Well the Meezer's sick. Came up with a paralysis tick, despite being an indoor cat. Probably got it off Mikaela as she's on Nexgard. They hitch rides on her but don't imbed. I've picked up 3 so far this season from giving her hugs -- too irresistable not to. Anyway, Matisse likes sleeping in her chair in the afternoon, the chair Mikaela sleeps in overnight. So lots of time to fasten itself to his neck.
Treated at the vet. Tick serum is derived from the blood of tick resistant dogs (building up resistance slowly and consistently). Some cats have a bad reaction. Matisse did not. What he had a reaction to is the spot on they applied just before he came home. 36 hours of thick ropy saliva - a more miserable cat would be hard to find. While he's finally stopped drooling he doesn't want to eat. I've been syringe feeding (force) since Thursday. The weight has melted from him. Thought his appetite would've kicked in by now. Cats who don't eat for more than 3 days lose the desire to eat and must be 'kick started' to regain their appetite. Not in Matisse's case. Going to ring the vets tomorrow for suggestions. Still have one dose (from Nairobi) of mirtazapine left.
He's 15, close to 16. He's not bouncing back. Worried.
Sunday, December 15, 2019
Monday, December 9, 2019
Showered Richard a few days ago. It wasn't that long ago when I suggested I shower him he growled he'd move out before that happened. Just answered a lovely email from Heather who wrote she'd been thinking of us, how she hopes we get the help we need from the 'system'. Have made an appointment with the doc to get a referral to Occupational Therapy for handrails, perhaps an addendum to the toilet, rails in the shower and whatever else they might deem necessary be installed.
He's failing and the failing seems to be accelerating. The day I showered him, he was mentally 'out of it'. He falls into a daze while eating, sitting with a morsel of food poised at the entrance to his mouth. The daze, if not broken, quickly devolves into sleep. Now The Daze, should capitalize it as it's such a leading light in our lives, has appeared while he's standing. Richard forgets how to open the doors, sliding glass and screen doors. He forgets the names of his grandchildren. He doesn't understand much beyond the basics - go here, eat this, stop that, do that. Conversations which involve the simplest concepts are now beyond him. We had two inappropriate urinations close together; a bed wetting (thank goodness for the Brolly Sheet!) and in the hall. These mishaps cause him great consternation. And I got cranky too. The one in bed was due to his having a beer and a scotch. Too much alcohol and he loses bladder control. So when he woke me at 3:30 saying Holly Wake UP! I told him tough, he'd have to cope. But of course I couldn't get back to sleep. The other time, again waking me at 3:30, the magic time of night it seems, I was less than gracious on my hands and knees mopping up urine.
I don't carry resentment, don't beat him over the head with it after the fact. He can't help it really. At the same time, I'm not going to beat myself up for being cranky either.
His days are hard. He has such a strong work ethic he feels he should be doing something but is unable to do much at all. He washes the dishes, blows the hay from the truck with the blower, waters the plants, even watering the pots with nothing in them, sweeps the deck. Other than that he sits on the couch in The Daze, then complains because his ankles are swollen. Well, do something! I rail. Sweep, cobweb, pull weeds, do your exercises (sitting and rising from a chair without using his hands). Yes, he says, I will, then forgets what he was going to do between the couch and the door.
Thank god he doesn't remember how he was or he'd be pathologically depressed. When I was washing his privates, when I clip his toenails, when I tell him he doesn't need to put on a pair of underwear as he's already wearing a set, when I dress him, if he saw these things as he was, he'd be mortified. Now he's mostly meek and grateful.
He's not doing the best job when he showers so there'll be a time soon when I can edge my way into that job permanently without hurting his feelings. Ditto teeth brushing. And shaving. Next will come bum wiping. That will be a tough one.
On a good note. Matisse is off the prozac. I'd ordered a batch, it got hung up in the depot so he had to go without for a few days. What a transformation! He's calmer, happier, hasn't sprayed, rarely wails at night, is still affectionate, that hasn't changed, and he doesn't smell like drugs or have greasy ears. The downside is it was obviously an appetite stimulant for he's not eating as much (why can't there be a happy medium? On drugs he ate too much. Off drugs not enough).
He's failing and the failing seems to be accelerating. The day I showered him, he was mentally 'out of it'. He falls into a daze while eating, sitting with a morsel of food poised at the entrance to his mouth. The daze, if not broken, quickly devolves into sleep. Now The Daze, should capitalize it as it's such a leading light in our lives, has appeared while he's standing. Richard forgets how to open the doors, sliding glass and screen doors. He forgets the names of his grandchildren. He doesn't understand much beyond the basics - go here, eat this, stop that, do that. Conversations which involve the simplest concepts are now beyond him. We had two inappropriate urinations close together; a bed wetting (thank goodness for the Brolly Sheet!) and in the hall. These mishaps cause him great consternation. And I got cranky too. The one in bed was due to his having a beer and a scotch. Too much alcohol and he loses bladder control. So when he woke me at 3:30 saying Holly Wake UP! I told him tough, he'd have to cope. But of course I couldn't get back to sleep. The other time, again waking me at 3:30, the magic time of night it seems, I was less than gracious on my hands and knees mopping up urine.
I don't carry resentment, don't beat him over the head with it after the fact. He can't help it really. At the same time, I'm not going to beat myself up for being cranky either.
His days are hard. He has such a strong work ethic he feels he should be doing something but is unable to do much at all. He washes the dishes, blows the hay from the truck with the blower, waters the plants, even watering the pots with nothing in them, sweeps the deck. Other than that he sits on the couch in The Daze, then complains because his ankles are swollen. Well, do something! I rail. Sweep, cobweb, pull weeds, do your exercises (sitting and rising from a chair without using his hands). Yes, he says, I will, then forgets what he was going to do between the couch and the door.
Thank god he doesn't remember how he was or he'd be pathologically depressed. When I was washing his privates, when I clip his toenails, when I tell him he doesn't need to put on a pair of underwear as he's already wearing a set, when I dress him, if he saw these things as he was, he'd be mortified. Now he's mostly meek and grateful.
He's not doing the best job when he showers so there'll be a time soon when I can edge my way into that job permanently without hurting his feelings. Ditto teeth brushing. And shaving. Next will come bum wiping. That will be a tough one.
On a good note. Matisse is off the prozac. I'd ordered a batch, it got hung up in the depot so he had to go without for a few days. What a transformation! He's calmer, happier, hasn't sprayed, rarely wails at night, is still affectionate, that hasn't changed, and he doesn't smell like drugs or have greasy ears. The downside is it was obviously an appetite stimulant for he's not eating as much (why can't there be a happy medium? On drugs he ate too much. Off drugs not enough).
Wednesday, November 20, 2019
I didn't reckon on being this lonely. Lonely as opposed to alone. Being alone is a delightful state of being. Yesterday morning I was alone. Took the Skoda in for a service, walked across town and across the river to have a coffee at the Riverview. I had a book, the river, nesting mynah birds and water dragons for company. I was alone at a table on the verandah and perfectly happy. I read a little, watched the river and river life for a little, read some more. An enjoyable hour.
Picked up Richard to get the second car serviced. We walked to the RSL (air conditioning a necessity) for lunch. Watched Richard struggle with his meal, tried to help him to use the knife without interfering too much. Couldn't read the book (rude), made small talk (lots of white cars, aren't there, how's the fish, let's get this napkin in your lap), watched traffic and felt lonely.
I'm not the best conversationalist but there are so many things of interest to discuss yet there is no one to discuss them with. I see the women on Thursdays, the Writer's Group for 2 hours on a Friday and Nick the guitar teacher every second Wednesday. Sometimes I run into people while walking - or talk to the guys at the feed store or the women at the checkout - but that's just chitchat. I miss the companionship of conversation.
Am a bit chary about complaining as what do I have to complain about in the grand scheme of things when I have a roof, food, safety, interests, etc. On the other hand, it wouldn't be honest to pretend everything is peachy and I am miss pollyanna perfectly happy. I'm not.
Being relieved and grateful for the hour or so when he takes a nap - I wish it was otherwise. Being aggrieved and out of sorts when there is a long spate of essential micromanagment because his memory fails him and he's lost his bearings. And the fight to remain patient and loving. How difficult that can be and I often fail, hearing the impatience in my voice.
Even small talk becomes more difficult as Parky robs him of his ability to speak much above a whisper and the dexterity toform words clearly. Then of course dementia steals his vocabulary as well as his memory.
It's a shit deal for anyone. Richard doesn't deserve this - and whingy me, neither do I.
Picked up Richard to get the second car serviced. We walked to the RSL (air conditioning a necessity) for lunch. Watched Richard struggle with his meal, tried to help him to use the knife without interfering too much. Couldn't read the book (rude), made small talk (lots of white cars, aren't there, how's the fish, let's get this napkin in your lap), watched traffic and felt lonely.
I'm not the best conversationalist but there are so many things of interest to discuss yet there is no one to discuss them with. I see the women on Thursdays, the Writer's Group for 2 hours on a Friday and Nick the guitar teacher every second Wednesday. Sometimes I run into people while walking - or talk to the guys at the feed store or the women at the checkout - but that's just chitchat. I miss the companionship of conversation.
Am a bit chary about complaining as what do I have to complain about in the grand scheme of things when I have a roof, food, safety, interests, etc. On the other hand, it wouldn't be honest to pretend everything is peachy and I am miss pollyanna perfectly happy. I'm not.
Being relieved and grateful for the hour or so when he takes a nap - I wish it was otherwise. Being aggrieved and out of sorts when there is a long spate of essential micromanagment because his memory fails him and he's lost his bearings. And the fight to remain patient and loving. How difficult that can be and I often fail, hearing the impatience in my voice.
Even small talk becomes more difficult as Parky robs him of his ability to speak much above a whisper and the dexterity toform words clearly. Then of course dementia steals his vocabulary as well as his memory.
It's a shit deal for anyone. Richard doesn't deserve this - and whingy me, neither do I.
Sunday, November 10, 2019
Hard to settle to anything. NSW and southern Queensland are on fire. Smoke haze so thick Mt. Warning, Uki and The Sisters are just eerie shadows in the gloom. Over 100 homes lost, 3 people dead, more injured. The nearest fire is at Nightcap Mountain National Park - so not near but it was in conditions exactly like this the fire at Terragon/Clarrie Hall Dam/Palmers Road burnt the mountain we can see from our deck - so as the crow - or embers - fly, not far. And, as the conditions are just the same and will worsen tomorrow, I worry. Useless I know. Not helpful. Can't discern 'new' smoke in the air as it's all smoke. Lots of helicopter traffic to-ing and fro-ing.
It's a tinderbox. Our rainforest is so dry, trees are dying from lack of water. Rainforest needs rain and lots of it. We've had so little. The ground crackles beneath my feet from bark and leaves. The scrub turkeys dig and scratch and find not much - the grubs and earthworms have either died or dug deeper. Have a bucket of water out for wallabies, turkeys and big birds like currawongs and a smaller birdbath for the wee birds. Saw the first bird use it today while making up the horse feed, a Leuwins Honeyeater. Now that one has found it, others will too. Putting out fruit leftovers for those interested. Always gone in the morning, save for mango pitts and watermelon rind.
Lay awake last night listing all the things I must take if we have to leave. With 7 birds, 3 cats, 1 dog and us, it won't be easy. At least we have the caddy which should hold everyone. Can't trust Richard to drive anymore although in an emergency maybe it's better to have a try. The cages for the birds, the cat carriers, the food, the computer tower and guitar, meds, the red case with important papers and some underclothes and toiletries - guess that would be enough. No art materials, no books, no journals. We have one road out of here and as the house is surrounded by bush and we're on the side of a hill, we wouldn't have a chance. Actually, if it was just me and the animals and Richard were safe, I'd have a go. There's a cleared space in front and behind. There's ample water in the fire tank (unlike the house water tanks which are getting perilously low) so if I could access the fire tank water with multiple hoses, block the gutters (which I fortunately cleared out a month or so ago) and soaked everything - perhaps the house could be saved. It's the ember storm - travelling up to 12km - from the main fire which is the danger.
But of course, I wouldn't take the chance. One woman has already died trying to save her house. The other 2 were caught in their car. What a dreadful way to go. Richard and the animals need me so the responsibility to them is greater than my responsibility to the house.
Ack. To even be thinking these things. Like I'm going to attract a bushfire by thinking of it all the time. One attracts what one fears.
But I feel so helpless. Can't save the animals being burnt alive, can't feed the ones that are starving, can't make it rain. Sure there is a lesson in here somewhere. Like don't stress about what I can't control? Something like that I suppose. Hope next time I write here it's to complain about all the damn rain and the mold and high humidity and why I always have to wear gum boots coz it's so wet.
It's a tinderbox. Our rainforest is so dry, trees are dying from lack of water. Rainforest needs rain and lots of it. We've had so little. The ground crackles beneath my feet from bark and leaves. The scrub turkeys dig and scratch and find not much - the grubs and earthworms have either died or dug deeper. Have a bucket of water out for wallabies, turkeys and big birds like currawongs and a smaller birdbath for the wee birds. Saw the first bird use it today while making up the horse feed, a Leuwins Honeyeater. Now that one has found it, others will too. Putting out fruit leftovers for those interested. Always gone in the morning, save for mango pitts and watermelon rind.
Lay awake last night listing all the things I must take if we have to leave. With 7 birds, 3 cats, 1 dog and us, it won't be easy. At least we have the caddy which should hold everyone. Can't trust Richard to drive anymore although in an emergency maybe it's better to have a try. The cages for the birds, the cat carriers, the food, the computer tower and guitar, meds, the red case with important papers and some underclothes and toiletries - guess that would be enough. No art materials, no books, no journals. We have one road out of here and as the house is surrounded by bush and we're on the side of a hill, we wouldn't have a chance. Actually, if it was just me and the animals and Richard were safe, I'd have a go. There's a cleared space in front and behind. There's ample water in the fire tank (unlike the house water tanks which are getting perilously low) so if I could access the fire tank water with multiple hoses, block the gutters (which I fortunately cleared out a month or so ago) and soaked everything - perhaps the house could be saved. It's the ember storm - travelling up to 12km - from the main fire which is the danger.
But of course, I wouldn't take the chance. One woman has already died trying to save her house. The other 2 were caught in their car. What a dreadful way to go. Richard and the animals need me so the responsibility to them is greater than my responsibility to the house.
Ack. To even be thinking these things. Like I'm going to attract a bushfire by thinking of it all the time. One attracts what one fears.
But I feel so helpless. Can't save the animals being burnt alive, can't feed the ones that are starving, can't make it rain. Sure there is a lesson in here somewhere. Like don't stress about what I can't control? Something like that I suppose. Hope next time I write here it's to complain about all the damn rain and the mold and high humidity and why I always have to wear gum boots coz it's so wet.
Wednesday, October 16, 2019
Guitar lesson today. Still abysmal but marginally less abysmal than before. Perhaps rather than abysmal it's bysmal. Nick helped me with tempo, which, because I struggle with note finding - specifically D! - was good. Some of the music, no problem, others, where I find the fingering to be tricky - tempo goes out the window. Anyway, was pleased a few pieces played well - and the ones which pose problems, I have a solid foundation with which to practice.
Hot here today. Should be walking now but too hot for Mikaela. Have to get her little wading pool out and filled. Trying not to use water until this drought breaks. We had 20mm a few days ago but no follow up rain. Everything is still green here - after all we live in the Tweed Valley - but it's a false sense of security. The ground is quite dry, even the Tweed River is down. Surely the rains will come. Last year in October we had 300mm!
No writing today as after lesson and lunch picked up Richard and went shopping. Hard on him. He is especially tired after a day at the Men's Shed. He's been struggling the last few days, quite out of it. We had some hygiene issues yesterday and after boasting how I'd been keeping an even keel and just dealing with it and moving on, I got angry and frustrated. No excuse but he argues. I ask how can we deal with this, what would best help you to do the things that must need doing and if you can't do them, how about if I help? Nope. He says. Draws the line in the sand. As do I because we can't have the issues we had yesterday. It's not just me being prissy. It's hygiene. E. coli etc. Finally I lost it and as he argued I said, 'Go away. I mean it. Go away!' And then of course feel like a complete shit because he can't help how he is and it's up to me to be the adult. Sigh. It's a process.
All is well between us today. I do apologize after I've calmed down and he graciously accepts my apology.
On a lighter note. We've had 3 visiting cockatoos today. Wanted to attract them to entertain Richard. He misses Caruso still although he realizes releasing him was the right thing to do. Knew there were some newbies in the area for I saw a resident cockatoo trying to drive off one of the interlopers. The newbies have been quite vocal too. Don't know if they've come from out west where the drought drives them east or if they are released birds. The big male is either very bold (although cautious) or has known humans in the past. He listens attentively when I talk to him.
Hot here today. Should be walking now but too hot for Mikaela. Have to get her little wading pool out and filled. Trying not to use water until this drought breaks. We had 20mm a few days ago but no follow up rain. Everything is still green here - after all we live in the Tweed Valley - but it's a false sense of security. The ground is quite dry, even the Tweed River is down. Surely the rains will come. Last year in October we had 300mm!
No writing today as after lesson and lunch picked up Richard and went shopping. Hard on him. He is especially tired after a day at the Men's Shed. He's been struggling the last few days, quite out of it. We had some hygiene issues yesterday and after boasting how I'd been keeping an even keel and just dealing with it and moving on, I got angry and frustrated. No excuse but he argues. I ask how can we deal with this, what would best help you to do the things that must need doing and if you can't do them, how about if I help? Nope. He says. Draws the line in the sand. As do I because we can't have the issues we had yesterday. It's not just me being prissy. It's hygiene. E. coli etc. Finally I lost it and as he argued I said, 'Go away. I mean it. Go away!' And then of course feel like a complete shit because he can't help how he is and it's up to me to be the adult. Sigh. It's a process.
All is well between us today. I do apologize after I've calmed down and he graciously accepts my apology.
On a lighter note. We've had 3 visiting cockatoos today. Wanted to attract them to entertain Richard. He misses Caruso still although he realizes releasing him was the right thing to do. Knew there were some newbies in the area for I saw a resident cockatoo trying to drive off one of the interlopers. The newbies have been quite vocal too. Don't know if they've come from out west where the drought drives them east or if they are released birds. The big male is either very bold (although cautious) or has known humans in the past. He listens attentively when I talk to him.
Tuesday, October 15, 2019
Days I get things done are wonderful days. Not busy-making days, although those are satisfying in their way too, but creative days. Of course days when I have worked on the book are the most satisfying. I used to aim for 1000 words a day. Now I am satisfied with 500. Stephen King writes 2000. If I had a wife I'd try for 2000 a day too. Yes, I could squeeze out extra time, not watch tv at night with Richard, not brush my elderly cats who don't groom as well as they used to, not waste time looking at greyhound rescue sites, as I did today, or check out the latest on Instagram, as I also did, or practice guitar, which I also did! or work on an entry for Inktober, ditto - but those things; lunch and the making of it, cleaning up after Richard (one of his bad days - but I kept my cool - so much better than before - find the good!) so this is my life and I'm glad to have it, with its more challenging bits included.
I did see a crimson rosella this morning and the writing went pretty well and the drawing is okay and the sky is blue, the day warm and I planted 5 chocolate fruit tree seeds - what's not to love?
Plus there was someone on Instagram admitting they don't like being hugged in a village where everyone hugs at every casual meeting. So I wrote ditto. I'm a better hugger than before but would prefer not to be hugged by anyone other than Richard. I love his hugs - everyone else? keep your hugs to home, thanks.
So off to practice yoga without which I'd stiffen up in no time. Have missed two consecutive days before and start to seize up. Use it or bloody well lose it!
I did see a crimson rosella this morning and the writing went pretty well and the drawing is okay and the sky is blue, the day warm and I planted 5 chocolate fruit tree seeds - what's not to love?
Plus there was someone on Instagram admitting they don't like being hugged in a village where everyone hugs at every casual meeting. So I wrote ditto. I'm a better hugger than before but would prefer not to be hugged by anyone other than Richard. I love his hugs - everyone else? keep your hugs to home, thanks.
So off to practice yoga without which I'd stiffen up in no time. Have missed two consecutive days before and start to seize up. Use it or bloody well lose it!
Monday, October 14, 2019
Strange dream (a bit of an understatement)
I dreamed of suicide again last night. No, I'm not in the least suicidal nor do I wake up depressed and angst ridden. Then of course dreaming of taking one's life is not to be pooh-poohed as of no consequence either. This time, and it was so vivid, it was my 2nd and 3rd husband, Wayne who did the deed. I had a small derringer which I gave to him, asking him if he would. So he shot me in the eye as a derringer isn't powerful and might not get through a thick skull. As I died I called out to the cats, I'm sorry! I love you. and felt terrible as I was shirking my responsibilities to everyone; Richard, the animals, esp. the animals as Richard wouldn't have the wherewithal to care for them
Then I saw myself fall forward. We'd been kneeling and I keeled over like that footage one sees of executed prisoners of war. I stood outside myself and watched me die. But of course I wasn't dead. I also felt bad because Wayne wanted to die too (he actually died years ago) but I couldn't shoot him as I was already dead.
Strange.
Then not so strange as it seems the dream is only reflecting what I feel. I feel trapped. Of course I do. I love Richard and will stay with him but if I didn't a bit constrained compared to the old age I'd envisioned, then I'd be abnormal.
And we all know I'm as normal as peanut butter.
Then I saw myself fall forward. We'd been kneeling and I keeled over like that footage one sees of executed prisoners of war. I stood outside myself and watched me die. But of course I wasn't dead. I also felt bad because Wayne wanted to die too (he actually died years ago) but I couldn't shoot him as I was already dead.
Strange.
Then not so strange as it seems the dream is only reflecting what I feel. I feel trapped. Of course I do. I love Richard and will stay with him but if I didn't a bit constrained compared to the old age I'd envisioned, then I'd be abnormal.
And we all know I'm as normal as peanut butter.
Sunday, October 13, 2019
Sore finger. Left forefinger having to press hard and repeatedly on C. It seems, despite callous, a nerve is hit for a sharp pain jabs. Sore fingers is one thing, this needle blow quite another. Hope it goes away with time. Didn't know guitar playing would be so physically difficult - but then cranking the left arm around the neck to play chords, cramming fingers into awkward positions with strength enough to depress strings ... I don't find it easy.
Just listened to Roxane Elfasci play Debussy's Claire de Lune on the guitar. Exquisite. Seemingly impossible to do but she does.
Then I pick up my poor little Yamaha and clunk my way through scales and beginner pieces.
Sigh.
Anthony came for a visit today. Was a bit shocked. Saw Richard as he really is, in other words, saw the dementia in full twisted flight today as it isn't one of Richard's clearer days. Anthony got quite emotional. Richard's dementia has been buffered by the conversation before. When his family is here we are all talking while Richard listens. Today it was just the 3 of us - and reality hit home. Quite sad him seeing his father like this - a man who was always strong and in control - without being controlling.
But Richard was glad to see him and that was good. We ate here rather than going somewhere - and that was good too. Personally I think Anthony needed a good dose of reality, to know the stage his father is at so that further deterioration won't so shocking. If he'd been distracted by going out to lunch or having the others around he could've postponed this reality check.
After a couple of weeks of not working on the book I did get some writing done today. Curious as to what happens to Tanguy et al in The City. Guess I'll find out!
Have been taking part in Inktober, where one draws something every day in ink and posts it to Instagram. A few of my drawings have been done last thing at night. Last night threw something together which I was embarrassed to put up - and lo and behold - had a nice comment and a few likes. Will wonders ever cease?
Has been a good Sunday. Most work done - not all - and didn't have to be anywhere other than this lovely lovely place - and saw a wallaby come to the driveway looking for leftover papaya or watermelon. Didn't know. Now I'll leave extra out - so the bush turkeys aren't the only ones that get a feed.
Just listened to Roxane Elfasci play Debussy's Claire de Lune on the guitar. Exquisite. Seemingly impossible to do but she does.
Then I pick up my poor little Yamaha and clunk my way through scales and beginner pieces.
Sigh.
Anthony came for a visit today. Was a bit shocked. Saw Richard as he really is, in other words, saw the dementia in full twisted flight today as it isn't one of Richard's clearer days. Anthony got quite emotional. Richard's dementia has been buffered by the conversation before. When his family is here we are all talking while Richard listens. Today it was just the 3 of us - and reality hit home. Quite sad him seeing his father like this - a man who was always strong and in control - without being controlling.
But Richard was glad to see him and that was good. We ate here rather than going somewhere - and that was good too. Personally I think Anthony needed a good dose of reality, to know the stage his father is at so that further deterioration won't so shocking. If he'd been distracted by going out to lunch or having the others around he could've postponed this reality check.
After a couple of weeks of not working on the book I did get some writing done today. Curious as to what happens to Tanguy et al in The City. Guess I'll find out!
Have been taking part in Inktober, where one draws something every day in ink and posts it to Instagram. A few of my drawings have been done last thing at night. Last night threw something together which I was embarrassed to put up - and lo and behold - had a nice comment and a few likes. Will wonders ever cease?
Has been a good Sunday. Most work done - not all - and didn't have to be anywhere other than this lovely lovely place - and saw a wallaby come to the driveway looking for leftover papaya or watermelon. Didn't know. Now I'll leave extra out - so the bush turkeys aren't the only ones that get a feed.
Monday, September 23, 2019
Back
Use it or lose it. True. Wanted to check exactly when I first picked up the guitar (depressingly find it is a year ago) and could not access this account. Jumped on the password email account carousel, which is Google at its worst, in an abortive attempt to update old defunct email address and was denied denied denied. In a devil may care WTF attitude pipped the plogger icon and lo and behold, it opened.
So here I am in surroundings at once familiar and strange. Have often thought of returning to record random thoughts - like yesterday; walking Mikaela to the gate on our morning constitutional, gazing at the tree trunks, one with a spot just the right size for my bum at its base, and wondering when was the last time I just sat and looked. I miss that healing limbo of Not Doing Anything when in fact I am doing very much as my hard edges, my rational borders soften and I, in some small way, become a part of nature of which I am a part. Of which I am apart. For that's the illusion - that I am apart. Sitting and breathing and being restores a little reality to the unreality of life.
Other random thoughts - while I try not to dwell on the slow but steady disintegration of Richard's cognitive abilities - often it's pretty brutal. Today. Lunch. Him with fork tines turned down onto his stable table asking why it isn't running? 'What isn't running?' This, he says, stabbing the leaf pattern plastic top. A minute before he'd been trying to butter the screw top of the Season All jar. Yesterday afternoon, prior to our towing the wheelie bins to the curb (at least it's all downhill!), he talked about us dragging them up again. 'But they have to be emptied first,' I said. When that didn't make sense, explained in detail how the big trucks would come in the morning to empty the bins and we would pick them up again and put them in the truck after. Something we've been doing for 3 years. I've found soiled underwear hidden in empty drawers, soiled jeans under shelves and he has this thing about socks. Socks on the nightstand, socks on the fireplace, socks on the couch, socks multiplying like rabbits.
We go through periods where toileting issues are not an issue, then a long dismal run where they are. I am getting better at just getting through it and moving on. Sometimes it takes a herculearn effort to let it go when it seems so obvious (to me) that faeces should not be found on the shower wall or shower floor, the outside of the toilet, on hand towels, under nails, on door handles.
I briefly joined a FB group for dementia support but quickly unjoined. Too awful. A technicolour description of where we're headed. I've got enough on my plate now, thanks, without depressing myself further.
Beyond the practicalities of everyday, occasionally, seeing a photograph of Richard before I am overcome with sadness. One thing I did read on that support group, having to grieve for the loss of someone while they're still alive, or words to that effect. Too true.
Saw a woman in the checkout queque, snapping at her obviously demented husband because he was too slow and he didn't 'get it'. And I wanted to say to her, I understand but you must remember, he can't help it. Richard can't help it. Can do nothing about his confusion, his loss of words, his loss of meaning and meaningfulness. So I must help him as best I can; love him, slow down, be patient, support him. Two cards I've drawn have been of help. One said, Trust in the Path. Okay. I can Trust in the Path. The other said, ask and you shall receive. So I have asked for serenity. If I can remain serene - it's gravy! I have everything else. One of the luckiest most blessed people I know so just trust and get through each day with grace and love. That's all.
So here I am in surroundings at once familiar and strange. Have often thought of returning to record random thoughts - like yesterday; walking Mikaela to the gate on our morning constitutional, gazing at the tree trunks, one with a spot just the right size for my bum at its base, and wondering when was the last time I just sat and looked. I miss that healing limbo of Not Doing Anything when in fact I am doing very much as my hard edges, my rational borders soften and I, in some small way, become a part of nature of which I am a part. Of which I am apart. For that's the illusion - that I am apart. Sitting and breathing and being restores a little reality to the unreality of life.
Other random thoughts - while I try not to dwell on the slow but steady disintegration of Richard's cognitive abilities - often it's pretty brutal. Today. Lunch. Him with fork tines turned down onto his stable table asking why it isn't running? 'What isn't running?' This, he says, stabbing the leaf pattern plastic top. A minute before he'd been trying to butter the screw top of the Season All jar. Yesterday afternoon, prior to our towing the wheelie bins to the curb (at least it's all downhill!), he talked about us dragging them up again. 'But they have to be emptied first,' I said. When that didn't make sense, explained in detail how the big trucks would come in the morning to empty the bins and we would pick them up again and put them in the truck after. Something we've been doing for 3 years. I've found soiled underwear hidden in empty drawers, soiled jeans under shelves and he has this thing about socks. Socks on the nightstand, socks on the fireplace, socks on the couch, socks multiplying like rabbits.
We go through periods where toileting issues are not an issue, then a long dismal run where they are. I am getting better at just getting through it and moving on. Sometimes it takes a herculearn effort to let it go when it seems so obvious (to me) that faeces should not be found on the shower wall or shower floor, the outside of the toilet, on hand towels, under nails, on door handles.
I briefly joined a FB group for dementia support but quickly unjoined. Too awful. A technicolour description of where we're headed. I've got enough on my plate now, thanks, without depressing myself further.
Beyond the practicalities of everyday, occasionally, seeing a photograph of Richard before I am overcome with sadness. One thing I did read on that support group, having to grieve for the loss of someone while they're still alive, or words to that effect. Too true.
Saw a woman in the checkout queque, snapping at her obviously demented husband because he was too slow and he didn't 'get it'. And I wanted to say to her, I understand but you must remember, he can't help it. Richard can't help it. Can do nothing about his confusion, his loss of words, his loss of meaning and meaningfulness. So I must help him as best I can; love him, slow down, be patient, support him. Two cards I've drawn have been of help. One said, Trust in the Path. Okay. I can Trust in the Path. The other said, ask and you shall receive. So I have asked for serenity. If I can remain serene - it's gravy! I have everything else. One of the luckiest most blessed people I know so just trust and get through each day with grace and love. That's all.
Tuesday, April 9, 2019
Post 49 of 92
Tried to be more open today. What I read in Maria Popova's blog was an excerpt from Marion Milner's A Life of One's Own. Milner spent 7 years experimenting with how to live. It became a search for an authentic life. We are so programmed to lead the lives required of us by others, including the ever pervasive media something Milner didn't have to contend with in the 1930's, that we lose sight of who and what we are.
What makes me happy?
I'm not sure. I think the first few steps out of the house in the afternoon or early morning when I leave the ceilings behind and come into (or out of) the great dome of sky. Before I start to think, when the infinity of space first collapses the boundaries, I am free of self. It might be for a nanosecond or long enough to take that obligatory deep clearing breath but it is there. Then I fetter myself small with thoughts and half tos and plans and all the chains which take me away from the infinite now.
I think that's when I'm happiest. Not attaining, not accumulating, not doing, just being.
So yoga class. Hard work. She's a good instructor. Knows her stuff. At first her continuous commenting annoyed me. Now I don't mind. She is sharing what she knows and if she doesn't know it, what she should know she shares. We're all on a journey of some sort or another. Noticed today she conducts most of the class with her eyes closed. I love that. At home I do most of my practice with closed eyes. Today she echoed what Milner wrote about, the opening up to the world, the being in the world, the happiness which comes from that.
There are other kinds of happiness, certainly. The giddy joy of falling in love, the quiet happiness of lives shared in complete trust, the happiness of danger averted (or sickness or loss, etc.). There is also the happiness of creating. Painting/drawing when the signposts are there and it is the bringing into being the complete pix within those hard fought parameters, being lost in that creation. That is also joyful.
And there's the happiness of gratitude. Gratitude which bubbles out from an excess of spirit. Not the gratitude of rote. I must be grateful for this and I must be grateful for that. It's a gratitude of excessive life energy or love.
What makes me happy?
I'm not sure. I think the first few steps out of the house in the afternoon or early morning when I leave the ceilings behind and come into (or out of) the great dome of sky. Before I start to think, when the infinity of space first collapses the boundaries, I am free of self. It might be for a nanosecond or long enough to take that obligatory deep clearing breath but it is there. Then I fetter myself small with thoughts and half tos and plans and all the chains which take me away from the infinite now.
I think that's when I'm happiest. Not attaining, not accumulating, not doing, just being.
So yoga class. Hard work. She's a good instructor. Knows her stuff. At first her continuous commenting annoyed me. Now I don't mind. She is sharing what she knows and if she doesn't know it, what she should know she shares. We're all on a journey of some sort or another. Noticed today she conducts most of the class with her eyes closed. I love that. At home I do most of my practice with closed eyes. Today she echoed what Milner wrote about, the opening up to the world, the being in the world, the happiness which comes from that.
There are other kinds of happiness, certainly. The giddy joy of falling in love, the quiet happiness of lives shared in complete trust, the happiness of danger averted (or sickness or loss, etc.). There is also the happiness of creating. Painting/drawing when the signposts are there and it is the bringing into being the complete pix within those hard fought parameters, being lost in that creation. That is also joyful.
And there's the happiness of gratitude. Gratitude which bubbles out from an excess of spirit. Not the gratitude of rote. I must be grateful for this and I must be grateful for that. It's a gratitude of excessive life energy or love.
Monday, April 8, 2019
Post 48 of 92
There were purple bruises under my eyes this morning. I looked at them with not quite dispassionate interest. I used to look at others with dark circles and feel a fleeting sympathy. How awful, I thought in my youthful arrogance, not to be able to sleep well. Now I know. Strangely, unless it is a night with only 2 or 3 hours sleep, I seem to function all right. Perhaps the dragging sensation of a loss of energy is too familiar now to be noticed.
The strange sensations experienced during the night is part of a whole other world, another existence of which I am now too aware. I would have sworn one of the cats had scratched the inside of my left arm midway between wrist and elbow. It burned and stung for hours. I looked for the telltale marks in the dawn light. My skin was unmarked. How odd.
I used to never notice my hair, past shoulder length, getting tangled around my neck in the night. Now I understand why long haired women pile their hair in a top-of-the-skull ponytail. I seem to spend half the night unwrapping hair, lifting hair, rearranging hair.
I listen to Richard's breathing, his snoring, his conversations, his occasional shouts and laughter. I don't wake him unless he gets too exuberant and talks too loudly for too long. Odd that the soft Parkinson's voice he has during waking hours gives way to his normal speaking voice at night.
The cats are either good company or pains in the arses. Natalia, the tiger cat with the hair trigger purr, is my boon companion. She doesn't seem to mind my constant changes of position, my kicking legs, my pillow gymnastics. She rides the blanket waves with a constant purr and allows my draping hand to find comfort in the softness of her fur. She often rubs my fingers with her whisker pads, over and over again. If I pet her back, knowing just the right places to massage or knuckle rub, she gets overexcited and bites me. It is a sign of affection and a small price to pay for her company.
So, Monday afternoon. Before me are the should do's, a list of cleaning, gardening and vehicle jobs to make even the most assiduous chatelaine depressed. So I don't do them. I'm a piecemeal cleaner. Save for the morning blitz; vacuuming (3 cats, a dog and 2 humans in one house, we'd drown in hair if I didn't), kitty boxes, bed making, laundry doing or folding, I don't do much in the way of projects anymore. I clean one window, vacuum one car, weed one section of a garden, tidy up one corner. One little bit at a time does, barely, keep total chaos at bay.
This is the new reality. Richard tries to help, wants to help but usually makes a project more complicated and more time consuming than it would be if he didn't. He washed dishes without water the other night. I feel like an overzealous employer having to double check his work. The work ethic is still there, the work know how has long fled.
It's a big change for me, Miss Anal Retentive, Everything Has to be Perfectly In Order. Now I know time is worth more than having a super clean house. If I want to write, yoga and learn guitar than I have to forego Miss House Perfect.
So far so good. As time goes on and Richard requires more than...well, we'll see. People say there's home help for bathing and feeding. God damn it.
The strange sensations experienced during the night is part of a whole other world, another existence of which I am now too aware. I would have sworn one of the cats had scratched the inside of my left arm midway between wrist and elbow. It burned and stung for hours. I looked for the telltale marks in the dawn light. My skin was unmarked. How odd.
I used to never notice my hair, past shoulder length, getting tangled around my neck in the night. Now I understand why long haired women pile their hair in a top-of-the-skull ponytail. I seem to spend half the night unwrapping hair, lifting hair, rearranging hair.
I listen to Richard's breathing, his snoring, his conversations, his occasional shouts and laughter. I don't wake him unless he gets too exuberant and talks too loudly for too long. Odd that the soft Parkinson's voice he has during waking hours gives way to his normal speaking voice at night.
The cats are either good company or pains in the arses. Natalia, the tiger cat with the hair trigger purr, is my boon companion. She doesn't seem to mind my constant changes of position, my kicking legs, my pillow gymnastics. She rides the blanket waves with a constant purr and allows my draping hand to find comfort in the softness of her fur. She often rubs my fingers with her whisker pads, over and over again. If I pet her back, knowing just the right places to massage or knuckle rub, she gets overexcited and bites me. It is a sign of affection and a small price to pay for her company.
So, Monday afternoon. Before me are the should do's, a list of cleaning, gardening and vehicle jobs to make even the most assiduous chatelaine depressed. So I don't do them. I'm a piecemeal cleaner. Save for the morning blitz; vacuuming (3 cats, a dog and 2 humans in one house, we'd drown in hair if I didn't), kitty boxes, bed making, laundry doing or folding, I don't do much in the way of projects anymore. I clean one window, vacuum one car, weed one section of a garden, tidy up one corner. One little bit at a time does, barely, keep total chaos at bay.
This is the new reality. Richard tries to help, wants to help but usually makes a project more complicated and more time consuming than it would be if he didn't. He washed dishes without water the other night. I feel like an overzealous employer having to double check his work. The work ethic is still there, the work know how has long fled.
It's a big change for me, Miss Anal Retentive, Everything Has to be Perfectly In Order. Now I know time is worth more than having a super clean house. If I want to write, yoga and learn guitar than I have to forego Miss House Perfect.
So far so good. As time goes on and Richard requires more than...well, we'll see. People say there's home help for bathing and feeding. God damn it.
Saturday, March 30, 2019
Post 47 of 92
Sky is just beginning to lighten. It's not that early but we're still on daylight saving which makes 6:30 look like 4:30. There's a push to change back March 1 rather than Easter. I heartily agree.
Have been writing and painting and reading and practicing guitar and yoga-ing in addition to the usual stuff. Had a pretty bad day last week. Not sleeping, overly sensitive, depressed but other thatnthat 2 day blip I'm staying afloat pretty well. What else is there to do? The deterioration in Richard seems to be more pronounced or happening faster than before. He was doing the dishes (I cook, he washes up) without water in the sink. His verbal skills often fail and we spend more time than usual uncovering what he wants to say. Sometimes he can just show me. Have made a dentist appointment for next week as his teeth are in a dire need of a clean. He brushes them twice a day but I didn't know he wasn't brushing them well. The Parkinsons interferes with manual dexterity so that he isn't getting the brush around his teeth as he should. Which accounts for his terrible breath. Maybe that will help. That and getting him on an electric toothbrush.
Dental hygiene isn't the sort of thing I considered would be an issue.
But we're ok.
Was pushed and cajoled and asked to apply for Art Post Uki, which I did - and was knocked back. S in a terrible position as she had to tell me when she was the one who nagged, and I mean nagged, in the nicest sort of way, to apply. Now I have been asked to re-apply. But I won't. All my adult life I have sketched and drawn for my own pleasure. Last year I sold a few pieces, before that I'd given some away, bartered some, had one in a raffle - but there was never any pressure to please any one other than myself. So I was happy. Of course some days (many days) I couldn't draw worth crap or was bereft of ideas or just generally uninspired, so although I could be frustrated about my work, I was never sad. Creating art never made me sad.
When I was refused I was sad. Thin skinned, ego deflated, too proud, yes all those things but also really sad. Someone had a say about my work that meant something. One auditor liked it, another didn't (awkward composition, doesn't know anatomy). I've always created stuff for me. If another liked it, or loved it, wonderful, but it was always for me. Now I'd let someone else's opinion matter.
So I've made a decision. No more. I'll show in the locals, I've got 2 in a raffle next month, but I will never put myself in a position where I'm chasing 'success'. I was told if I had a 'theme' or made this item my signature in every work or told a story.... This is a different version but the same thing Mal Camin said to me 40 years ago, 'if you change your colour palette your work will sell' and he'd sold out to Worth Avenue and Martha's Vineyard to do family portraits of the wealthy. He was a talented artist but he was sad.
Have been writing and painting and reading and practicing guitar and yoga-ing in addition to the usual stuff. Had a pretty bad day last week. Not sleeping, overly sensitive, depressed but other thatnthat 2 day blip I'm staying afloat pretty well. What else is there to do? The deterioration in Richard seems to be more pronounced or happening faster than before. He was doing the dishes (I cook, he washes up) without water in the sink. His verbal skills often fail and we spend more time than usual uncovering what he wants to say. Sometimes he can just show me. Have made a dentist appointment for next week as his teeth are in a dire need of a clean. He brushes them twice a day but I didn't know he wasn't brushing them well. The Parkinsons interferes with manual dexterity so that he isn't getting the brush around his teeth as he should. Which accounts for his terrible breath. Maybe that will help. That and getting him on an electric toothbrush.
Dental hygiene isn't the sort of thing I considered would be an issue.
But we're ok.
Was pushed and cajoled and asked to apply for Art Post Uki, which I did - and was knocked back. S in a terrible position as she had to tell me when she was the one who nagged, and I mean nagged, in the nicest sort of way, to apply. Now I have been asked to re-apply. But I won't. All my adult life I have sketched and drawn for my own pleasure. Last year I sold a few pieces, before that I'd given some away, bartered some, had one in a raffle - but there was never any pressure to please any one other than myself. So I was happy. Of course some days (many days) I couldn't draw worth crap or was bereft of ideas or just generally uninspired, so although I could be frustrated about my work, I was never sad. Creating art never made me sad.
When I was refused I was sad. Thin skinned, ego deflated, too proud, yes all those things but also really sad. Someone had a say about my work that meant something. One auditor liked it, another didn't (awkward composition, doesn't know anatomy). I've always created stuff for me. If another liked it, or loved it, wonderful, but it was always for me. Now I'd let someone else's opinion matter.
So I've made a decision. No more. I'll show in the locals, I've got 2 in a raffle next month, but I will never put myself in a position where I'm chasing 'success'. I was told if I had a 'theme' or made this item my signature in every work or told a story.... This is a different version but the same thing Mal Camin said to me 40 years ago, 'if you change your colour palette your work will sell' and he'd sold out to Worth Avenue and Martha's Vineyard to do family portraits of the wealthy. He was a talented artist but he was sad.
Tuesday, January 1, 2019
Post 46 of 92
Strange lights in the sky that weren't fireworks.
I took Mikaela out for her piddle break last night at 11:30. The sky was clear and cloudless. Stars bright all the way to the horizon. While she was doing her business I saw a flash with my peripheral vision, rather like weak heat lightning. I looked up and saw thin illuminated cloud like shapes: round, oval, losenge - traversing the night sky. The 'clouds' came from the north. They sailed or jiggled, hovered, swung side to side or wobbled then disappeared to be replaced by another. Mostly they were visible one at a time but sometimes there were two, one 'coming' one 'leaving'. They didn't seem to move in a 'natural' way which made me think a new gadget has been invented which makes shapes in a clear night sky. And that was another odd thing. If there had been clouds then the explanation would be that lights were being reflected off the bottom of them - but there were no clouds. The illuminated clouds appeared then disappeared seemingly from thin air.
The only other explanation I can think of is that through some weird atmospheric refraction these were reflections of fireworks going off - before midnight - somewhere else. Except. Fireworks tend to shoot up and then dissolve slowly downwards. These clouds - translucent, not opaque, defined but fuzzy around the edges, sometimes striated along their length - did not move consistently in one direction.
I took Mikaela out for her piddle break last night at 11:30. The sky was clear and cloudless. Stars bright all the way to the horizon. While she was doing her business I saw a flash with my peripheral vision, rather like weak heat lightning. I looked up and saw thin illuminated cloud like shapes: round, oval, losenge - traversing the night sky. The 'clouds' came from the north. They sailed or jiggled, hovered, swung side to side or wobbled then disappeared to be replaced by another. Mostly they were visible one at a time but sometimes there were two, one 'coming' one 'leaving'. They didn't seem to move in a 'natural' way which made me think a new gadget has been invented which makes shapes in a clear night sky. And that was another odd thing. If there had been clouds then the explanation would be that lights were being reflected off the bottom of them - but there were no clouds. The illuminated clouds appeared then disappeared seemingly from thin air.
The only other explanation I can think of is that through some weird atmospheric refraction these were reflections of fireworks going off - before midnight - somewhere else. Except. Fireworks tend to shoot up and then dissolve slowly downwards. These clouds - translucent, not opaque, defined but fuzzy around the edges, sometimes striated along their length - did not move consistently in one direction.
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