Pick Me Up

Esso was sick for two weeks, and spent most of that time on the couch. This meant that I was relegated to the kitchen and the basement. Although I love tootling around on the computer, I usually take breaks and do other things, so not being able to watch TV and cross-stitch was a bit of a trial.

Then, he gave whatever he had to me. It’s just bad enough to make me useless as a cook, bottlewasher and conversationalist. I’m surprised I have been able to use words like “relegated” and “conversationalist.” My brain has been fogged. I’m also dealing with a raw, dry, and yet, still phlegm-y throat. So far, it’s stayed out of my lungs, but we’ll see.

In other news:

We are planning a trip to London, UK for next May (2013). Rather, I should say, *I* am planning, and Esso is paying for it, and coming with me. It’s sort of like going to the movies with him. He enjoys himself when we go, and I make most of the decisions. He says it’s because I am pickier than he is, and he may be right, but I’m convinced he just likes to watch me as I happily plan things out. I mean, my enthusiasm and joy for the process is enjoyable for him, not that he’s an unconcerned party—although I doubt he’d argue with me if I said there’s a bit of that in there, too.

It’s lucky for us that all the major museums are free, and that walking around the old neighbourhoods with history books is free, too, or we’d have a really short trip. Even self-catering accommodation can be crazy-expensive. We’ve invited R-dot and Deesh to come with us, for part or all of the trip, however, I suspect R-dot and I have VERY different ideas for it. Among other things, his aunt lives in a village outside Greater London. I’ve met her briefly, and she’s a lovely woman. Yet, I am uncomfortable with the idea of camping out in her home for three weeks, and having to drive into the City every day. I’d rather be in a centrally-located place, and for us to be able to get around under our own steam. It’s definitely more expensive, but it’s a price I’m willing to pay at this point.

We’re planning for three weeks because this period of time seems to us to have the best of both approaches to vacationing: lots of activity, and lots of down/quiet time. Any less time, and we’d be pretty rushed. There are things I/we want to experience that you can’t when you’re hurtling from Buckingham Palace to Leicester Square to the British Museum and a theatre in the evening (and that’s just Tuesday). I’d like to factor in “off” days, when we just picnic, putter, walk, look, and talk to locals, or maybe take a day trip to some other place.

I’ve been looking at planning this trip for YEARS, so to now be able to set a timeline to get it done is really exciting. Right now, trip planning is my pick-me-up!

If You Know Me in Real Life…

…and recognize anyone I’ve written about, PLEASE do not pass it along. As you can tell, I’m not using my real name, and I don’t use the real names of my family, co-workers, friends or former classmates. There’s a reason for that. I am attempting, however thinly, to protect the privacy of all who may be mentioned. In a former blog, I made the mistake of being as candid as I am here, and it blew up in my face because I didn’t use pseudonyms.

…and we were never close friends (apart from whatever extracurricular activities we shared), please do not try to contact me through any means other than a blog comment. I have been approached by people I knew in the past, and ONLY ONCE has it been a positive experience (because she’s awesome and understands boundaries). Again, this is for protection of privacy—in this case, mine.

…and don’t have anything nice to say to me, just don’t comment at all.

Thanks!

Not My Business, Not My Problem

This is my new calm-inducing statement, encompassing a very real truth: if a situation is not my business, it is not my problem. Unless something is affecting me directly, it’s not my responsibility to fix it, or to let myself get upset about it in a way that will affect my relationships with others.

One of my cousins was born on the same day of the same year as me. We never really got along, in part because I was a prickly pear, in part because she had a mean streak, partly because we shared every classroom until the 8th grade, and partly because our grandmother kept comparing us to each other. Suffice to say, our lives have veered off in wildly different directions. She announced this week that her 16 1/2 year old son is making her a grandmother.

And she’s EXCITED about it.

I know this may show me to be a judgmental bitch, but really, the mind reels.

Her excitement is a little weird. I’m not saying she should necessarily be ashamed about this—stuff like this happens, sometimes, and it’s no good trying to sweep it under the rug—but seriously, she doesn’t seem to be giving any thought to the WORK she might end up having to do to help him raise this kid. My guess is, that’s because the girl in question will have her mother do all the work, and my cousin will be off the hook. Just call me cynical.

This is the kind of situation that I should not get my knickers in a twist over. It’s not anything to do with me, and I risk being the family pariah if I express anything but cautious optimism that all will be well. Still, I can’t congratulate her. I’m not happy for her; I think she is deluded.

Speaking of things that have been affecting me directly, Esso has been sick with some sort of viral thing. He’s achy, tired, befuddled, and has intermittent fevers. He’s been home, on my couch for nearly a week now, and it doesn’t look like there’s anything we can do. Our family doctor is still in London, because there really aren’t any doctors accepting new patients around here, plus I have trusted this doctor through my asthma, diabetes and infertility complaints, the breast lump scare of ’94, and Esso’s pneumonia two winters ago. He’s a keeper.

Esso doesn’t like it when I “fuss” over him. Fussing encompasses getting him to take his temperature, offering to bring him a cold compress or water, suggesting a nap might be beneficial, etc. Sometimes, just talking to him is enough to get the label of “fussing.” I have been hiding out in the basement, playing on the computer for nearly 8 days now, and I’m BORED.

Processing

I’ve had time to process my grandmother’s death, and although there are times when I am very sad, for the most part, I am happy that she had such a long and blessed life, and that I got to share some of it with her.

I have been thinking of the way our family pulled together for her sake in her last months, and how that will not happen for me, because I will not have children or grandchildren.

I’m terrified I will end up in a soulless facility, cared for by overworked nurses, instead of surrounded by people who love and respect me.

I recently watched the BBC TV series, “Spaced,” with Simon Pegg, Jessica Stevenson and Nick Frost. In a dream sequence in the last episode of the 2nd season, Pegg’s character says to his landlady, “They say the family of the 21st century is made up of friends not relatives.” I beg to differ.

Some Things I Want to Say…But Can’t

Dear Sister,

I am very worried about you these days, more than I ever have been in the past. 2011 was a rough year for you, there’s no question. Bad thing after bad thing happened to you, and it’s hard to remain positive when you feel you’re a bowling pin with the ball hurtling down the lane at you. It’s easy for me to be both sympathetic AND empathetic for you, and I try to support you as best I can.

However.

You need to stop yelling at our mother and blaming her for the bad choices you have made in your life—and you definitely need to stop doing it on a daily basis. You hurt her with your endless disrespect and contempt. You offend our Dad, who loves you, and you upset your other sister and me. The most dangerous part is, you model this behaviour for your children, and it’s going to bite you in the ass.

Speaking of your children, you are driving them away. Your son has already moved to his Dad’s. Your eldest daughter is in danger of making some very poor choices on her own simply from a desire to get out of your direct line of fire. Get ahold of yourself, and be the parent your kids deserve. Everyone knows you can, you’ve done it in the past.

I am worried you have Borderline Personality Disorder. Based on the research I’ve done, it’s a tough disorder to treat, and when left untreated usually results in suicide or some other sort of self-destruction. There are barriers to getting help for you. Primarily, the expense of therapy is something you don’t think you can handle, however, what’s most worrisome is your assertion that it won’t help you anyway. You were doing so well a year ago, in part BECAUSE of the therapy. You stopped because of the expense, but also because you were feeling more centred and in control. Guess what? You need to go back, because your anger and responses to life’s frustrations are out of control.

We all want you to get better, and in the meantime, we have to erect boundaries to protect ourselves from your outbursts of self-pity and aggression. Your anger wears us out. We are helpless to help you. The only coping strategy is to listen to you and tell you we feel bad that you feel bad. Unfortunately, that leaves us at your mercy. Who wants to listen to anyone complain and whine about the same things over and over again? Even the most compassionate, most empathetic person hits their wall. We’re all at our walls.

Since I’m writing anyway, I’d like to address one thing that has always puzzled me. WHY do you need to be with a man so much? I think we’re all afraid to be alone, but your fear is practically a phobia. It’s pathological. It drives you to cling to men who have problems, who are immature, or who have never been successful in most aspects of their lives. Then you expect them to be good boyfriend/husband material. You set them up for failure, and then you wonder why you’re alone when they do.

Please get some help.

I’ll Have a New Christmas

There are some changes to Christmas around our family this year. First, Grandma is gone. Last year, I fretted, worrying about what to get for her, because at 85, she had everything she could need or want. This year will feel so strange for that reason alone.

Secondly, I now have Sindee, my half-sister, and her family to consider. I am sending them a parcel of food goodies, including homemade vanilla extract and my special cranberry jam.

Third, my nephew has moved to his dad’s house. Although he loves his mother and sisters, he no longer felt it was the best living arrangement for him. I’m not sure how this will affect our family Christmas, exactly; I just know that it will, and perhaps not in the most positive way.

Esso and I are being extremely generous this year, partly because we can, and partly because we are trying to make up for the potential minefield this Christmas will be.

And now, I have to go and make sugar cookies.

Happy Christmas to you and yours!

Versus Occupy Wall Street

I find the people who have joined the “I am the 53%” contingent really miss the point of OWS. It’s not just that they work hard to get what they earn, and they perceive those protesting are whiners, it’s that whatever they earn can be (and has been) stolen out from under them by the (mostly) legal actions of the 1% in those big banks. It’s the wanton speculation—the result of the government of the United States de-regulating their banking system—which caused the financial collapse in that country, as well as the exportation of lower-skilled jobs in the manufacturing fields. It’s the encouragement of mass consumption without production which has driven North America’s economy towards these actions by Wall Street gamblers in the first place. Gordon Gekko famously said, “Greed is Good.” No, no it’s not–at least, not for most of us.

Similar conditions are what caused the Great Depression, which had global impact. The New Deal was proposed by Franklin Delano Roosevelt, and its implementation, plus the outbreak of WWII are what helped pull American, Canadian, British, German and French economies (the five most important at the time) out of the morass of debt and poverty by making it possible for manufacturers to begin making new products. As much as I respect President Obama, he is no FDR, and his hands are severely tied. They are tied by a multitude of things:

a) Opiated and indifferent masses. Although the OWS movement has grown, the truth is, most people are just staying at home, watching TV and playing video games. Those of us not in the 1% have been encouraged to try and emulate them, bankrupting our wallets and our souls in the process. Celebrity “reality” shows emphasize the wealthy, beautiful and extravagant, and make it seem a standard way of life. Most of us have middle-class incomes, middle-class homes, and middle-class values, but we have been sold a bill of goods that says we have to have the latest, greatest and least accessible. If we get these things, our lives will somehow be better—happier, more fulfilled, maybe even that least accessible commodity of all, perfect. It is very hard for someone of my generation, and the generations that follow us, to understand how privileged we already are—even without hair straighteners, HumVee limousines and personal stylists.

b) The U.S. and Britain are already fighting a war against Afghanistan and Iraq with no clear exit strategy. It hasn’t improved the economy. If anything, it has contributed to the drain on finances through a continuance of the conflict and all the attendant resources such an enterprise requires: men, machines, weapons, etc. All of these things need money, money that might be better spent taking care of, for example, veterans (who I understand have seen their benefits and government support decrease in the past decade). So war has not, and probably will not, kickstart any new industries which will add to the economy.

c) Most of the biggest North American companies have exported their manufacturing and lower-skilled jobs to India and China. At the same time, getting a university (or even a college) education has become increasingly so much more expensive. There is a potential workforce that has been spurred to believe they are too good to do “menial” labour, but can’t afford to get the kind of education that would ensure they have jobs. In past decades, that means a lot of those workers would end up in the manufacturing sector, physically producing goods and services. Now those exact jobs are in other countries. Add to this the true fact that big corporations become bigger by buying smaller and mid-size companies they would otherwise buy resources from. While it makes smart business sense to cut out the middleman, this action also results in cutting out a lot of semi-skilled jobs. As Springsteen sang in “My Hometown:” Foreman said ‘these jobs are goin’ boys, and they ain’t coming back’.

When the banks were bailed out, did they restructure to make it easier to loan money to emerging businesses and industries? No. They kept on as they had been. It was almost as if the U.S. taxes were a Wall Street slush fund. This is what has caused people to congregate in New York City and protest.

I hope things can get better, but I am not at all confident they will. Like the people in the 53%, I question the effectiveness of these protests. Unlike them, however, I know those congregated in the OWS movement are right, and they do represent my views, for the most part.

Gone

At 5:30 Wednesday morning, I held my Grandmother’s hand as she took her last breaths. Previously in the night, I had given her morphine to ease her pain, and stroked her forehead so she would know she wasn’t alone. In the moment, I had strength enough to focus on her. Now, however, I’m in and out, numb and (briefly) hysterical, amazed with the courage I was able to muster, and a little ashamed that I waited until now to tell her: “When I was small, you were everything to me. You, and the family you created, are the bedrock of my life, my identity, and my soul. I am in awe of the love, kindness and generosity you showed to every single person you met, and I’m so proud to be your granddaughter.”

I have never, since declaring myself an atheist, wanted to believe so strongly in an afterlife. I want to believe that she’s with my grandfather, helping him freeze cabbage, dancing together, and laughing at his jokes. I wish I could believe that her soul has a place to linger for eternity. It would give me some comfort. But, I am nothing if not a clear-eyed realist. Her life force lingers on only in the memories of the people who knew and loved her.

Now I have the task of writing a eulogy that I can deliver without dissolving into wracking sobs and unintelligible speech. I’m also putting together one of the photo collages. Looking at all those pictures of her as a young woman (and as an aging woman), it’s clear she was absolutely breathtaking, and I look nothing like her.

Deterioration

Grandma can no longer get out of bed. She’s not eating, and no one is forcing her to eat. They are also not fighting her about her pills, one of which she needs for her heart. They suggest she takes them, and if she wants to, great. If not, they let it go.

The long, slow crawl to death that I had anticipated is not happening. Instead, we have what seems to me to be a rapid roll downhill.

I’m not ready to let go, and that is all.

Sometimes, You Just Have To…

Here is a list of things I think everyone, at some point, just has to do. Trust me, these little pleasures can save your sanity.

1. Eat dessert first. Little treats shouldn’t be relegated to “if you finish your vegetables….” Sometimes, what you need is that little sweetness before the meal. I’m not suggesting you *make* dessert the meal, though. That’s just crazy.

2. Sing in the shower. Lots of people do this on a regular basis, but there are many others who simply do not. They should. Even if it’s just once, when no one is home, and the windows are shut. Even if you have been told you are tone-deaf (or Tone-Loc), do it. Sing in the shower. Belt out your rendition of “Think” by Aretha Franklin. (You bettah think, think what you tryin’ ta do ta me. Hey-ey-yey, think (think think)…”

3. Have your own for-one movie marathon of your favourite films. Take an afternoon off, and just watch the films no one else will watch with you anymore. I tend to have theme marathons. Last time, I watched Umberto D and Tokyo Story, back to back, then finished it off with Up. If you can guess what the theme was, you get a pat on the back.

4. Spend one day—all day—in your PJs. I think this is pretty self-explanatory.

5. Plan a trip. Even if you never get to go, a little trip daydream never hurts anyone, and keeps you looking forward.

What things do YOU think you just have to do sometimes?