Following my last post about the desire to stop desiring to find freedom and therefore peace, this post is a chant of desire.

The desire to get in my kids kayak (so small it fits in the caddy, so small it is 'seaworthy' only if the water is mirror flat, there is no breeze and no current) - and drift on the river.  Drift and look in the water, drift and look at the sky, drift and look at the birds.  I bought it and have used it once. 

The desire to go for long walks on the beach or a country road.  The desire to be silent.  The desire to be inwardly still.  The desire to not have to think ahead, to plan, to check all the boxes and cross all the t's.  The desire to not try and fit everything in.  The desire, the impossible desire, to not witness the dissolution of a person.

The desire to have time.  The desire to stop and grieve. 

There's a contradiction, a conclusion, a place that exists only when I stop trying to reach it.  If anything the last few days has taught me it is not the situation, it is never the situation,  but my reaction to the situation which determines reality. 

Further to that, reality won't change, ie I won't be released from this until I stop wanting release.  When I have truly surrendered, when I am completely unmoved by seeming reality while always reacting to said 'reality' from a place of love and acceptance, until then I won't be free. 

It is that impossible zen thing of not wanting the thing I desire.  Once I am free of desire, than I am truly free. 

The ungraspable is tantalizingly almost within my grasp.  But if I 'grasp' it, it will disappear and I'll be living from a place of 'want' and desire and disappointment. 

Striving while not striving...the gift is the love.  My love for Richard, the overwhelming tenderness, the sweet emotion of loving him sets me free in a way I cannot explain. 

It is not something I do or make or exert control over, it is a gift, always there if I only open my eyes and see.

I am grateful, so grateful and pray each day I may always be in a place of love and gratitude.  For distraction, lack of attention, laziness will see me wearing that damn hair shirt again.

Vigiliance!

Yesterday was horrible.  I was horrible. 

The only way I can get through this is by .... and just as I wrote that Richard came in to say it had happened again - so off with the soiled disposable pants, into the shower to wash the crud down the drain (I'd hose him off outside but it's too cold) and to pick up any bits that don't fit through the grill to throw in the loo, get him dry and into clean pants and shorts - the second time today and it's only 2pm.  So this is a repeat of yesterday.  Only it isn't. 

As I started to say, the way to get through this is to surrender.  These circumstances are beyond my control.  I can't cure him.  I can't leave him.  Surrender and acceptance are the only viable options.  That  and to control my reaction.   Attitude is everything.  Yesterday I was angry, disgusted, frustrated, impatient and surly.  And hated myself.  When I finally lay my head on the pillow I cried.  Not because of Richard's inability to control his bowels but because I was ashamed.  Is this how I want to be?  The shrew?   No.  The facade, easy to don, wears like a hair shirt.

 Being justifiably disgusted costs too much. Despite everything, he is still the loving man I married, far more emotionally mature than I.   

So today I vowed I would be different and I am.  The scenario is the same, well actually worse than yesterday but the difference is night and day.  I'm not proud of myself.  I'm just keeping my head above water but we are again a team.  And I approach the problem with pragmatism and a 'one step at a time' attitude. 

So here I am.  He's been cleansed and in a way I have been too.

Green and gold autumn sunshine, blue sky, a puff of cloud drift.  Perfect autumn day.  In a bit more than an hour I'll take Mikaela for a walk as I do every day.  Only now we are never alone.  The afternoon walk was my time of solitude surrounded by nature.  Now we are, as one woman coined it, a Wall of Women. 

It started with one woman, a friend up the road, an attendee of AITS.  We would meet occasionally and walk together.  It was great sometimes to have the company.  She is a woman who has lived an interesting life, who is living an interesting life, who has many strange things to share (but isn't every life a foreign land of exotic landscapes, strange frightening coastlines and unexplored forests?).  Then another AITS participant, hearing of our walk, asked if she could join us occasionally.  She drives over.  Then another woman who lives down the street, seeing the regularity of our walks, met us 'accidentally' while taking out her trash.  Now there are four of us and two more are invited. 

In this day of The Virus, more people are walking than ever before so we meet this and that neighbour, stop and have a chat or greet and pass on.  It's friendly and sociable and neighbourly at a time when these things are more important than ever.

But I am never alone!  I used to stop just to look at things; the view, a bug, a bird, the sky - often the sky - the way the light hits the leaves, and I could stand there as long as I liked, gaping, staring, listening communing with trees.  Mikaela didn't mind.  She would stand with me.    But now I walk and I talk or I walk and I listen and they are all lovely and we are all in this virus thing together and I feel slightly guilty that I wish for silence and solitude.  And for the buzzing busy-ness of society to just stop long enough to hear my own breath. 

Pagan and Balthazar are luxuriating in their new home.  I am so happy.  A weight has been lifted, A weightier  weight than I realized I was carrying.  Guilt is like that. 

Went early, thought I had time to feed them, pack the truck even groom them before Carlin arrived.  But Carlin, the ukelele playing, ukelele luthier farrier, surprised me again.  He arrived five minutes after me.  So horses trimmed and wormed.  Then Bianca arrives with her old refurbished float (new flooring, maiden voyage with The Boys).  Threw stuff into the caddy, haltered the geldings and took several deep breaths.  Would they load?  They haven't floated in years, I mean, years.  Strange float, strange people and then of course the heavens opened and we were all getting soaked.

But they did! Pagan took a few confident steps then halted.  Carlin, standing in the rain, started clicking him on.  Who can blame him for wanting the process hurried.  But I asked him to give Pagan a minute.  Wasn't even a minute.  He just had to have a look then, when asked (by me) walked the rest of the way.  You Beauty!  Bianca started trying to load Balthazar but he was having none of it.  Said I'd load him and I did.  My horses are Legends!  I am so proud of them.

Unloaded without incident.  The resident herd; 5(?) mares and 1 gelding stirred up and galloping thither and yon with the arrival of two new horses.  Pagan and Balthazar ignored them.  Too much stunning green grass to eat. 

The contrast between the previous agistment with paddocks full of inedible weeds and this place - a silky green 20 acre carpet is enormous.  This place is neat and tidy and clean.  B's place, a tip. 

I was paying $140 a week in hay at B's, plus $260 a month agistment.  $880 a month.  Here I pay $520 a month agistment.  Full stop.  No hay needed.  I'll still feed them mixed feed for the trace minerals etc. but they won't need the roughage. 

What grinds me is having paid all that $$ so Balthazar wouldn't lose weight, he did.  Jilleen said, 'oh, he's poor'.  I never thought that would ever be (accurately) said about one of my horses.

Makes me ashamed.

Should've buckled down and done this months ago.  B showed time and again he wasn't equal to the task.  I'd politely nag, Balthazar would gain weight and then the cycle would begin again.  What tipped the balance was finding my hay was feeding his horse as Balthazar, being a slow eater, was always hunted away.  B said he'd separate them out so Balthazar would be able to eat his portion.  I showed up twice without notice (usually warned B I'd be coming) and saw 4 piles of hay and Balthazar lip eating lucerne dust while B's chubby little horse plowed through what should've been his.

Anyway.  'Nuff said.  Went to see them this morning.  They looked so happy.  Forgot how to be called up however.  Finally came after numerous calls.  Rewarded with carrots.  They have full tummies and contented expressions. 

And I slept the sleep of the (finally) just last night.

I am a master at getting myself into a flap.  A Master Flapper.  And then, when I am about to burst with worry, the 'thing' resolves itself and I deflate to what is arbitrarily labelled 'normal'.

Our credit cards expired.  I couldn't activate them online so went into the bank only to find Richard is the primary credit card holder and only he has the power to activate them.  For half a day we had no money.  Had to return home and get him  - just at the time when he should be staying home to avoid the virus.  But it was a blessing in disguise for it illustrated I must do something.  What if he'd hurt himself and was in hospital or was otherwise incapacitated?  So I had to become the primary person.

And this is where we hit the wall.  Richard, while always generous, has always been 'in charge'.  Now that he has dementia he obsesses.  His name must be on everything; bills, car registration, insurance policies, title deeds, bank accounts.  And that is how it should be.  Until now.  So asking him to take second place ....I finally figuratively threw my hands up and said what will be will be.  If, after 33 years he doesn't trust me not to clean out the accounts and head to Bermuda with some toy boy called Raoul, then our marriage is in a pretty poor state.  Demented he might be but there is still an emotional and soul intelligence. 

We went to the bank and everything was patiently explained.  The financial officer offered a way where we could, with two sets of credit cards, both be primary card holders.  Even then, because he doesn't grasp things, although he tries, god knows he tries! he wouldn't say yes, I agree.  We waited, we explained again and waited some more.  Finally he said ok.

Problem solved. 

And I obsess about moving the horses.  My farrier said he'd find someone and he did and then I didn't hear anything for a week.  The horses are due to be moved tomorrow.  This morning, just as we are hurtling out the door for our bank appt. he rings to say it's on!

I kept 'breathing and surrendering' again and again.  Not the end of the world if the horses aren't moved tomorrow or even this week. But now they are and oh joy, oh happiness!  Ideally would still love to have them live here with us but this is the next best thing.  The family is almost back together.

Richard fell again yesterday.  On the concrete.  Heard him moaning.  He was going to roll out the wheelie bin and tripped.  He walks like a catwalk model on quaaludes, pigeon-toed, one foot crossing over in front of the other.  And of course he shuffles.  It's a wonder he doesn't fall over more than he does.

As for the BP, even with the doubling the dosage (1 full pill twice daily as opposed to half a pill) it has hardly made a dent.

The scary thing is, well, one of many scary things; if he falls and breaks his hip it is likely he will not come home again.  Even if he only injures himself slightly with a good chance of recovering I cannot visit him.  If he is moved from the hospital to a respite facility because of the covid  19, no visitors are allowed, not even spouses. 

I tried to impress upon him how important it is to be mindful of every step.  Told him to pretend he had an echidna attached to his balls or that he was  a sumo wrestler, anything to get him to spread his legs a bit when he walks.

This morning went early to the store to avoid crowds, then out to the horses and home again.  He hadn't moved in all that time.  He was ice cold.  The windows were closed and although the day was warm it was still icy inside.  Got him to go outside and thaw.  He didn't move again until lunchtime.  Now he's gone to have a nap.  If he doesn't get active soon, the choice will be made for us.  Showed him the booklet brimming with gentle exercises he can do to remain active and 'supple'.  He said he'd start tomorrow.  Why tomorrow, I asked.  Need time to get my head around it.  What difference in your head between today and tomorrow?  None. 

I left then.  I've done the nagging bit.  When he was compos mentis, when I saw the writing on the wall, I nagged to get him to exercise, to eat better.  I nagged diplomatically, quietly, encouragingly.  It only drove a wedge between us.  So today, rather than repeat history, I left him and came in here to read emails.  He was a self-starter, a motivated person in everything but looking after himself.  Nothing has changed.   Not even my familiar frustration that he won't do what I want him to do. 

So if he isn't totally 'with it' anymore, he is still, in character, the same.  At some point I just have to leave him to it.  I'm scared shitless he will fall and then he will go and that's that.  Brings tears to my eyes even thinking of it.  

Saw our neighbour yesterday.  Told him of Richard's fall, how I almost couldn't get him up again.  He said, next time ring me.  He builds movie sets on the Gold Coast but with the virus his work has finished.  He's a big strong German and he's close. 

Trying to get a walker without wheels.  The hospice store is shut.  Might have to go to Tweed to buy one but have put the call out on the local FB page.

What a glorious autumn day.  Air so clear you can cut yourself on it.  Technicolour colours (watched The Red Shoes again, noted how enamoured the cinematographers were with Technicolour - everything is so vivid!).  Decided after chores I really must do something on the drawing languishing in the studio/shed. 

Sashayed down to the studio and  took a good hard look.  Because of not cleaning since Art in the Shed was cancelled, the daddy longlegs, and other fleeter, creepier, LARGER spiders have moved in.  Discovered mold growing on one of the tables and, more worryingly, the wall below the sliding glass door is rotting through from the rain coming down the wall rather than going down the gutter - the roof pitch is too steep for me to climb up and do anything about it.  Looks like lots of $$ - but just can't deal with it now.  Will have to wait and hope the glass door doesn't collapse through).  So I cleaned the studio as if everyone was coming; vacuumed, wiped down the tables, cleaned the toilet, cleaned the kitchen.  But it was only me, me and Mikaela - who looked in vain for her artist friends to come and give her a pat.  When it was all spiffy and the spiders had either been sucked away or chased back into the shadows, had a look at my work space.  Completely unorganized.  Pencils mixed up with pens.  Erasers everywhere.  Reference books and pictures sprawled on every flat surface within arms reach.  Pastels tumbled in with charcoal.  How can anyone work like that...well, I do.. until I get sick of spending more time looking for something than actually drawing. 

Afterwards made a cup of green tea, put Joni Mitchell's Court and Spark on the CD and selected an 8B.  Worked until lunchtime - about 40 minutes but hey, it's a start. 

Upped Richard's dose from half a tablet to full.  Not a bit of difference in his afternoon BP.  Will leave it there until consulting, via video, with the doc.  Not his usual doc as he's away on holiday.  Am quite amazed he's not fainting daily.   No wonder he has no energy. 

Tomorrow, as Coles has imposed a customer limit, plan to leave as early as possible to get supplies before the rush.  Then head out to do the horses.  Getting excited about moving them.  Dug out their feeders, washed the spiders out (yes, spiders there too), made up enough feed to last until Thursday when I hope (HOPE!) everything comes together and they are in their new home.  Pick up the key tomorrow. 

With daylight saving trying to work out how I will do everything I want and/or must do every day.  So how can I find an extra hour to nip down there and feed them.   It's a given.  It's a must.   Actually I look forward to it.  Grooming, listening to them eat, it's all somewhat soothing, even meditative.  And of course, they smell delicious!  Almost as delicious as galah breath.

Was thinking that the other day, how many people have experienced the pure olfactory bliss of galah breath?  I am one of the lucky ones.  Thank you Marvin and Fern and Grevillea.  I am truly blessed.

Well, dutifully taking the BP 3 times a day and it ain't good.  Even with the drug, it's low.  Systolic 107 before he stood up then 89, clearly illustrating the danger he's in from 'postural drop'.  Tempted to up his dose but will hold off until the appt on Wednesday. 

Not sure if I can make the appt.  It's via the mobile, but can still email through the BP stats and state the case the dose should be increased.  Wednesday we might be moving the horses.  Waiting on others for information.  Quite frustrating.  We sold the float and truck so am dependent upon others.  Another lesson in learning trust and most importantly, patience.

My card this morning read:  Surrender and breathe.

My motto when things get a bit much.  I draw that card  fairly, significantly, often.  Duh!

It's funny how old lessons come back to remind you of things you haven't mastered.  When Mom was sick and dying, I was so sure love and positive thinking and praying and WANTING would make her well.  But of course it didn't in the end.  Her life journey was her business, not subject to the desires of her daughter.

Same with Richard.  I am more accepting than I was, but still have this tendency to want to 'make' things be as I want them to be rather than as they are.  But being married and respecting someone's sovereignity over their life is part of the respect one has for one's partner.  Even if that partner is 'not of right mind'.

 It's a strange dichotomy.  Richard is still Richard despite being much reduced in cognitive scope.  He is no less a man or a human than he ever was.  In fact, in some ways he is more himself than he has ever been.  The masks he wears, like we all wear, are being slowly removed as 'surplus to requirements'.  He, while being gentle and soft with me and the animals, has always been a man's man.  Very male, tall and strong.  Those words don't describe him any more.  He is stooped, physically weak, and often the vulnerability and  confusion is visible on his face.    In needing his needs met, in releasing societal strictures about what is normal and what is not, he is more nakedly human than he has ever been.  It's a sort of weird privilege to witness this. 

Fludrocortisone acet.  That's the drug prescribed to lift Richard's blood pressure.  He says he already feels more energetic.  Was supposed to take his BP 3xdaily from Wednesday arvo but had no batteries and then forgot to get batteries.  Got them today; first BP, systolic 107.  Not perfect but was taken after lunch.  Will take again later, sitting and standing.

Horses got their second Hendra vaccination today.  Didn't tell the 'landlord' I was coming.  Suspicions confirmed.  Four piles of hay.  He has no hay of his own.  Balthazar wasn't separated out and so was hunted away from his food by the landlord's horse - explains perfectly why Balthazar looks so seedy and why I'm payging for 4 bales of hay a week.  If there was grass in the paddocks it wouldn't matter so much but the paddocks are mostly weed. 

Landlord came home while I was there.  I didn't say anything.  While I have 2 vulnerable horses there, I won't say anything.  It's his karma.  And, to be honest, you get what you pay for.  He didn't charge much so I didn't get much.  $140 a week in hay that helped to keep his horse rolling fat doesn't sit well however.

Will like having them 5 minutes up the road.  Nice little outing in the afternoon, perhaps with Richard and Mikaela while this lockdown is on.  They can wait in the truck or plod down the driveway while I get the horses up and feed them.  Plus we can drive around the corner and take a lovely walk over the river. 

Moving them next week.  Can't wait.  I am feeling quite guilty I let it get to this point.  Sure I can blame the landlord for not doing what he said he'd do (and what I pay him for) but the ultimate responsibility is mine.

Feeling much better now.  Weepy and weak this mornig.  Realize I have a problem with letting go of things.  I cling to things which mean nothing but which hurt my 'pride'.  I paid $500 to a solicitor because the doctor said I should seek power of attorney and enduring guardianship.  Richard had to sign a form giving the doctor, the same doctor, permission to divulge Richard's medical history to the solicitor....which he decided he couldn't do because Richard was too far gone to make a decision.  It still rankles.   We can't really afford $500 but we've had to.  Better now, but jeez, I obsessed about it.  Then stepping outside myself I realize I obsess about things a lot.  If someone disagrees with me or I've been proven to be wrong, outwardly I'm gracious and smiling and fine, inside I chew it over again and again and again.

So a wonderful newly discovered aspect of myself to be aware of.  Only got over the doctor/solicitor thing by deliberately and repeatedly choosing to think of something else.  So it is possible.

Indecision.  With the small albeit real risk of more falls with the use of Exelon, the drug which may help 'lift the fog' of Richard's dementia, I couldn't decide whether it was worth the risk or not.

But it's not about me.  It's about Richard and Richard wants to try it.  So decision made.  If there are significant detrimental side effects, we just won't use the drug anymore.  And there's something to be said about his confused, increasingly confused, mental state, contributing to his falls.  Perhaps using Exelon with the possibility of side effects will be balanced by the increased cognition of his body in space andn time.  He is so often 'not there'.

Doctor's appt today.  An ECG test on order of the specialist neurologist and then order the drug, which isn't kept in stock by the local pharmacy. 

Never thought I, who doesn't even have a doctor and whose last rub with the medical profession was when I thought I broke my foot last year and hauled myself off to emergency for an xray, would become so familiar with doctors and hospitals and medicare and chemists.   Cameron gently chided me for not having a doctor, for not having a 'physical' - although he didn't put it in so many words.  His thinking being that I must ensure I am in good health so I can take care of his dad.  He doesn't understand that my continued good health is my responsibility - certainly if I break something or have chronic acute something or other, I'll go.  But fear is the great destroyer, as far as I'm concerned (look at the results of panic and fear with the current pandemic!).  I am at my strongest when I am as far away from a GP as possible.

As for the pandemic which overwhelms the media, both social and otherwise.  I don't seem to have room for more than one 'situation' at a time.  We stay at home, comply with the self-isolation laws, catch the news once a day, beyond that ... I'm busy.