It seems there are no free treats for me at present.
I am struggling so hard.
It seems life has not finished dealing me blows.
I remember, a friend once told me, "It is hard to feel depressed, when your eyes are looking upward."
I keep searching the sky, the horizon, for hope, for peace, for strength.
I am going to need all the help I can get, and all the strength I can find, to live through this, next, terrible time.
It seems my world contains nothing, but Life's Cruel Blows.
Some beautiful friends, who are aware of my sorrow and sadness made this beautiful video for me.
I cried when I saw it, and feel blessed and so touched to know I have such beautiful, caring friends.
The great news is, my BB- Beloved Brother, - is now the very proud Grandfather of a little girl.
Welcome to the world Sofia, and Welcome to our Family!
Here she is with her Mum and Dad, just after her arrival.
I am told Sofia has thick black hair, unlike her older brother, who arrived with very blond hair. As Grandpa Arpi said, it may all rub off- or not!
I know everyone in the family is so happy at this little girl's safe arrival. I wish I could be there to give them all a huge hug.
Sofia will be a very lucky little girl, with her diverse heritage. I hope her life is long an happy, and filled with love, and happiness.
*******
This is a free treat, from the week past.
A lovely young Magpie, who seemed to regard our balcony railing as a safe landing.
It was, indeed.
He/she turned to look, at who might be taking pictures of it's royal self.
It was raining, and we decided the feather fluff, was to combat the wet!
**************
This was a recent evening sky scape.
A little threatening, perhaps. It proved to be all threat, and no action, thank goodness.
Another evening pic, with, to me, the worry lines of the day, written in the clouds.
I missed the following evening's pics, with the soft pink blush of the cloud-cheeks of the evening. The gentle promise, in the soft hue, of the lovely day to follow.
We have had no Summer, as we know it, but I have enjoyed the lack of heat, and mostly, the lack of humidity. It is a strange 'Summer', in that we have had so much hard rain, and cloudy outlook, it has hardly seemed to be a 'Summer season', in many ways.
I am not a believer of "Global Warmimg" as positedf by some. I am a beliiever of climate change, which is a natural reccuring event in the evolution of the Planet Earth. It has happened mamy times before, and will happen many times again, in the history of this planet.
I know man's impress with Carbon emissions are damaging, but I also feel, it is like a gnat's f*rt in the evolution of the Earth. I could go on, boringly, but I will not.
****************
***Please avert your eyes, if you are squeamish or can't stand ugly!!***
In other hideous events, I have possibly, broken a toe. An empty glass bottle landed on the top of my big toe, and the resultant pain, agony, and bruising have been quite spectacular! Haha!
However, the good news is, the pool visits, whilst being beneficial to the dratted knee, also seem to have been remedial/curative for the toe, so it is all win win!
Over the past months, since Gom died, I have had much time to dwell on the subject. It seems my mind got trapped in a timewarp, and I was unable to stop re-running our lives together in the past.
The reality of his having gone, and never coming back, was too much for me to accept, somehow. My whole life seemed to be meaningless, and platitudes such as those given by well meaning friends and professionals, held no comfort. In fact they only seemed to rub salt into wounds I could not bear.
To try to make this lighter, I have interspersed it with some meaningless~or maybe not so meaningless~ pics.
So, if you dont feel like reading, just look at the pics. They represent life, and fresh hope.
This is my current crop of parsely, a measly plant by comparison to previous crops, but nonetheless, delicious.
I am a great lover of herbs, and most of my meals contain some of one type or another.
On with the thoughts of Death.
When my mother died, fifteen years ago now, I felt I could never recover from my loss. Of course, you never do 'recover', you just learn to live with the loss and the grief. Your mind adjusts to the fact that the person is no longer here. Her memory lives on inside me, and I hear her voice daily, and often see her face.
Before her death, I was lucky enough to be able to stay with her and take care of her at her home. She had had a dread of a 'Home' or Hospital, and so we enjoyed much time together, talking of old days and reminiscing about family and our life events.
When she got closer to dying, (though I did not realise at the time how little time she had left,) she began to have a series of dreams. I will not retell those dreams here, but I know they brought her great comfort ~and indeed, wonder, about death. Like me, she had been an Atheist all her life, but somehow the dreams would appear to contradict her beliefs. I know there is an explanation, but I won't discuss that here.
She began to retell the story of her life, she told me, and wondered if she was keeping me awake at night, with her voice. She said she retold her school days, and her life with her brothers when they were children. She told stories of her beloved father and mother, and I do believe she moved on as the timeline of her life had moved on.
I did hear her talking, but had not realised it was the story of her life, she was telling, or I would have gone to listen. Much of her life had been very sad, and her joyous patches mostly revolved around her family, children, and later, her grandchildren. Many of her heartaches involved family too, as they do in everyone's lives.
This is a self sown Thyme plant, which grows beside the clothes line, and it often gets brushed by the clothes basket, and releases it's lovely aroma, so fresh and inviting.
When my mother became too ill to be at home, I spent every minute I could, at her bedside, and we sat vigil as she died. It seemed cruel that she had to die in a Hospital, but she was so ill, and at least we all spent as much time as possible with her.
Though my grief is endless, I could never wish her back, for my selfish sake.
This is a pic of seeds on a very lovely cream Clivia. I know if my sister-in-law were here, she could get these to grow, but with my brown thumbs, I would not even try.
They do somehow represent life's longing to carry on, and reproduce itself.
After my mother had died, I had a craving for planting flowers and vegetables, growing things, and had a fair success. It seemed as though it was a way of denying death, to be able to give, and succour life in some form. I was too old for more children, which is often the way we handle the finality of death. I longed for another grandchild to hold and love, but it was not to be, at that time.
I thought of how Gom and I had reacted when his father died unexpectedly. We clung to each other, and our lovemaking was passionate, and desperate almost, as if to deny death. We absolutely cherished our children, and were comforted by their beings.
This is some delicious Smoked Salmon Bruschetta, prepared at home by my son. I made the balsamic reduction, for the dressing, and it was delicious. Perhaps not a 'delicious' looking dish, but it tastes divine. We use some basil and a little mint to add some zing.
Now, I come to Gom's passing. I thought I could never come to any sort of peace about his death. In the days before he died, he began to reminisce about 'the old days' and of our time together throughout the 45 years of our marriage. Occasionally I would become a little impatient, but then I began to be fearful, as I remembered my mother re-telling her life.
We had thought we had more time left together, but I wonder if some deep part of Gom knew that he was going, sooner, rather than later.
I still have patches of denial, I still have patches of almost unbearable grieving, and I know I always will. I have been lucky to have had a wonderful counsellor, who seemed to just lift a lot of my deep dark thoughts from me. I am not sure how, but we even had some deep laughs, in the course of our couselling sessions.
My son also convinced me to begin swimming, or Hydratherapy, really. I have found it astonishingly good for both my knee, and my spirit. At first I could not bear to talk to anyone.
I was asked if I would like to join the Arthritis Foundation. I recieved a very startled look when I said, emphatically, "No Thanks".
I am a non-joiner, and have lived long enough to know that that is OK. I have been that way for all my life, and am happy not to change now.
I don't want to stand waving my arms about above my head, like some gangly leafless tree! I dont want to do chicken clucking motions with hands in my armpits.
I am very happy, and well, doing my regular exercises for my knee, which have been so beneficial, I wish some bl**dy doctor had suggested it right from the start, after the operation.
I find I can now bear to talk to other swimmers, doing their exercises, and have even been told by a 'trainer,' or physiotherapist, that I give myself a good workout, and am doing well.
A gentle sunset, which preceded one of the most lovely days of summer we have had. It was a nice weekend, with rare sunshine, and lovely warm temperatures, without the horrible humidity.
I know I will always grieve over Gom.
I do wonder at the human spirit which somehow craves to live, even when all seems impossible.
I do wonder at the strength which seems to come from nowhere, to help us perhaps, begin to live on.
I have even done a little cooking, and now... hope to sew again!
This is going to play silly Bloggers with me again. I wanted the type to all align to the left, but it is not going to happen, since I have uploaded all the pics first.
On Sunday last, my Son B took me over to a beachside suburb, where there is a Market.
There were two Elvis lookalikes playing at the small stage in the Market. Sadly I did not take a photo of their extremely bad wigs, nor their white flared suits, complete with huge rhinestones~ and dark glasses.
I did, however take some pics of the Paradiso Resort. It has been here for many years, and has recently undergone a makeover, and I thought it is quite interesting, with murals, ornate doorways and wonderful stained glass windows.
Excuse the poor photography, the sun was shining on my camera, and I could not see what I was snapping, so it was a hit and miss affair.
There were several murals painted on this upper wall, and it is a shame I did not catch them all, as they are rather good.
I am assuming the balconies are from the apartment part of the complex. Look at those massive doors.
It all has rather a nice Spanish style to it, and it would have been even better with some beautiful guitar music playing!
Stained glass again.
This is one of my Bromeliads, with it's pretty pale pink bract, which has blue flowers. When I lived in New Zealand I wished I owned one of these, but they were far too expensive. Over here, these are almost growing wild in my garden. In fact I am thinking of giving some away.
Here is dear little Honey, in her Please mode. She has done this since she was very small, and it never fails to appeal and tug on my heartstrings.
Here she was, at the top of the stairs, probably waiting to ambush Morty, as they seem to have a running battle with each other. Not really friends!
I think he is scheming on how he can ambush Honey, by leaping off this table, onto her head!
This is the Oregano flowering, before the rain dampened it all down, and the flowers got drowned. We seem to have one or two warm to hot days, then the rain and dull clouds roll over again.
To combat all this, Son B has talked me into going swimming at a pool, to try to improve my knee. I have just seen the Surgeon again, for a routine checkup, and he assures me all is excellent mechanically speaking. It is just the swelling and pain which are not so nice. He assures me this will all settle eventually. He also mentioned grief can affect healing markedly. I knew this, which is why I did not really want to have the surgery when I did. However I was more or less bullied into it, by the booking office at the Hospital. I was told if I cancelled, I would only get one more chance, and if I postponed or cancelled again, I would be off the list. GRRRR.
The good thing is, I am really enjoying my workouts in the lovely heated pool, and have chatted to several others having gentle exercise, for various ailments. Of course one has to listen to what ails them, then they have to enquire what ails me. I am not so keen on these chats, and do my best to head off on my walking laps.
It is win win, for myself and my son, as he does laps in the outdoor Olympic pool, and he really enjoys that.
To go for these swimming experiences, I had to go and shop for a swim suit, since it is ages since I owned one.
My goodness, what a traumatic affair it all turned out to be!
First of all, the selection proved to be nonexistant very very limited. Too late in the season. Of course it is! Winter stock is all arriving in the shops, and normally, it would be around 30 degrees Celsius over here, at this time of year.
After looking in all the expensive shops, thinking no one would have bought their range, all I found were garments that one would not wish to be caught dead in, let alone still living!
Finally, in a more downmarket store, I found two bathing suits that I felt I bring myself to actually try on.
A most hideous, and traumatising experience, and what I now want to know is "Who stole my nice slim smooth thighs, and replaced them with dimples and cottage cheese??"
When I told my GP of this horrible fact, he actually laughed! All very well for him, he is only 50, and as slender as a Greyhound!
I find, as long as I dont look at myself in any mirrors, I can ignore myself in the bathers, and just get into the water as fast as I can, then slink out wrapped in a large towel, and wait until we are home again, to have a shower and dress in covering garments.
Because it has been so unseasonably chilly this week, I have arrived home shivering and have had to get out the woollies again, to warm myself.
I suspect this cold weather, and the exercise, are causing my appetite to go into horse mode, and the indecent craving for chocolate has really shocked me. I have never before been a chocolate lover.
I feel I have found golden treasure, and had not realised I had already found it, in a garden of my childhood.
It is the humble little Cape Gooseberry, as we called it in our youth. The little green lanterns would become brown and transparent, and we could see the beautiful golden berries within, ready to be eaten.
Here are some photos, taken/stolen from the internet Image files. I sincerely hope the people who own the photos are not offended at my usage of their images.
The Cape Gooseberries of childhood in New Zealand, are now 'Incaberries' living here in Australia. No one seems to have heard of them until now. How curious.
I discovered the 'Incaberries', in a beautiful beetroot, carrot, pinenut, & coriander salad. I was amazed at the delicious flavour these mystery berries imparted. A wonderful sweet and sour flavour, so intriguing to the taste buds. They are touted as being a 'new' wonderfood, and beneficial for all sorts of healthy reasons.
So, of course, I Googled them and discovered that they were in fact, the berries we had loved as children.
I wonder Ali, if you read this, you will remember them? Or perhaps even still have a plant or two. As you are now living in the region where I grew up, I could not help but think you might know of these wonderful little berries.
I was intrigued to read they are a South American fruit, mostly grown at high altitudes. Of course, until I had the salad, I had never known they could be dried! We, as children gobbled them up as soon as they were ripe.
I reminded my beloved Brother of them, and he instantly remembered them with joy at the memory.
Now I am going to be wanting to source them, to use for my own salads.
*****************
More Gold was the sudden onset of gobbling Doule Chocolate Caramel Tim Tams. I have no idea what came over me, but before I knew it, I had eaten five in a row! Normally, I am not much of a chocolate eater, and can take it or leave it.
Gom was the chocolate lover.
Ah well, I guess I can now wear the Tim Tams as extra padding for the Winter.
*****************
In other, much less golden matters, I have been having some 'rounds' with the local Council's garbage collection company. Two weeks ago, I booked a collection.
The week came and went, the garbage remained.
I rang to inquire what the problem was.
"Not a problem," said the SYT (Sweet Young Thing) "You are on a Wait list, and it will be collected in the next few days."
The days ticked past. Garbage remained.
Another call. Another assurance by another SYT that I was "Still on the waitlist."
Come the collection day, no disposal truck. No collection.
WTH??
Many withdrawals had been made from our pile, but on the other hand quite a lot of deposits had been generously donated by other, swinish lazy folks.
A fair number of the scavengers had strewn rubbish over our lawn, and the street. I never object to anyone taking anything they can use. But please! Leave things tidy!
I spoke to a very pleasant man, who was collecting metal, who neatly repacked things after examination. I took him a further metal object to add to his collection. I do hope he uses some of the money he makes to buy himself some teeth for his head.
Mrs Nice Neighbour had booked a collection - after I had booked mine, as it happened. Imagine my horror last Friday, which is not the normal collection day, when Mrs N N's garbage was collected, and the truck drove straight past our, by now disgusting, pile of 'stuff'.
I could not believe the truck drove straight past our lot. I had a laugh with Mrs N N about it, and we decided I am wearing a psychic "Kick Me" sign on my back, and we are both wearing psychic "Sh!t on Me" signs on our heads, since she had waited almost 2 weeks too.
The rest of the saga is too depressing for words. I have phoned the Council, who got a Garbage Comapny SYT to phone me today, with further assurance "Not a Problem"
(What is with this useless bloody phrase that the young keep trotting out, mindlessly.) "Of course there is a problem!" I was practically bellowing, and since I was visiting a friend at the time, I frightened their various birds in the avairy, to say nothing of their cat, dozing on a seat. Their puppy had long since departed, I suppose fearing something might be deemed his fault.
We live on a corner block. Our actual road address has a 4 foot ditch on the side of the road. (In all the twelve years we have lived here, we have been assured by Council it will be paved and guttered, "Next year" Yes, next year, when the pigs fly over, I think to myself.) Of course, our entry and 'frontage' are on the other street. SYT seized upon this as being the reason the garbage had not been collected. By then I was almost screaming.
"Surely the collctors can see it is not practical to place the garbage in the 4 foot ditch! Could they not use their brains to see the garbage as they drove past, and practically over it!!!"
We have had many collections in the past, without incident or problem. I am assured it will all be gone next Thursday. ???
In the meantime it will probably grow, as pickings are now very slim. None of the 'donations' seem to have been worth taking.
And our lawn is dying, but I suppose, since it is mostly Bindii, that wont matter a great deal. GRRRR!
So, you may see, why I am looking for the Gold. Constantly.
An old favourite, Bread Truckin' down the Highway.
I stole the title for this post from an email my Beloved Brother sent me. We usually title our emails to each other, and some are hilarious, while others tell of darker matters.
In his email, BB was remarking that when we were young, the peaches, nectarines and plums all tasted magical, and their scent was so delicious, you were tempted to sink your teeth into the wonderful fruit.
We were lucky as we had a wonderful huge nectarine tree, and peach trees with both white and golden flesh.
And Tamarillo trees, and a wonderful huge passionfruit vine on an A frame trellis our Grandfather built. It was wonderful to sit under the vine, and indulge in the wonderful fruit in secret! Not that we were not allowed to eat the fruit, it was just the magic of hiding away, that was so appealing.
Now the fruit we buy is all uniform in size, lacks much in the way of aroma and the taste seems to have all but disappeared.
We try to buy Local, from a fruit shop that stocks the slightly spotted, or blemished, and undersized fruit and vegetables, from local growers who can't send the produce to the Market. I can't really say the produce tastes better, though some potatoes and beans we purchased at a local farm gate were wonderful. I suspect they cost us more than a shop price, but the taste was worth the money.
Living in the past, some would say. Happy memories though, and the taste of the wonderful fruit seems to remain even after all these years.
I recieved a card, and some photos from friends in Chrischurch New Zealand. The photos were of the friends' youngest son's wedding, and they were beautiful. I phoned them to say Thankyou for the card and the wonderful photos. These friends had been friends with Gom and I for a long time, and we had been with them when that youngest son was born.
'A' kept urging me to 'Come and stay! We will look after you, and you must think about living your life now'. I know the intentions of people are kind, and remarks such as this, are motivated by genuine caring. However after the phone call, I slipped into a deep depression, and realised I could never go back to Chch without Gom. It was his hometown, and I could not bear to see it alone, or indeed, in it's altered state.
I have many friends there who seem to have become accustomed to the continuing shakes and rolls. All have suffered damage to their homes, but they are still 'habitable'. All are promised repairs some time in the future. It must surely be unnerving to live in such uncertainty.
Such is the nature of my grief, I have patches where I think I am making progress, then find myself crying uncontrollably, and feeling so wretched. I dont know how other people make it through. I know this lovely lady, http://idlepersiflage.blogspot.com/ will understand how I am feeling, as she seems to have very similar feelings and experiences. (It is so long since I have blogged, I have forgotten how to link a site to a name only!)
I can hardly believe this year is underway.
I am desperately trying to regain some normalcy~ whatever that is, or will be, now.
I read other blogs, where the 'widow' (Odious word!) seems to be living on and enjoying life again. I suppose everyone is very different. I am trying various ways of coping with it all.
This is supposedly the Season of Good Cheer.
Not much that I have seen, would seem to bear this out.
I have not been out and about in the shops very much, but the grim faces and crabby people would suggest it is anything but the Season of Cheer.
I am still struggling with darkness, and have not posted because of this.
My dratted knee seems to be slow to heal, and the pain factor is something else again. I was convinced it had become infected again, and spent the best part of a day at the Hospital waiting for blood test results, and xrays, and an Orthopeadic Surgeon to give a verdict on the red, burning, swollen and bruised looking knee. When he finally came to inspect the knee, he decided it is not infected, but suspects there has been bleeding into the tissue, which has caused all the problems. Result of Warfarin.
I refuse to take it any more, and will take my chances on other 'dire' consequences. Haha. Have yet to tell my GP of my decision, but if the knee improves and heals perhaps I will reconsider..
I suspect this is what a lot of peole should be doing!
Most of all, me! {Someone sent me this pic in an email, so I hope the photographer does not mind me using it here.}
A day at the Hospital is not for the fainthearted, and it is spent in an entirely different rhythm to life on the 'outside'.
I wisely took a book to read, having had experience with the ED when Gom had frequent visits. I never got the chance to read though, as I was seated outside the small 'office area' where an extremely motormouthed woman and her small child were waiting, along with other hapless victims. She was covered in tattoos, from head to toe, and piercings, which she kept saying were not an indication of drug taking, which she kept assuring anyone who passed, she did not, would not, and will not ever take. I assume the weird hair and the caked makeup were not indicators either. She never shut up for the whole time- 2 1/2 hours!!- and we heard all about the rotten men in her life, the 4 children she now has, the fact that she is having another, and so on and so forth. All told in the most appalling grammar, and a grating loud voice. In the end I wanted to scream or leave, but could find no escape if I wanted a verdict on the dratted knee.
I did see several people I know, who came to say hello, and wish me well. Most of them staff who I have met either socially, or through my SIL, who works at the Hospital. He kept coming to check on me, and my son had delivered me, held my hand while I cried as the Dr took the blood, and returned later to collect me.
I do question the wisdom of having had the surgery so soon after Gom's passing. I seem to become very emotional, and can cry at the drop of a hat- to my horror. I am a coward, and my veins wont 'give' so having blood taken is a real ordeal.
Feeling unwell is a pain in the knee!
I just love this little pic, from the same email as Smile.
I wish everyone a pleasant and happy Season.
No music tonight, too tired.
Plans before going off to Hospital, to have my new knee fitted.
As is always the way with Plans, life takes over, and the Plans never seem to work out the way we imagined they would.
I bought this new little bed for Honey, thinking she could sleep in it, until I was strong enough to lift her on & off my bed.
While I was away, she did, in fact use it, (though not while she was staying at my Granddog's house- he claimed it then, and she chose my daughter's bed! and stayed there, whether my son in law approved or not!) and was very cosy during the stormy cold weather and even the warmer weather breaks.
Once I was home, Honey decided she wanted to be on the bed again, so we had a few discussions about the fact that I could not be leaping out of bed to ferry her to food, water, and comfort stops.
It all worked out OK in the end and I soon devised methods of doing her bidding! haha.
My son bought me some Pre-Op flowers before the Hospital visit, which I thought was a very nice touch.
I was also spoilt with in-Hosp flowers, but I neglected to take any pics.
The Hospital stay became another lost Plan.
I developed some problems which no one foresaw, so I had to have blood transfusions, and oxygen, and Ventolin, and antibiotics, and an extra 3 days stay in the Hospital.
Gave me time to observe some really comical antics and examine the state of other patients reactions to various events.
I confess the first 3 days are very hazy, and at one stage I thought I had been transferred to another Hospital! Which caused much hilarity to the Doctors. I suspect it was the extremely strong painkillers I had to take, and am still taking.
Another hitch was an infection in the site, for which I am still on medication, and it still causes me ugly degrees of pain. I have composed a lot of posts, in my head, since my return, but the pain of sitting in a chair at the computer just plain beat me to the floor!
I must say, the actual function of the knee is doing really well, and so I persevere with the pain barrier. Plus, each day seems a little better, if only in patches.
I was in a ward with 3 other ladies, one with a broken spine, from a hideous accident where she fell from a small terrace, and her friend also fell, and landed on top of her! She was in a great deal of pain, and there seemed to be little that could be done for her. At least she was not paralyzed, but she had very limited movement, and a horrible brace contraption, which reduced her to tears every time they fitted it on her.
Another lady had dementia, and had fallen and broken her hip. She was everyone's darling, such a sweet little person, and she woke me one night, calling my name, and said "Meg I love you." I was astonished, but replied I loved her too, and she went back off to sleep.
The other lady had had a knee replacement the same as mine, but she did not understand why she couldn't have blood tansfusions and oxygen like me. She was from a foreign country, and did not speak very good English, and she was very resentful if I got to have first shower. She became convinced I was getting special treatment, and though the nurses assured her it was not so, she remained somewhat sour in her attitude to me. She seemed to be like me, in that she had a horrific level of pain, and to be fair to her, she was 84! Why would you bother, at that age? I kept asking myself. I have promised myself if the other knee breaks down I will not have it replaced.
Foreign lady decided she did not want to go home, on the day I was being discharged, and she refused a shower, and sulked away. The Physio girls came to talk to her, and the nurses told her she was ready to go home. Doctor had been around, and told her she could go home. Her desperate daughter was pleading with her to let her take her home. Finally I could see no progress, so I made myself a busybody, and told her I really admired her for her courage and her progress. Whe she said she couldnt lift her leg the same as me, I assured her I was a lot younger, and she was doing very well. With that she broke into a smile and declared she would go home after all! Much to the relief of everyone.
They do warn it is very painful, but they can never indicate how hideous the pain will actually be. I would rather give birth to 4 babies than live through that again.
One of the things that made me laugh was the procession of visitors the foreign lady had. Her lovely daughter and son came to visit often, but it was other visitors who gave me much cause to laugh. One short stout aging couple came huffing and puffing in one afternoon. The woman was smiling defiantly, and had very flushed cheeks. Her hostile husband more or less came in swinging with rage and indignation over something, and they proceeded to have a blazing row, all in their own toungue, which was a pity really as I would have liked to know what it was all about. Body language and pitch of voice can give away many secrets. I was not surprised that the male shouted something nasty sounding and stormed off out of the ward, ignoring the patient, who had sat in bed, very quietly. His rotund little wife pinned a smile on her red face, muttered what I assume was goodbye to her friend and she departed too.
I could not help but wonder why people would come to visit a sick person, put on a hideous display like that and rage off?
I had asked my friends and family not to visit, as I feel there is little to talk about, and seeing as I was drugged to the eyeballs, it seemed I fell asleep at the drop of a walking frame.
My family ingnored my pleas, and did visit- my son every day, bless him, though I told him he didn't need to.
I had made a foolish mistake by asking for Vegetarian food, as I had been told that was the best food/diet. Somehow the Vegetarian got changed to 'veglac' whatever that is, but I can tell you, it was horrible, and they even managed to stuff up lentils, which I rather like. There was also something called a Nut Loaf on the menu, and when I finally decided to give it a try, I was bitterly disappointed to find it tasted foul, and looked like a roll of dog food. I loathe milk so in the end I had very little variance in the daily diet, and attempts to get it changed proved fruitless. So, should I ever be in Hospital again, I will just ask for Full diet.I hasten to add, while Hospital food is never wonderful, the general meals I saw others having, seemed to be perfectly nice to me!
My lovely daughter probably saved my life, by making me the most delicious omelet I have ever tasted, and then my son brought me some lovely fried rice.
We are having very humid weather, and they skies are sullen and grumpy looking. When it rains, far from cooling things down, it increases the humidity.
I have had some bad days, but feel as I heal, my mood is lightening. I did not wish to post, while down in the dumps.
I am getting out my quilty books and thinking about sewing, once I can sit for longer periods of time. I can walk without my walking stick about the house, but still use it for outdoors.
I have a theory that we all re-write our history constantly. Editing, changing small details. Usually we strive to have the history memory show ourselves in a favourable light.
I am often amazed to hear a friend's version of an event we both witnessed.
Relatives seem to have very different memories of events, even though everyone was present for the same occasion.
"That is odd" I think, "I dont seem to remember it being quite like your version"
I suspect, that everyone, who does something they later query the wisdom of, or doubt, begins to justify their actions, and rationalise the behaviour. It would seem to be human nature.
Over time, I have finally learnt, not to insist contradict, or present my own version.
At the end of the day, weeks, months, or years, it does not matter a jot, who has the more accurate recollection.
I tell myself it will all be irrelavent in a hundred years. I suppose the wonderful stories of our ancestors' supposed humourous doings, are mostly made up, or retold so often, they have no bearing on the original event.
I guess photographs are a better record of the past, but I have found even they can lie, or give a very false impression.
I have a lot of letters I wrote to my mother, and she kept them to re-read, and I am quite surprised to read of things I have forgotten. I have some of her letters to me, and two precious letters my Grandmother wrote to both of us.
It seems sad to think that letter writing is a dying art, and very soon, even emails will possibly be 'old hat'.
***
I often think of the odd expressions that were part of my childhood.
There were many, such as 'As useless as a one legged man in an ar$e kicking competition.'
Or 'As useless as a one armed paper hanger.'
I once told my daughter, when she was a rebellious teenager, that 'Perhaps it is time for you to hump your bluey!'
She was utterly dumbfounded, and later, when the heat had cooled from the disagreement, asked me what it meant.
I suppose I must have learnt it from my Australian grandfather, as it means to take your 'bluey', which was a man's bedroll as he made his way around the country, searching for work. Therefore to 'hump the bluey' referred to packing up the bedroll, and other meagre possesions, and slinging them over his shoulder, or hanging it upon his back, and moving on.
Those poor old chaps would have loved to have a modern Backpack!
This cloud does not appear to have a silver lining, but does, however, appear to have a golden silhouette.
***
Now, I have just discovered a pie I was cooking has overflowed and the contents are burnt onto the bottom of the oven!
Drat!
When Gom & I were much younger, and both still really "Alive", we sometimes took a weekend break in the Center of Sydney City.
An odd choice you may think. We lived in a quiet dormitory suburb, about an hour's travel from Sydney City, so the hustle and bustle of Sydney city was quite a novelty- just for one weekend!
It reminded us of other, younger, trips to Sydney, taken from Christchurch, before we resided in Australia.
On most of those trips, we would stay at some Motel, close to Kings Cross, or, as it is locally known, 'the Cross'.
My first visit was quite shattering, in the sadness I saw, of miserable lives, drug addicted young girls, 'on the game' begging for custom. The sad, and the lonely, begging for 'love' or some comfort, be it drugs or sex.
It seemed a whole world away from the life I knew, and lived. It was certainly very colourful, and there was also, much to laugh about and much to admire, in the form of buildings, locals, and bars. It is true, the Cross never sleeps.
Our accommodations were usually comfortable, and most adequate for our needs.
On one trip, we had prepaid for accommodation, on the recommendation of friends. Imagine our horror when we could find no one to admit us and acknowledge our booking. A fellow guest let us into the building and ascertained which room we had been allocated. The stained bedcovers were the first 'clue'. The second was the mobile cupboard when we opened the door. No, it was not a new and fancy peice of furniture- it was in fact a heaving haven for scurrying cockroaches.
We dumped our bags, took our key and set off to find new, and more sanitary and pleasing accommodation!
We found a very nice deal close by, so checked in there, then returned to the Cockroach Palace, retrieved our luggage and left the key on the desk. Thankfully, our money for the booking was refunded to us, on our return to New Zealand.
No wonder the Customs officers seemed to be laughing at us when they read our 'intended staying address'! Perhaps Cockroach Palace was notorious.
For one of our weekend breaks, after we became residents, we decided to try an inner city high rise Motel. Our son and his lovley partner were living close by, and they were very excited to meet us and take us to their favourite Chinese Restaraunt for a meal on the Satruday night.
We arrived on Friday night, and were happy to see our rooms were nice enough. We went off to explore the city sights and then wandered close to the Motel to find a bar, for a drink or meal before we retired for the night.
I was disgusted with our choice of Club. It was a ~insert name of most famous Church beginning with C~ Club, situated down some stairs in a basement location. It seemed to have men only customers, and one particularly objectionable individual made us feel most uncomfortable as he rudely began effing and blinding as hard, and as loudly, as could. I glared at him, which only seemed to trigger more vile language, and I was amazed to find the other patrons and the staff all turned a blind eye and deaf ear, to this boorish pig's behaviour. I am positive he was not a Tourettes sufferer. I know this will offend some, but I decided he was a 'retired Priest' who detested women, and most of mankind.
Perhaps the fact that the Bartender addressed the disgusting old swine as "Father" was a further clue!
We did not linger, and left to spend our night sleeping.
Hahaha! Fat hope. We discovered that the High Rise Motel became a megaphone for every scream, crash, fight, swearing attack, fire engine siren, ambulance siren, revving of engines, and screeching of brakes. Then, just as we were thinking it was becoming quieter in the early morning hours, the trash trucks began their rounds, emptying what sounded like a thousand broken bottles, into the huge maws of their vehicles.. The cacophany of the city was echoed up the walls of the canyon, which is what it all became in the night.
When our Son and his lady arrived to collect us next day, we were having an afternoon nap, trying to regain lost sleep!
The Chinese Restaraunt had delicious food- every other soul in Sydney agreed, and we had to wait some lengthy time for a table. It was all worth it, however.
I think that is the last weekend away, that we took in Sydney City.
*****************
Updates.
Honey has had her tumours removed, and seems to be coping, apart from wanting to chew the stitches on the leg! Another trip to Vet to get it restrapped and purchase a Cone for her head. She was so miserable wearing it, I took pity on her and removed it. At this rate she will bankrupt me!!
I take her back today to have it all rebandaged.
My surgery has been moved forward and I am told I cannot be 'bumped or postponed' on this list. I attended the Hospital to see the Surgeon again, yesterday. All systems go.
Tomorrow Son & I are attending an Information session at the Hosp, where they take us through the op, visit the ward, and generally give us as much pre information as they can, so we/I will know what to expect.
Son may possibly be away while I am in Hospital. Not sure of his return date, so am hoping to be mobile and active when I escape get discharged. I am just like Gom, in that I detest being incapacitated and having to be in Hospital.
We are having a very hot streak of weather, and it is raining now, so humid. We were looking forward to the "Southerly Change" to cool things down. I guess, in the Northern Hemisphere it is a "Northerly Change" you will look forward to having arrive?
When we lived in Christchurch, we absolutely dreaded the "Nor Wester" which blew across the Canterbury Plains and gained ever more heat as it travelled to the Eastern coast, which is where Christchurch is situated
Janis Ian. In the Winter. (Because, it is still Winter in my heart.)
I am told, 'Don't worry, there is Karma'
I don' think so.
I cannot see where the Karma might be, in this devastating tragedy, in my home bay.
This is a large scale disaster. We are told the guilty are 'prepared to give one million dollars towards the cleanup'. Whilst admitting no guilt! What??
The Company that own this rust bucket of shite, are in the region of millions in proft.
I totally despair.
Morty, on the other hand, has a different perspective.
In the old thoughts of Alfred E Neuman, "What, Me worry?"
Here is SG with Granddog. I love Granddog almost as much as I love SG (or my Honey) . However, I am reluctant to see Granddog licking the face of SG, which is the next pic in this series.
Son and I watched the All Blacks victory over the Wallabies.
This is Pinky, watching the game. He was placed there, in Gom's chair, as a Good Luck Symbol.
As you may guess, Pinky has been in the family for many years. I am sure he was delighted with the final result, though he did not appear to show much emotion.
This coming weekend Pinky will have to work extra hard, to support our All Blacks, for a win for the World Cup.
Who knew I could ever bother about Sport!!
Often, when our Walls surround us, we forget to see the pain and despair of others.
I have learned of much pain and suffering of someone who was dear to our family, for a number of years. She is not now, really, a part of our family, but she remains in the hearts and minds of all of us.
We feel her pain and wish her love and healing thoughts, in her difficult days. Love to you, M.
Honey, my little dog, is scheduled for suregery on Friday. I am hoping she will come through OK. She will aslo have the cast removed from her back leg, so we are hoping all will be well with that, as well as her tumour removal.
My surgery is scheduled for 11th November, so hopefully it will not be postponed. However, if an accident or somenone younger needs surgery, I will totally understand. Such is life.
I keep thinking of The Rose, as sung by Bette Midler. A Song of Hope.
se.
Sometimes, the 'glue' we have come to regard as part of our lives, becomes unstuck.
It becomes difficult to remain hinged, one might say. We (I) feel as if all the parts have become separated, and one (I) wonders how to gather it all together again.
I bought some plants, hoping to find some continuity in life, of recent times. Some, such as this sweet Pansy, have survived the onslaught of slugs and snails.
Some planter pots became weed paradise, interspersed with a large cat sitting in a pot. Was he pretending to be an innocent flower?
This pic was taken as King Morty sniffed SG's proffered hand. Just before he, Morty, attacked and scratched SG on the face! Morty is one disturbed cat, whose troubled kittenhood remains a mystery to us. We often refer to him as "Moriarty", or "Psycho".
Another sweet pansy, which has managed to survive the snails.
I have a date, to have my total knee replacement surgery. In the meantime, Honey has damaged a ligament in her left back leg, and is in a plaster cast, for approximately 8 weeks, while it heals.
I broke down when I took her to the Vet. I could not bear it if anything happened to Honey, after my year from Hell.
Honey may yet need an operation. We are hoping it will not have to come to that.
My Pre Admission Clinic visit was full of surprises. Not none all of them were pleasant, and some were totally odious.
It seems they have decided to create new, and highly undignified steps, to perform, and cause embarrassment. Not everyone is happy with this development. Some protest vigorously, or refuse to have them done.
I, being from the old school of 'Obey' did not relish the test, but neither did I refuse.
I later consulted the Internet to see why this new procedure was necessary. I remain unconvinced as to the value. I simply forgot to ask at the time of the procedure. I am sure my brave daughter would have questioned it all, at the time of request. She is much braver than I am.
I have composed many posts, inside my head. None of them have made it to print.
I have been trying to catch up with my favourite blogs, and have not managed to cover all of the wonderful posts I know are out there, waiting to be enjoyed.
I am indescribably sad, and horrified at what is happening in my birthplace, the Bay Of Plenty of New Zealand. It cannot be repaired soon, and the price is far more than any man-made fines, or useless jail terms.
I see Oil and all it's ugliness, as an evil we should be without, in this modern world.
This seagull's persepective, might be quite different to what we see, when we look at him/her, with only one foot.
We tend to think, "Oh how tragic!"
But, perhaps the gull's perspective, would be, "Oh, How lucky I am to still be alive, and able to manage, with only one foot!"
The bleak day notwithstanding, this gull made a good fist at fighting off other gulls, who might have competed for any scraps that could be forthcoming!
On our trip, we found some of these Sea Urchins, or Kina, as we called them in New Zealand. This is how they appear, when alive. They also appear to be very prickly, once they are 'deceased', as they wash upon the shore.
The action of the sea, sand, and the waves, gradually removes the spines from the wonderful delicate shells, that were once the home, and skeleton, for this creature.
We discovered many of these deceased creatures on one of the beaches we visited on our travels. My son decided he would like to keep some, as he loved the form and delicate structure of the now vacant homes.
They are truly a work of Nature's art, and the wonderful patterns are so lovely.
We collected these specimens, and though their former occupants were now deceased, some of them still had the remants of the former tennants, so to speak. Some still had the remnants of the spines, and so we were a little wary of collecting them.
Thence commenced the journey of getting the deceased creatures' homes, to our home!
We enclosed them in a plastic bag, but soon realised this would not be enough to prevent the all-prevailing stench, of the remains of the prior tennants of these homes.
So, on our first night accomodation after we collected the creatures, Son decided to stash them in a handy Skip, in the Hotel car park.
Next moring he retrieved the offensive package, and set off to purchase zip lock bags, in which to seal the creatures. Several layers of zip lock bags later, we set off for our next destination-all odour seemingly contained.
Thence followed a nightly routine, where son placed the package in the local accommodation's skip, or garbahe bin, and then he retrieved it each morning, and added another layer of zip lock, and restashed it in our boot.
Imagine our horror, one morning, when we heard a leaf mulcher being vigourously applied to the current Motel's yard! Son sped off to retrieve the package, before the leaf/mulch/deposits were emptied into the skip!
As you can see, we did get them home safely, and Son spent some time cleaning them, and ensuring they are now odour-free.
****
A small story, for opinions, or persepective..
A small boy was deemed by his teacher, to be "Annoying".
The teacher told the child he was so annoying, he needed to go and 'annoy the door', in his class. This was in front of the other pupils, who had apparently also declared the small student to be 'annoying'.
The small boy duly went to the door, and 'annoyed the door' in a manner he thought appropriate.
However, the teacher decided he was not so much 'annoying' the door, as 'having a conversation, with the door', so he told the small boy to "Go outside, and annoy the pole".
I found this story so sad, and so wrong on many levels.
Am I wrong in this evaluation?
Is it a matter of "perspective"?
I confess there was a certain admiration for the small boy for 'running with it'. On the other hand, what sort of message does it send to the small boy, and his peers within the classroom?
Opinions would be welcome.
Chris Isaak Two Hearts.
My first choice was 'I Wonder', but it did not play, and I could not find another version.
