Parkinsons Disease.  That's what R has.  What a relief.  Of course it's not good and it would be better if he didn't  have it but the alternative is dire.  Because naturally, despite best intentions, I sometimes thought the worst; alzheimers, dementia, wheelchairs, aged care, death.  But Parkinsons?  Parkinsons we can live with.  Even R is relieved. 

It was all getting so depressing.  R was aging before my eyes; shuffling along eyes down, stooped, his right hand convulsively opening and closing, his rich deep voice reduced to a whispery old man's voice.  I broke down once in front of him, my fears for the future overwhelming my usual good sense (and I usually do have good sense about things that aren't here yet).  And that breakdown, standing with the dogs in the causeway where R turns for home and I carry on with the dogs for another kilometre or so, was so unfair.  He pretended nothing was happening but he was frightened too.  Who wouldn't be?  We'd done quite well being strong for one another and I let the side down.

But that was then.  This is now.  He's on medication, the weakest dose to start which has made little difference so far - but a difference nevertheless.  On Saturday he gets to double it and that should make a discernible difference.  He's also taking St. John's Wort.  We've read that helps.  So we'll see.  At least the waiting, the ignorance, the fear is over. 

Reading the most incredible book about the most incredible woman, Nancy Wake, the famous White Mouse and thorn in the side of the French Gestapo.  It's a biography by Peter Fitzsimons (and what a delightful writer he is too;  clear, cogent, with a sparkling sense of humour as well as the ability to impart the portentousness and almost tragedy of Hitler's attempt to impose Nazism on the world).  But there is Nancy, armed with her Anne of Green Gables philosophy, Australian disdain for authority, courage, humour and toughness as a light within the war clouds over France.

How quickly we forget how close we were to losing.  How quickly we forget how lucky we are to live in freedom.  How quickly we dismiss the burgeoning threats to our freedom  from fundamentalist Christian to fundamentalist Islamists.    Christian, you say?  Absolutely.  Although they might not be throwing bombs or shooting people their aim is the same:  to make everyone think and behave as they do.  Creationism over science, the nuclear heterosexual family with a man at its head, all that nonsense that should've been done away with years ago.  Thought police under the cover of love of Jesus.  Phooey!

And then there is the far more frightening Sharia Law under which ultraconservative Moslems want the world to live.  That is so much in the daily news I don't have to go into detail about the treatment of women. 

Do we still make people like Nancy Wake.  What would I have done under similar circumstances.  I fear I am a coward and would not have acquitted myself well.  I hope never to find out. 

Haven't finished the book yet.  Was devouring it too quickly so have made myself quit reading and do other things.

Like get another sheet of paper ready for drawing.  Finally finished the naked woman with the bird on her head, framed it and hung it on the wall.  Have no idea what it means but it was an interesting exercise in foreshortening and having the human figure lit from below.  I am not well pleased with it but it's okay.  I can live with it for awhile although as it has a nude I'll probably take it down should we ever get prospective buyers in to look at the house.

On the market a month and not one bite.  Emailed the realtor asking could we have a for sale sign in front.  Took them two weeks to list the property on realestate.com  and no for sale sign after a month.  When the contract finishes in May we will go elsewhere. 

rain and reality and the illusion of it all

Five inches of rain.  In less than 24 hours.  In our neighbourhood we had the least amount of rain.  A klik and a half down the road they had 8 inches.  The guy on the hill, half a klik away as the cockatoo flies, had 7.  Don't understand why there is such a huge difference.  Not that it matters because...we're saved.  A huge weight has lifted.  Don't realise how depressed you are about the drought until it breaks.  Grass is already poking through the dead remains of summer past.  What a miracle.  The creek is running, the dust is gone.  Everything shines.

Couldn't ride today.  Too wet and wouldn't get very far as the creek is too deep and swift but by tomorrow it should be dry enough.  Not to climb the hills, too slippery but at least go up the road. 

No calls on the house yet, although, as of yesterday, 20 people looked at it online. 

Reading The Curse of the Kings by Victoria Holt.  Used to love her.  Must have loved her during my adolescent gothic phase (not as in Goth gothic, but the heroine-in-the-creepy-gothic-house-with-the-mysterious-tall-dark-handsome-and-faintly-menacing-man phase).  I'll finish it but it's work.  Saw her name while trolling through the book laden tables at the Blue Nurse biannual book sale and snatched it up as a find.  Now I'm not so sure.  Also found an Elizabeth George.   A sample of my more 'mature' taste.  And she is a find!

Really need to tackle Ken Wilber's The Spectrum of Consciousness again.  Made my brain hurt (and I found he wrote it at 23!) but it was revelatory.  Didn't finish it and I need to.  Almost must be read one sentence at a time on an hourly or daily basis.  It's that difficult (for me at least) and I'd need to thoroughly digest that one sentence before adding another to the first.  

Years ago I read a book while stoned.  Don't remember the name of the book or the author(s) - feel it was a collaboration.  And perhaps the experience which occurred after reading the penultimate conclusion reached by the authors was a result of cannabis but I suspect it was because sometimes, through logic, and extrapolation of logical thinking along one line, a tear can be made in the veil of illusion and reality bleeds through.  Their premise was that the rate of knowledge was increasing along exponential lines; new discoveries lead to even more discoveries, somewhat like the branches of a tree, and based on their mathematical models the true nature of reality would be revealed to everyone on the planet on such and such a date.  This of course not only includes advances in technology but the merging of science, metaphysics and the wisdom of ancient religions.

I read that sentence and something in my brain erupted into or bled into the reality behind the reality.  Didn't sleep that night.  Actually scared myself by glimpsing the power and the scope, nay the infinity, of What Is. 

Suspect Wilber's book, if I can understand it and that's a big If, might do the same.  Then again, perhaps my brain has calcified with age. 

The only other time I've experienced this tear in reality was while discussing metaphysics with my mother.  There was a subtle yet electrifying shift in reality which we both experienced at the same time.  We were following some philosophical/metaphysical path down to some logical conclusion when it happened.  Only for a second but what a powerful second. 

A solo day today or 'je suis seul'.  Practising French, can you tell?  Fail more often than I succeed but the beauty of Duo is it doesn't matter.  Keep going until I feel I have some kind of handle on it and then go on to the next lesson.  Sometimes I get through without a mistake, not often.  Next lesson?  Verbs:  etre/avoir. 

Just finished reading a Dean Koontz book, Dark Rivers of the Heart, published in 1994.  Hard to read.  Kept stopping to do something else to assuage some of the building dread.  His protagonists in all the books I've read come out all right in the end.  Even so, he's a master at making me fear for them.  So I do dishes or a French lesson or check out the radar (storms to the south).  Then when I've girded my loins for the next chapter (or next page!) I have another go.  Have started keeping his books.  Don't know that I'll ever reread then.  His main characters are all the same man.  Even the dog in this book, Rocky, is a canine version of the same man (with an overlay of timidity caused by early abuse).  The men are soft-spoken, gentle, self-effacing, yet strong and talented.  Their talent might be discovered as a result of their adventures during the book or they might be brought to those adventures because of their particular talent.  In any case, they are likeable, normal yet incredible.  The women too. 

My bathroom book is My Happy Days in Hell by the Hungarian György Faludy.  Started it before and then put it aside.  Although he describes well those tumultuous terrifying days of the Nazi invasion of France and the attempt at escape by him and his small band of characters, I found him so unsympathetic that I didn't care much whether he made it or not.  He cheats on his wife with all the emotional upheaval  he would bring to eating a pickle sandwich.  It never seems to occur to him that he is behaving badly.  He only exerts himself to avoid getting caught so as to avoid a scene.  Anyway, I've picked it up again, have reread the first part and am about to embark with them to the shores of Africa.  Still don't like him much despite him being a famous poet.  Suppose I should respect his brutal (to himself) honesty.  He doesn't gild the lily and make out that he is a better man than he is.  Even so his male arrogance is difficult to stomach.

Having a dice day too.  Just told me to do yoga.  Thought I'd take the day off but put it on the list along with blogging, bathroom cleaning, french lessons and leaf raking. 

Signed a contract with a local realtor to put the house on the market on March 5.    Today is the 21st.  So far we've had a confirmation letter and an ad (with 3 photos I submitted) on their local website.  They're supposed to advertise the property on realestate.com, domain, reiq, myproperty but haven't seen anything yet.  Nor is there a for sale sign on the road.   Am a little disappointed but try to remember that everything happens (or doesn't!) for a reason.  R's appointment with the neurologist is in a month.  Perhaps nothing will happen until he's been assessed, tested and hopefully medicated and that's a good thing.  One of my faults has always been impatience.  Want things done yesterday.  Walk fast, talk fast, type fast, but don't live fast.  Not anymore anyway. 

The house.  I feel like I'm walking out on a relationship.  This house, this property, this land has been a soothing and beautiful haven.  I'll miss the hills, the wildlife, the ever changing beauty.    This house has loved us, as we have loved it.  I felt it strongly when we moved in, how glad the house was to have us.  It knew we would love it and look after it.  And we have.  We've restored her to her original beauty; polished floors, new paint, new gutters, tanks, garage.  The list goes on.  Fences, gardens.  And now we plan to abandon her for another house in another state.  Yet this house in her 100 plus years has known many families.  Some loved her.  Some did not.  I hope the people who come after us will love and cherish her.  In her present glowing state she invites love and tenderness. 

I've discovered, thanks to listening to an interview with Maestro Simone Young, a website called Duolingo.  A free website to learn French.  I love it.  And I'm learning.  It's fun.  Lots of fun.  Makes it more of a game than a chore.  I like that I can fail as many times as necessary and it doesn't matter.  Just keep going until I learn it.  Can feel how some of the learning is almost sneaky.  Think I'm concentrating on remembering This Thing and actually quite unconsciously absorb That Thing. 

Makes me wonder what else I can learn.  I've learned to cook.  Am learning French.  Looked up the price of rollerblades this morning.  Not to use here - but perhaps they would be useful where we move to.  We did find and buy a one man kayak at a garage sale.  Need to find one more so that we can explore Fingal Heads, the Tweed River, the beaches at Cabarita - the list is endless.  We're going to sell the coleman canoe.  We have too much trouble handling it.  It's too big and unwieldy. 

So it's all go.  Oh, and I came off Balthazar for the first time since I've had him yesterday.  Not his fault.  A big spook.  No slow mo dismount.  One second I was in the saddle, the next I was flat on my back over the side of the hill with my heels pointing towards the valley below and my fingers twined in the reins.  Got a bit of a mouse on my skull, a bruise on my arm and some sore muscles but otherwise okay.  Just goes to show you attract what you fear as I'd just been thinking I wouldn't want to come off on this track (the one cut into the side of Mt. W) as I could hit my head on a boulder.  So I did.

To a Damaged, Imperfect and Flawed Friend

Dear Damaged, Imperfect and Flawed Friend,

How very glad you are all of the above.  It means you're still here, still working on 'stuff' just like the rest of us poor slobs.  It means you recognise that your current unhappiness is not normal and that you are already in the process of change.  I am sorry you are blue and experiencing a (temporary) lack of self confidence and that inner fortitude that I, and everyone who knows you, sees so clearly. 

What happened to your Big Life?  For whatever reason it no longer suited you.  Perhaps it will suit you again and you will go and create another Big Life.  Because you can.  You know you can.  Then again, maybe a Big Life isn't the answer either.   Maybe just a different life; different from the **** and ***** life, different from everything you've known and done before.  God, if anyone can do it, you can.  Do you know how much I admire you, how I try not to envy you - your energy, your intelligence, your confidence, your wisdom, and that Bigness of Being.  I always feel like I'm not doing enough, being enough when I'm around you.  Not that you in any way try and make me feel that way, not at all.  My feelings are my responsibility, my problem - but you are a bit larger than life and the rest of us are kind of animated shadows in your presence.  Lazy animated shadows.  You've accomplished so much, done so much, been through so much and come out the other side, long striding with a cheeky smile.

It's obvious I see you differently than you see yourself right now.

To me it is also obvious that you are grieving, grieving for what was, as imperfect as it was, as impossible as it was, it was still your reality for over 10 years.  Now it's finished and letting go is a bit sad especially as you're not quite sure where you're going next.  But go you will.  It might mean HUGE changes, changes that you think impossible now.  New chapters usually mean change.

I am sorry you've been disappointed by a friend or friend(s).  That's rough.  First time it happened to me as an adult I was flabbergasted.  I didn't think adults did that to each other, thought adults left it behind in elementary school but I was wrong.  I got over it and did as you have done - just got them out of my life.  Time is the only thing I (don't) own - so wasting it on people who have other agendas besides friendship is verboten.  I owe them nothing. 

You might put out more love when you get assaulted.  I'm not evolved enough to do that.  Self preservation comes first.  No, being really pissed off comes first.  Then self preservation, then letting them go - wishing them well (like I said, not evolved enough for love) but getting them away from me.  I do know that I can love them later.  The one and only guy in my past who physically abused me - first I got myself and my cat out of there, then I did alot of How Dare He?  Then I healed and forgot, then finally forgave him.  Now with the distance of many years I see he had real problems, that he was weak and frightened and quite pitiful.  But took me years to get to a compassionate view of him.  Anyway, you didn't need a betrayal on top of everything else but it might be part of the moving on scenario you're embarked upon.  Who knows?  Or maybe you've outgrown the friendship and they found a way to set you free.  Friends, especially friends of long standing (like close family), reinforce certain images we have of ourselves - but maybe it's the wrong image.  

You're a traveller.  Remember when you rocked up on foreign shores where no one knew you and you were more yourself than you had ever been?  Maybe that didn't happen to you but it did for me.  All the Holly Daughter, Holly Wife, Holly Sister, Holly Friend facades cracked and a somewhat different, stronger, tougher, and more authentic Holly emerged.  Your friends could've done you a huge favour.

LIke you I get depressed about things out of my control.  It's an ongoing life lesson that I'm still very much engaged with.  I rant at the stupidity of people, governments, you know the drill.  And all I accomplish is getting myself upset.  So I try and do other things instead - live my life in a way that treads lightly, write lots and lots of letters to politicians, sign lots and lots and lots of petitions, give money to good causes and then let it go.  I am responsible for my own life, the example I set,  the thoughts I think.  I subscribe to things which tell me good news, or informs me about creative people, and sites which reinforce the beauty beauty beauty in the world.  And thank god I walk the dogs every day.  That hour in nature does so much to restore my equilibrium.  That and the hour of yoga (yoga has changed my life).  But the best antidote to depression  is gratitude.  I thank my ugly feet for carrying me so well, the bed which carries me safely while I sleep, the food, OH THE FOOD!, that I love too much and which others don't have, for Richard, always for Richard, the cats, the headache which feels so good when it's gone, for everything.  Can't meditate very well  so that deep well of stillness is elusive, but I can and do give thanks.

For you too.  For your troubles which will make you shine even brighter.  The wisdom you have, the compassion you share, the love you give so unselfishly - do you think you can be what and who you are and live old and alone, in that very small life?  No, your spirit is too large and radiant for that.  And if it doesn't feel that way now.  Just wait, it will.

Richard's mental sharpness is deteriorating almost, it seems, before my eyes.  He's slower, his speech is slower, his voice is no longer his but an old man's voice.  It's almost as though I speak to him through a thick brown pane of glass.  He can hear me and I can hear him but the sharpness and immediacy of speech is muffled and delayed. 

This morning I rang Canton Ohio to see if Aunt Lee was still alive.  A letter I'd written her in October was returned.  I know now that she gave me the wrong address but I didn't know that until I'd googled it looking for the phone number.  Anyway, I spoke to her.  She had no idea who I was.  The name was familiar, Barbara and Jack's names were familiar but she couldn't place them.  She couldn't remember the name of her husband either.  I wrote in reply to a letter she'd written in October which although confused and rambling was anchored in the reality of names and places and events.  It's only December.  She's slid into la la land in a few months, the same as Grandma Anne.

Which brings me to - Richard, who was fully aware of who I spoke to and why (we spoke at length about the returned letter and Aunt Lee), kept referring to Aunt Lee as Grandma Anne.  Who, I asked.  Grandma Anne.  Normally a person would catch themselves and say, "No, I meant Aunt Lee!" but even when pressed he stuck to Grandma Anne.  Then when his attention was drawn to the mistake he accused me of being angry with him.  Because he's scared he goes on the offensive.

Often I see him standing or sitting staring off into space, no, not off into space, at the ground.  He doesn't look up anymore.  For minutes at a time.

I didn't used to worry but I'm worried now and I worry about my worrying for it doesn't help and it wears me down.  I understand why I slept for 2 days when he went to the States.  I didn't have to check up on him all the time, nor did I have to - not entertain him but break up the silent empty chunks of time for him.  He often comes looking for me.  I feel the neediness of him even if it isn't verbalized.  He needs to know I'm nearby.  I understand why I'm riding more than I used to.  That hour on Balthazar is time by myself where I cannot be reached.  I breathe more deeply then.

Worry too about moving house.  Is it a crazy idea?  Or will it help him to engage and focus more.  When he's interested in something he pulls himself together and seems quite normal (although he fixates on things more than he used to, grabbing on to a topic or job and worrying at it until it's finished).  On the other hand, if he is deteriorating as quickly as he seems to be, I will eventually face the reality of being on my own.  Do I want to be on my own and still live in Gatton?  Can't imagine I'd be moving myself and all the animals and furnishings by myself.  So if we're going to move it has to be soon.  Suspect that whereever we're living in the next couple of years is where I'll be seeing out my days.

 I feel guilty for thinking about a future that only contains him on the periphery but if my suspicions are correct there will come a time, and perhaps sooner than I think, when I won't be able to manage him.  If that is the case, I want to live in a place where there is no annual massive burning of the bush or an operating quarry.  I want to live in a place of physical beauty and be near people who perhaps aren't so hidebound and conservative as they are in this farming town.   So I plan and scheme and try and convince Richard that it's a good idea to move to the Tweed Valley and not north to the Sunshine Coast hinterland.  If we move there we will only be able to afford a small acreage and will be stuck in some hobby farm development on poor soil with the possibility of crap neighbours and noise.  If we go south we can afford acreage, acreage which will act as a buffer.

I would give a lot to have Richard back as he was.  I miss him.  I blame that damn surgery and that damn incident which put him in intensive care (and of which we don't know the real truth, I'd wager).  Until then he'd been fine.  Now I do the heavy lifting.  Maybe that's only fair.  He was my strong hero and looked after me.  Now it's my turn.  I chose to remain childless to avoid responsibility.  But there's no escape from the lessons we're sent to learn.  I have to learn unselfishness.  MIndfulness.  Trust in the Universe.  The healing power of love, for him and for myself.  Endurance.  Resilience.  Humour.  Patience.  It's all come together, is coming together in one massively intense One on One lesson.