Sunday Selections

Joining with many others in this feast of forgotten, overlooked and meaningful photos. Here are some participants: River is one, Andrew is one.  Messymimi is one. Kylie  is another. Drop in to their blogs and have a look.

I love my indoor garden. These orchids are a constant source of joy as they take turns blooming. This one has 8 more buds and the blooms last as long as 3 months.

Dinner dropped off by a caring friend during the week. I am forever grateful to those who understand my frequent (far too) immobilizations and endeavour to cheer me. And they do. Food is such a visible expression of love.

I keep this prettily framed photo of my last four-legged companion, Ansa, on my desk. You can see the love in her eyes here. She was a never ending source of inspiration to me. A beloved rescued border collie and constant companion.

This is part of the tiny fishing village of Quidi Vidi (pronounced kiddy viddy) which is part of the city of St. John's near my home. An enchanting wee place.

This is a drone view.

Have a good week all.

 

Balance

 It's hard to maintain a balance in life, especially once we get older. I believe, also, that the advancing years can make us more impatient, more immediate in demands, more hurt by invisibility and lonelier as dear ones die.

I remember being at a gathering many years ago where we were asked individually what troubles we carried into the room. And we all got very honest and shared exactly what we were worried or grieved or in grief about.

And at the end of the evening we were all asked what troubles we would exchange with anyone else in that big room. And the answers were we would prefer to keep our own, thank you very much. Incredibly revealing.

It reminds me also of our human habit of comparing our insides to someone else's outsides. "They look happy all the time, what not me?" being a classic. Many project happiness and carry sorrow within. I know I've done it.

I remember this jolly older man, always joking, a little flirty and one time he shared with me that all three of his sons had committed suicide over the past 10 years. Yet there he was, doing his best, getting on with it and probably crying into his pillow at night. Books and covers come to mind and speaking of......

I'm reading this wonderful biography of an actor I've always admired. And he is a classic example of being wretched for years and wearing a sense of uselessness and stupidity (reinforced by his father) and letting that define his persona. How he surmounts many challenges is inspiring.

I took this photo out my living room window tonight. the white bit at the top of the pictures is an overhang of snow from the roof above, dangling like a canopy.

And finally a pic of my supper, one I make frequently as it is so easy. A tortilla in a pie plate, throw in 3 eggs and some cottage cheese, whisk,  add layer of spinach leaves and chopped red pepper, cover in shredded cheese (I use parmesan) and bake in preheated oven 425 degrees for 20-ish minutes, depending on the cottage cheese amount. Does me two meals. It reheats well in the oven. Micro would make it too wimpy.

So there you go.

I suddenly feel useful.

Blog Jam: Music.

I was playing this album for the umpteenth time today and had this heart stopping moment when I realized I fell in love with it 55 years ago!!

Which got me thinking of other songs, other albums other earth shaking moments of music. 62 years ago I heard this. I was 19. A man (boy?) I dated for a while (oh what a handsome fellah, from Liverpool, attending our university in Cork) who gave me a copy of this from one of his friends, John Lennon, from around the corner from his home). A brand new sound, no idea of the upcoming fame to come.

And then the song my father sang me every night (I was an only child for a while) and I loved it and still do. I am sure I drove him mad, night after night. "Singie Kacky, Daddy" was my first complete sentence. The song was "I'll take you home again, Kathleen".

And oh my God, when I was searching for it on line I found this: Elvis Presley sang his own version of it. WT...?

But this fellow below does a version very close to my father's, he was a fine tenor, my dad. Frank Patterson. Very pure. over 80 years ago when I heard this song first.

For Don: The Real Meaning of Christmas.

Don will never read this. He is basically fairly illiterate. He comes from a very well do to family who have given up on him through many rehabs, handouts, and giving up between bouts of giving in.

When he lived here I gave him the odd job of cleaning off my car from snow and ice. And doing a fine job if it was in the mornings, which it usually was. And gave him the odd handout and then stopped realizing I was enabling him. He often took my garbage out to the big bin and I'd slip him a five. If he was passing, he took my groceries up from my car. There was a great kindness in him. Sometimes he refused a tip, waving me off.

Unfortunately, or fortunately, his behaviour when he was drunk with other tenants in the community rooms was often aggressive and confrontational and threatening. Too many times. So his tenancy was terminated. And the management found him another placement in a building they have for troubled and addicts. He was brokenhearted leaving here, last September. But most of those who were involved in community activities were relieved. Understandably.

I open my door today and in the hall with my boots was a stuffed green bag and a card.

From Don.

It was packed to the brim with either gifts he had been given - warm gloves, a beanie, socks, soaps, deodorant, toothpicks, toothpaste, toothbrush, or freebies from motel rooms. You get the picture. Small packages of treats, a travel kit.

And I broke down and cried. 

This is one of the the most wonderful gifts I've ever been given. And as I write this, I'm still bawling my eyes out. The time, the effort, the lovely card, his access to our building. His walk from where he lived.

He had no way with words did Don. He was a pretty broken man from the booze and whatever pain he suffered in his life. I will never forget him.

You're a star Don. And a gentleman. And you will never know it.

"The Holidays"

 .....As we used to call this time. The time of "Santy", the time of anticipation, a mad excitement infecting all of us - as children, then as parents, and, if lucky, as grandparents.

I was chatting with a dear friend this morning when it struck us both that these feelings are now absent. I said, and meant it, I think I'd prefer if I was alone, to savour some memories, to play my own music, to not worry if I am unable to leave the family parties early as I don't drive at night, to just work on making myself smaller, more invisible in the excitement around me. To forget, if I can, the constant pain punching in my back lately which makes me sleep deprived and balancing pain meds so I don't zombie out but find that delicate balance of pain reduction while still being alert.  

I received a lot of cards but didn't have the energy to send out any this year. I become stingy with meting out my energy, some days I use it only for medical appointments, this past week it was a sleep management expert and a calibration of my home BP kit which was reflecting high BP for the past couple of months but at the clinic was proved false. I'm within normal for my age and condition.

I miss the old guard of my friends, now passed on or in brain deterioration of some kind. One in terrible depression. 

I tried to keep up with Grandgirl who stayed with me for a few days. She is wonderful company and we "Swifted" out together watching the Taylor Swift documentary. If I were younger, I would be one of those mad fans at her concerts. Maybe I could get an obliging young 'un to push me in a wheelchair? Worth a thought, right?

So a selection of random photos to Celebrate Sunday Selections and to remember dear Sue, what an awful loss. She lives on in so many of us.

A  "boreen"  (little road) from West Cork, Ireland. Undated. Taken about 20 years ago.

Another one of a boreen on Sherkin Island that I took. I had frameable prints made of this for all my siblings. John Willie was the famous ferryman who was drunk quite a lot and assigned a passenger to take his boat over to the island. At the age of 13 I was so designated one night. In a storm.

A view from the front of my building where you can see both the lake and the ocean in the distance.

May the season be kind to you and those you love and the coming light dispel any darkness or distress.🌲❄️🎅

Choices

 A longish post dear readers but I could have tripled the size. Count your blessings 🤣💕

Peter Paul and Mary sang it best. "We are only one river."

One can make the most of it or the worse of any situation. Choice, I know is a facile word. And sometimes overwhelming situations remove the luxury of choice.

I’m in that mode where I find I shut myself off from the old protestations of others’ entrenched, harmful positions on race and emigration and the othering of peoples they don’t even know and if presented with an opportunity, would turn away in disgust.

When such people are in your own circle it makes things challenging for an old woman, whose voice is often discounted. Who is basically invisible to most now apart from her own generation who often sigh, accept the inevitability of aging and keeping their mouths shut just get on with it

Old hippies should simply fade away. We should stop spouting tolerance or compassion or empathy for those “others”.

And mother of god shut up about that wokey stuff.

I have learned most from talking to strangers. From my brave delivery people who bring in my groceries, clean my home, deliver my medications, take my laundry and return it pristine and folded. Some are young. Some are refugees from appalling war-zones, starvation and threat. Eking out a living in a new country, struggling with English, hoping for a better life, taking menial jobs. One I have been blessed to know is from a “shithole” country as the Fat Felon likes to call them. He is taking classes, drives for DoorDash in his cousin’s car, shows off with his carrying of multiple bags to my home, balancing a coffee cup in the other hand, making me laugh. I always tip these wonderful helpers extra. A tiny boost along the way. What did you leave behind I ask them. "lady, you don't want to know" is a common response.

You see, I was an immigrant myself, I struggled in a new country, learning Canadian English, very different from the Hiberno-English I was brought up in. Learning completely different accounting systems from library books. Trying to fit in and knowing now how lucky I was to be white.

Immigrants, no matter the country, are NOT a monolith. They are never the same religion, race, sex or sexual orientation. They have the same desires and hopes I had. And many of the same reasons I left Ireland in 1967.

To “other” immigrants is to tell more about yourself than any self declaration of “I’m not a racist, but...” or ”you can’t tell a good immigrant from a bad immigrant.” Well, the same applies to any human, buddy, white, brown or black or mixed. It applies to you when you spout hatred and intolerance as if it’s normal discourse.

Choices.

We must always choose kindness.

We are only one river.

Stuffs

A 10 year old photo from where I used to live right on the bay. I love the sky and the reflections of the boats.

I always like the way Andrew says "Stuffs" referring to minor tasks or items and have used it now in family settings. It's far, far better than the singular "stuff". Apologies to so many of you for what Blogger does to your comments. I just went through Blogger Jail and rescued so many of your comments on my blog which were trashed without rhyme nor reason - many of you frequent bloggers. I will try and make an effort to make this part of my routine now - checking the blog comments. 

As to other stuffs, I've been busy writing an article for a magazine based in England. It's about my mother's experience with birthing which was an absolute hell of a torturous experience for her. More on that later.

The other bits of writing is my own memoir of a period in my life where the participants and identifiers are now all passed on so I am free to write about it.

More is editing of a anthology which is hard going. Some of the writing is great, others not so much and requires far too much extensive editing. And this I find exhausting and maddening which is not good for my innards.

I waited and am waiting today for a call from my nephrologist to follow up on recent lab work. Nada. Already an hour has gone by and here I am, trapped, writing the blog, neglecting leaving as I have my own on line lab-work results in front of me and I have a myriad of questions on the line items ticked for "not normal". I imagine elders (and I have anecdotal evidence) are shoved aside in a stretched health care system that focuses on the more viable of its patients.*

I am reading Richard Flanagan, an Australian author I have fallen in love with. His writing is superb.

Question Seven was my introduction

And now I am reading The Narrow Road to the Deep North.

I hope to read all of his oeuvre. At times he is lyrical. 

________________________________________________________________

*update she did call and apologised for delay. Amongst other stuffs I have to go to hospital for more blood infusions. I've been struggling with exhaustion and putting it down to old age. Relieved it's not that.

Sibling Time

I'm the eldest, in the middle, with baby sister on my lap, surrounded by my four brothers.1959.

We come together from 4 different time zones every Sunday afternoon and have been doing this for nearly 6 years. We never miss. We tune in from cars, from parking lots, from beaches, from cabins, from little nooks in our homes away from everybody else. We are siblings.

The conversations lasts for hours. You'd think 6 people would have run out of topics, out of conversation. Some of us quietly get served dinner or lunch or a snack by spouses or grandchildren who tiptoe away quietly knowing this is a sacred, private time for the 6 of us.

We were six siblings, now we are 5. We lost our third eldest in November last year from cancer. It broke us all for a while. So 5. We changed the name of our group to his name.

We go on Zoom religiously for this weekly meeting and check each other out, talk of health, talk of childhood, talk of memory and challenges. 

It was fairly uptight when we started, little deep or personal sharing but as the years swept onwards, there are no holds barred and often we go on our private WhatsApp during the week too if things are getting a bit rough with one of us. We are carrying the fifth born of us at the moment with a rare form of cancer he has been diagnosed with. He had an operation last Friday. 

We have the odd political disagreement but are secure, very secure, in the knowledge that we care deeply for each other and are there through thick and thin.

We don't talk about how extraordinary this is. But we have said to each other we have come a long way in getting to this place of peace and love and harmony. Something that would have been impossible to imagine even a decade ago. There were mini-alliances within our sibling framework and a lot of petty infighting and yes, jealousies and failures. Magic like this doesn't happen. It is work and consciousness and someone breaking the mould of silence and secrets.

But we did it. We now trust each other without reservation. And look out for each other in thick or thin.

I feel blessed.

Shopping for Non-US products

 

Some of you may not be aware that when Trump launched his trade war on Canada there has been a huge rebellion in Canada on travelling to the U.S. and buying U.S, products here. Some I know are disposing of their US real estate and refusing to travel through the US to countries elsewhere. Usually inconvenient but nevertheless adhered to.

Canada is not a flag-waving country nor into the jingoism that characterises some countries. But there's a fierce patriotism nevertheless.

I feel for my dear US friends who suffer from this embargo but they understand our rage. Tourism and exports have been massively affected in the US. Hotels and inns are shuttering and other businesses (Liquor, farms, etc.) similarly affected. 

We are their biggest trading partner and it must hurt.

Meanwhile our prime minister is trotting around completing trade agreements with other countries.

I offer you this:

Mandarins from Spain (along with orange juice) - a huge deficit for Florida.

Many of us now buy only  cereal made in Canada. Goodbye Kelloggs.

Ketchup made in Canada. Goodbye Heinz.

And these heavenly biscuits (cookies) made in Australia. Real chocolate, organic. Note most US"chocolate" is actually "chocolate flavoured" whatever the hell that is.

I'm also noticing that everything I buy is much tastier, more flavourful, less sugar. Shelves are clearly marked in grocery stores and on line. "Canadian Made or Canadian sourced.|"

But for my US readers, I wish you this for your Thanksgiving. Fervently. With love.

Wealth

I've been meaning to write about this for quite a while. With some distance between my thoughts from then to now.

In my very long career as a business consultant (financial planning, corporate and personal tax services, management, controller) I was involved with many millionaires. Supreme wealth of the yacht, race horses,  multiple homes in multiple countries types. Some were in media, others in industry, some in entertainment.

And I have to say the majority of these self made millionaires were very smart but incredibly selfish. They gave little to charity and had the utmost contempt for those who were in poverty or struggling. They resented any kind of social programmes, calling all who availed of them welfare bums. If they could make it, anyone could. But people were lazy, holding their hands out, watching TV, smoking and drinking beer all day while everyone else slaved to support these layabouts.

All of them inspired their underlings to accommodate their every whim whether through unpaid overtime or in a couple of cases manage their personal life styles as well. As examples of that I will offer assuring their wives they were off to Bermuda on a last minute business trip with a Russian financier when, in fact, they were off with the latest blonde. Or managing personal bank accounts with pay-offs (read blackmail) to ladies of the night or some unexpected results of a one night stand, or obscure payoffs to foreign bankers for looking the other way.

I was privy to many business conferences with tables of millionaires eating caviar and drinking champagne for lunch. In my younger and more foolish days, I wallowed in the reflected glow of being around these people, dropping their names casually into conversations, sharing my benefits of desirable theatre seats or visits to television show sets. It had an infectious quality to it all. I realize, in hindsight, how absolutely obnoxious I must have been in my champagne coloured Mustang with my matching business suit. I was at all the important meetings, taking notes for my boss, reviewing different financial statistics with him in consultation with the others, acquiring more assets, disposing of others.

In chatting with a multi-millionaire one night at one of those exclusive steak houses that didn't even have a name out front, I asked the question: when does anyone have enough money, adding it was a serious question. My companion repeated the question to the entire table, about 8. The response was laughter, genuine laughter.

My dear, said one, down the table from me, there is never enough, there is always more.

More laughter followed - me, to my shame, joining in.  

And there you have it, dear reader, now you can understand the Trumpian World.

Miscellany

Something not talked or written about much is the challenge of pulling oneself together after grief. And there's no time line allotted to grief, is there? It takes as long as it takes. Often it's delusional. We think we're adjusting nicely after, oh whatever length of time, and bam, it hits again out of the blue, a memory triggered by something small, something large, an old song, a beloved poem, a photo falling out of a book, a bookmark. And it knocks the breath out of the body. 

Another friend died during the past week and I feel a little suspended in time. Well, a lot. Little projects swept aside, a commissioned article I am unable to start, an editing job sitting in my files. I didn't know her very well but enough to like her when our paths crossed. She was outspoken and opinionated on her politics. And like myself, had no time for small talk. So we clicked. If we lived in the same province we would have made the friendship closer. Cancer is taking a lot of us. Frightening. Even for the so-called "clean" livers, the hikers, the vegetarians, the "honour the bodies".

I drank and smoked like a fiend for years. And yet here I am, cleaned up and sober now, and surveying the wreckage of other lives taken far too soon. The ones who would gently lecture me about my "unsustainable" habits, my "out of controlness."

I don't know why I'm jotting down these random thoughts here and now. But I'm happy, in a weird way, that the writing muse has struck me tonight in these ramblings. And maybe it will ignite the unfinished reams of writing around me.

I go through my bloglist now and it's looking mighty slim. I have an RIP section and it startles me as to the number on it. My old blogmates. Some vanish with no reason, some let us know. One sent out a bunch of postcards to us a week before she died with her photo on the front. 

But I wouldn't have missed the ride in blogland for the world and hope to continue and more frequently.

As I picked up my daughter from the airport I was astonished to see 3 RCMP officers on horseback, casually riding by my car as I waited. You will have to embiggen. 

Sunday Selections

Scattered shots. I'll dive into my vast trove of photos and see what comes up.

I will go to Sue's funeral tonight via live streaming, 10.30pm my time Saturday night which is noon Sunday time in Canberra. I find it so hard to get my head around this time difference.

These so-called "dog roses" grow on the hedges and even on the beaches here. Their scent is out of this world. They are not native to here.They originally came from Ireland in the 18th century along with forget-me-nots which also grow wild here.

A picture of me on a casual picnic with my parents when I was 3 years old. Note how formal people dressed then. 1946.

Sunset sky from my favourite local beach, Middle Cove.

An old photo of the world's best girl, my beloved Ansa, who loved to pose.

Sunday Selections

Joining with others on Sunday Selections. This week I took my friend who has dementia out a few times. She loves to get out and looks forward to the places I take her. I am aware that she never, in the past, went out to sight-see or partake in any kind of visits to nearby beaches or harbour views. But she shopped every day for fresh food when she had a car.

She exclaims over and over that she has never seen such sights and she is inspired and serene when with me. I am delighted for her. I took a few shots when we were out, all around St. John's Harbour.

I love the reflections on the water.

My friend's sweater matched the paint on the wharf

A view of part of the city. An area called The Battery.

There were a couple of cruise ships in on the other side but I couldn't quite capture a good shot.

Loss

Losses are painful and all part of living. At times it's the small things that hit the hardest. I check my emails every morning and the one I looked forward to the most is missing. And will be forever. And fresh tears leak. I know that too, will diminish in time. I tracked down this post I made when another died. It helped then and it helps me now. For all those who miss her and those who have suffered more than their share in the past year. I'm thinking also of my dear brother who died last November and I think of, especially, Andrew and Kylie

On those days when you miss someone the most, as though your memories are sharp enough to slice through skin and bone, remember how they loved you.
Remember how they loved you and do that, for yourself.
In their name, in their honour.
Love yourself, as they loved you.
They would like that.
On those days when you miss someone the most,
love yourself harder.

Author : Donna Ashworth

 

Miscellany

 

A photo I took the other day of a spot near my podiatrist's office. Sometimes I catch sight of the ferry here which goes back and forth to Bell Island. I was entranced by the skyscape meeting the seascape.

Bell Island Ferry.

An unusual personality test which hit me square in the noggin last week. Normally I avoid such "tests" but this one was irresistible. I recommend.

You are a Mad Scientist

POSITIVE AFFECT: 36
NEGATIVE AFFECT: 20

You’re a Mad Scientist! This means that you have high positive and negative affect, or, put another way, you tend to feel both positive and negative emotions deeply. Everything is awesome or everything is terrible, depending on your mood.

This leads to a cascade of good qualities: Mad Scientists usually are highly extroverted, passionate about their interests, deeply curious, and relentless seekers. We often see this profile in CEOs, entrepreneurs, consultants, and all types of adventure-seekers who travel for their jobs. But this affect profile does come with costs.

In other events, I was startled to get a call from a random woman I met in a grocery story a week or so ago, and had about an hour's conversation with. To make a long story short, she tracked me down and called me and asked if I could meet her for coffee. Which I did. Three and half hours later we realized we have known each other forever. Our lives were linked in so many ways as were uncountable. This is highly unusual at any age but in our elder years completely astonishing. And yes, we are meeting again. I hadn't realized with so many of my friends gone to stardust that I desperately needed something like this. 

And my heart is with our dear darling blogger friend Sue who has undergone so much in the last few months. I view her as a very dear friend and we have exchanged daily emails for years. The void of her absence now leaves a gigantic hole in my life and I'm sure in all of her readers' lives also.  She is one of a kind.

What Happened?

 A month slid out from under me. These things happen. I am miserly with my energy these days. I need it for the things of life which would be but a blink in the old days but now take up a fair bit of time. A lot has happened, it always does. And stuff I should be doing   must do gets shovelled out of the way "for now" and stuff I have positively no interest in doing but get sucked into, gets half-heartedly started and abandoned. Time wasting. Unforgiveable when one gets to my massive age. Old habits die hard.

But I got myself a new computer, a swish, sparkling white, 27" screen beauty with a matching keyboard. And oh the difference. My old one, which owed me nothing, had a fading, uncertain screen, which nearly made me blind but in the habit of my people, I clung to her, praying she would collapse and die and alleviate guilt in getting a new shiny effort, well she didn't. Die completely. But I bit the bullet. And voila! Only thrilled. And wondering why I didn't do it sooner. I had set the money aside for such a purchase.

Meanwhile I struggled with a task I offered to assist a friend with.  God knows why. She has abused our "friendship" in the past and does not respect the work I do but demands more and more (unpaid). I wrestled with my own people pleasing personality in an effort to disentangle myself from the mess she I had created which boiled down to the fact that I did not need her as a "friend" and my brain busied itself with how I would bail out. For good. And I should mention also, I was her counsellor in all sorts of messes she put herself in. And then I landed, after a few days of much too much mulling, on the excuse of "lack of energy" which is the truth. I do not have energy for her vampire sucking. And I do not have to be specific. But gently let her slide off into a state of 'be well and prosper' without me. Phew. Done and dusted.

Meanwhile, my indoor garden cheers me no end. It lifts my spirits every single day.

And I will get on with the stuff that pleases me now. More on that later.

 

Blog Jam

 With our prime minister Carney looking towards helping with the "Golden Dome" costs, the gangster in the White House is planning his "doming" of North America. I am disgusted with this capitulation - as capitulation it is.

I fired off this email to our PM just now:

Please stop the nonsense with the Golden Dome. The gangster-fascist in the white house will demand more and more from Canada.  And you are going to allow him to surveil the owners of this country - Canadian Citizens? I elected you to defend Canada not to concede our sovereign rights to this Mafia Boss.

Please STOP. We all know he can't be trusted with our wallets, our children, or our sovereignty.

I feel a bit better and am joining a lot more in defending our sovereign country from this latest fiasco from what used to be the republic south of us.

Along with many other countries we now have wildfires burning out of control near where I live. The skies blur out, the sun blazes on.

https://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/newfoundland-labrador/nl-fire-aug-11-1.7605635

No rain for a couple of week and none forecasted until maybe Wednesday. Wells are running dry in many parts. Huge fines are put in place for outdoor fires of any kind or even walking through a forest. Naturally the same crowd of anti-maskers are now outraged about their "liberties". My question always is: please tell me how to tell the bad guys from the good guys?

The book I read a few years back is proving remarkably prescient.

On a lighter note:

I saw this wee bunch of common, ordinary clover under my feet the other day and it lit a tiny flame of hope in my heart for some reason.

And I just finished this incredible book of essays by one of my favourite writers of all time.  "My Three Fathers" is a great read along with so many other essays. She pulls you right into her life with tears and laughter.

Friday Funnies

 Following Andrew's example I offer you two:

And this is self-explanatory to any Irish person out there.

Heart Breaking

 

Our hearts can break in so many ways over the years, can't they? Heart breaking is an odd term. A heart can't break, unless it's a heart attack, not emotionally triggered. Though interestingly, the pain can be located near the heart or clench the stomach or go painfully silent with shock as in a brain freeze.

My freshly demented friend came up to my apartment the other night. Her phone wasn't working and she was in pieces.

It turns out it needed a pin number to fire it up. And she had tried many times with various numbers to do so until it shut her down for too many failed attempts. I was "the genius" who could sort it out for her.

I told her we would have to wait 2 hours to try again and I could make coffee and to please tell me the pin number so I could open it for her then. She looked at me, baffled. I wanted to burst into tears. Once upon a time, she was a marketing manager for a large firm, handling government contracts. Three years younger than I.

I said we can't open it without your pin. Please try and think of the four digit number.

Blank. She wanted to access her bank app and had brought all the gear with her, blank cheque, bank card, note from her bank giving her a temporary password to access the app which telegraphed she had had a similar issue with the bank app.

Use that, she instructed me. I said no, this had a long alpha numeric sequence and all we needed for the pin was four numeric digits to get into the phone itself. She read off this bank password again. I jogged her by telling her, her date of birth, her daughter's date of birth?

"I can't remember those!" she laughed.

Maybe tomorrow take the phone to the place where you bought it? I suggested, they could probably crack into it for you?

"I don't want them in my bank account" she huffed.

Slowly I explained to her the difference between accessing the phone itself and accessing the bank app. She smiled at me as if I were a half-wit shaking her head.

And I despaired. I am totally at a loss that I was never at with L my friend who also descended rapidly into dementia and has been in a care home for several years.

I honestly can't believe how rapidly S has descended. 

I phoned her the following day and she had absolutely no recollection of the hours she had spent with me the night before. I said, your phone is fixed? "What?"she said,"It's not broken."

It's frankly terrifying. And I'm lost as to how to help.

Edit: Added later

Tonight, she buzzed me on my intercom and arrived in my apartment with a brand new phone (!!). Her granddaughter had set up the new phone and wrote down the passwords but NONE worked. I think her phone provider has scammed her by selling her a new phone. And her granddaughter should know better and have tested the passwords before releasing her into the wild. Needless to mention I don't have her granddaughter's phone number and neither does S with her phone not working.

Stalemate and I'm exhausted. She stayed about an hour but she can't keep track of any conversation. Even a minute later. She wants to return the new phone fpor "not working". I'm hoping her family are realizing she is seriously cognitively impaired. 

Small Things and Twisty Backs

 As you know I've got a bad back (stenosis) my age and surgery are not a good match for any kind of "cure" which is a 50/50 proposition at best. It all started with a bad (very stupid) fall on thick ice. Right on the cocyx and skull and another ambulance trip as, bingo, concussion. Evidently I was hilarious in my nonsense spouting but no record exists, unfortunately.

Today I twisted my already unhappy back so that I am now walking around in a U-shape. I attended a meeting I couldn't miss today looking enfeebled (great word) which was interesting in the others' treatment of me - as if I was a half-wit. Which brings home what most disabled feel when they are ALWAYS treated like imbeciles, as if deafness, blindness or a wheelchair can make your IQ drop 100 points. Most disturbing. And humbling what we take for granted being upright.

I took a few photos around my apartment to make me feel a little better. The small things in life, I tell ya, are all that really matter.

First this was a bud yesterday:

And then today it was this:

And a surprise second blooming from this:

The joys these wee babies give me know no bounds.

What are your "small things?"