, sociable, convivial Sunday lunch is extreme.
Saturday, 3 November 2012
Saturday 3rd November - The Benefits of Dusting
Today I started doing some Spring Cleaning, rather overdue from last Spring - or maybe getting ahead of the game for next Spring? Who knows, and I'm not telling.
It was the level of dust layering all the surfaces in the living room; shelves, books, ornaments, floor, rug...
I'm not houseproud, but eventually, living in an atmosphere of general domestic neglect does get me down. I had been planning to use half term as house-rescue-reclamation time, but circumstances intervened.
Sighing heavily, I got a micro fibre cloth (Ugh - they catch and cling to every roughness on your skin - HATE the feel of them, but they are the best at trapping dust) and set to work. It was a revelation; now I understand something new about the value of surrounding oneself with inanimate possessions.
The little collection of cats all feel totally different, as you pick them up and look at them properly. The wooden one is smooth and light, the heavy, cold pewter one, the strange and slightly Chinese character of the porcelain one... Each one could have brought a memory of who gave it to me, and when, but only a few have this attached to them. If I had been in the habit of dusting them more often, then I would have been able to remember. I'm cross with myself, that this important element of giving and receiving, having and holding all these little treasures has been treated so lightly. And how did that little dog get there?
On the other side of the mantelpiece are a collection of romantic ornaments; the Limoges china piano from the top of our wedding cake, and some wedding anniversary gifts.
Then there is the little pile of "curiosities"; the metal puzzle hand made from a rare aluminium alloy, the "dinosaur tooth" the "flint arrowheads" and the sand dollar.
Flanking all of these bits and pieces are a pair of brass candlesticks which I remember from my grandmother's house.
Dusting ceased to be a chore, and became a trip back through the years, revisiting people and places who have been, who are important to me.
Meanwhile, I am spending some time wondering what to take in to my mother when we visit. Something that will make a good topic of conversation, and leave her with something to think about when we are not there. A lot of the time, when her eyes are shut, she is half awake, listening to the sounds around but too tired to join in. I remember that when I was recovering from a minor op, I could hear my husband and brother chatting softly together and found the sound of their voices infinitely comforting, even though I was too tired to follow or join in with their conversation. So, even though her eyes were shut, I tried to gossip about nothing much in particular with my father until it was time to go.
It was the level of dust layering all the surfaces in the living room; shelves, books, ornaments, floor, rug...
I'm not houseproud, but eventually, living in an atmosphere of general domestic neglect does get me down. I had been planning to use half term as house-rescue-reclamation time, but circumstances intervened.
Sighing heavily, I got a micro fibre cloth (Ugh - they catch and cling to every roughness on your skin - HATE the feel of them, but they are the best at trapping dust) and set to work. It was a revelation; now I understand something new about the value of surrounding oneself with inanimate possessions.
Flanking all of these bits and pieces are a pair of brass candlesticks which I remember from my grandmother's house.
Dusting ceased to be a chore, and became a trip back through the years, revisiting people and places who have been, who are important to me.
Meanwhile, I am spending some time wondering what to take in to my mother when we visit. Something that will make a good topic of conversation, and leave her with something to think about when we are not there. A lot of the time, when her eyes are shut, she is half awake, listening to the sounds around but too tired to join in. I remember that when I was recovering from a minor op, I could hear my husband and brother chatting softly together and found the sound of their voices infinitely comforting, even though I was too tired to follow or join in with their conversation. So, even though her eyes were shut, I tried to gossip about nothing much in particular with my father until it was time to go.
Friday, 2 November 2012
Friday 2nd November - Counting blessings
We've been to visit my mother in hospital. Every day brings a small improvement. (I'm ignoring the setbacks - I might as well have been christened Pollyanna!). Every day brings its blessing, if you manage to see it, or choose to see it.
![Pollyanna [DVD] [2003]](https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/blogger_img_proxy/AEn0k_uo6OUW6jv8hmlA14UoitbinaqSmoo04e5kkPm5alNTCVv3MnDrerR5ABFvj_P0vO7Bvrlk9F7aG-rzJv_9QpmKPhVu2-cNJlf9JWTSonb6FKnADUIt0oLQ5dQ5emQnY4_b6AlPhA=s0-d)
Today's improvement is how much better she looks, and the conversations we enjoyed together about the get well cards which are arriving. The physio came, and showed me how to do the gentle stretching that needs to be done on her paralysed - "disregarded" - left arm. I can do this for her over the weekend, when the physios are not around.
Today's blessings were several - the lovely autumn colours of the trees when the sun was shining, and the dramatic cloudscapes when the sun wasn't shining,
and the inky blue-black skies as darkness fell while we were coming back from the hospital.
The final blessing came courtesy of the cat.
She has been rather neglected recently, and we have not been grooming her as thoroughly, or as often, as we should. This means only one thing... FURBALLS... Aaaargh. True to form, we found a bit of a mess over the edge of the settee. On closer inspection, we discovered that she had managed to deposit the worst of it into an empty gift bag that had fortuitously been left exactly in the right position beside the settee. It was the work of the moment to sponge down the upholstery, fold up the bag, and dump the lot into the bin.
Moral of the story - NEVER put anything away, ever. Chances are you will wish you had left it exactly where it was.
Today's improvement is how much better she looks, and the conversations we enjoyed together about the get well cards which are arriving. The physio came, and showed me how to do the gentle stretching that needs to be done on her paralysed - "disregarded" - left arm. I can do this for her over the weekend, when the physios are not around.
and the inky blue-black skies as darkness fell while we were coming back from the hospital.
The final blessing came courtesy of the cat.
She has been rather neglected recently, and we have not been grooming her as thoroughly, or as often, as we should. This means only one thing... FURBALLS... Aaaargh. True to form, we found a bit of a mess over the edge of the settee. On closer inspection, we discovered that she had managed to deposit the worst of it into an empty gift bag that had fortuitously been left exactly in the right position beside the settee. It was the work of the moment to sponge down the upholstery, fold up the bag, and dump the lot into the bin.
Moral of the story - NEVER put anything away, ever. Chances are you will wish you had left it exactly where it was.
Thursday, 1 November 2012
Thursday1st November 2012 - Kindness of friends
According to my sources of information, November is National Blog Promotion Month and also National Novel Writing Month.
http://boggyb.livejournal.com/320161.html
The first is a challenge is to post an entry to your blog every day for the month, and the second to get that novel that everyone is supposed to have inside them written inside a month. At least I don't have to try and grow a moustache for Movember as well. NO JOKES NEEDED AT THIS POINT, fellas.
http://boggyb.livejournal.com/320161.html
The first is a challenge is to post an entry to your blog every day for the month, and the second to get that novel that everyone is supposed to have inside them written inside a month. At least I don't have to try and grow a moustache for Movember as well. NO JOKES NEEDED AT THIS POINT, fellas.
 |
| http://uk.movember.com/?home
Today's post concerns the kindness of friends...
In the midst of our lives being turned upside down, friends have responded with gentle tact, lovingkindness, and cake. I am learning far more than I ever wanted to know about what happens when someone very near, and very dear to you has a stroke. It is early days yet, as this bolt from the blue struck just 2 days ago - just 2 days ago? is that all?
Family members, scattered across the country, have rallied with support, encouragement, information, such as inside knowledge that the hospital has an excellent reputation for their treatment of stroke patients.
We can count the blessings; it is half term, my husband had taken the week off, my brother was there when it happened and did the whole ambulance and tense journey to hospital bit. We have a couple of days of space before we are expected back at work, giving us time to come to terms with everything and make plans and arrangements for the weeks and months ahead.
Meanwhile, we shall eat the cake that appeared on our doorstep and be comforted.
In the circumstances, the novel will have to wait for another year... - I feel as though I am living inside a work of fiction at the moment, but that is wishful thinking. yesterday, we switched on the television to find ourselves in the middle of an episode of Casualty or Holby City or something - it's not a series that we have every watched. Couldn't get the channel changed quick enough, to something which would be far removed from our current weird version of reality.
I am clutching to the memories I have of various people I have known over the years who have had strokes. They are encouraging memories, as, for the most part, they have made astonishing recoveries which are like a beacon of light at the end of the tunnel.
I think I need a slice of that cake NOW.
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