Friday, August 07, 2020


I have six crows lined up on the wire outside my window at the moment and I was reminded of that old poem I knew as a child.
One for sorrow,
two for joy,
three for a girl,
four for a boy,
five for silver,
six for gold,
seven for a secret never to be told,
eight for a wish,
nine for a kiss,
ten for a time of joyful bliss.

I don't view such things as portents but I am reminded that I can see that for the past few days that gold has sprinkled my life.

I've had so much support in your comments and personal emails. I took an entire day off and contemplated what I should do.

And the answer as midnight struck was very simple indeed: Absolutely nothing.

Why worry this person unnecessarily with my observations of deteriorating health?

It would serve no purpose whatsoever apart from adding to their already huge stress and other health issues. And what can they do?

What can I do?

Be loving and supportive and work my way around whatever presents itself. I have had practice with my dear friend Lana and prior to her with Chuck.

Staying in the moment. Counting crows. Cherishing the gold - particularly with the support I get from all of you out there. Your words meant so much in a time of terrible distress and worry.

Thank you seems hugely inadequate.

Tuesday, August 04, 2020

A Huge Worry

Sometimes, I come right up against myself and realize some hard facts.

My best friends, there were only a few, are gone from my life. The ones I could share anything with without judgement or fear, the whole guts of me. And were supportive and loving and unconditionally there in times fraught with danger and minefields and, well, terror.

A massive worry has stalked into my life in the past few days. Involving a person near and dear to me. And in morning meditation today, as this leaped in and out of my head and tended to consume me, this fact of having no one close to share this with on a one to one basis stood starkly in front of me.

My birth family doesn't deal with any kind of serious issues. Everything is a joke. They never even ask about Missing Daughter or my broken heart. They never ask about Daughter's MS which has had a huge impact on her musical talent and crafting and over all ambitions. Health issues are swept under the nearest rug. If there are any family crises, you wouldn't know. I ask about theirs but usually a stinging silence is the answer. And shunning for no reason are an MO. Dysfunction Junction rooted in abuse. Understandable when one goes through the therapy to dig it out but most have not. They are the last people on earth I would run to for comfort in a storm. As trust and unconditional love are absent. Jokes would ensue and honestly? I couldn't bear them.

My good friend R, who is a harbour in any kind of emotional turmoil has had a recurrence of liver cancer and had another operation these past few days and is still in the hospital. Doing remarkably well considering he's down to a small piece of an operating organ now.

My BFF Helen who died in 2014 would have been a solid wall with great advice and most of all love and concern.

My friend D, who died in 2016 would have gently guided me in the right direction.

Lana would have been wonderful, but she's in the throes of dementia, as is another good friend, P, who worries me.

I have many acquaintances here but even reviewing a list in my head which one I could trust and lean on comes up with zero.

Niece comes to mind but I truly don't want to burden her. She has a hugely heavy plate with young children.

I can't be more specific, I'm sorry. I wrote a journal entry just now and am so full of fear I am throwing it out here too in the hopes of alleviating some of it.

And you know? Just writing it all down, one firm harbour light comes to mind just now.

She's at a distance, but I will call her today.

Saturday, August 01, 2020

Elder Challenges

I love a good rant. I'm seeing a few of my blogbuds rant admirably in the last few days so thought to join them. We should have an annual award for the best one of the year.

First of all Home Care Health Assistance.

I'm at the stage where I need this. Not for everything. Maybe a couple of hours a week. It's a vast warren of web-links to get to the mechanics of doing this. Finally I get to the bottom line, and it's call a phone number. Why not put the effin number at the beginning of the pages of meaningless drivel, you bureaucratic morons?

So I call. But it's Covid Time, so I leave a message outlining my situation. I get a call a few days later. The nurse/helper/clerk asks a lot of questions, mainly focused on my body. Can I brush my hair, can I wash my hair, can I brush my teeth, how is my personal hygiene overall. I explain: I have seating to assist me everywhere: shower seat, sink seat, helpful bars. But the problem is, sez I, I can't stand for long periods so I need help with floors, sheet changing, dishes now and again, stove cleaning, fridge, my laundry. General tidying like dusting. Well then, sez she, we can't help you. What, sez I? I have mobility challenges! You're still maintaining personal hygiene, sez she, so that means you're fine. So, sez I, if I tell you I'm a filthy, flea-ridden encrusted old wreck I would qualify for some home care? Well, yes. So you'd rather spend several thousand dollars putting me in an assisted living
home than shell out a couple of hundred dollars a month to assist me to live on my own? Yes, that's right, by the way you sound very young, how old did you say you were? I'll be 77 in August, sez I. You sound so much younger! (Translation: you're articulate, old people are usually senile and believe my rubbish answers.). Needless to say, for you know me well, I am not resting quietly and going away.

Secondly Toyota. Yes again.

My car is wobbling. There's only 20Km on her so fairly new. I had the tire people check to make sure it wasn't the tires. They said it's brakes. She was left out in all sorts of weather for weeks (months?) on end, rust probably. Thank you Covid. I phoned my dealer. Appointment for August 31. What? sez I have an unsafe vehicle, under warranty, I'm supposed to lurch around the city for another 5 weeks? You could bring her in at 7.30 a.m. and wait and see if we have any gaps or cancellations. Oh, sez I, pack a lunch, bring a couple of books, my trusty George (my cane), and wait all day to see if you have the good grace to serve me at some point or not? With my mask on and my sanitizer spraying everything? And to keep coming back every day haunting the place until I get lucky enough to get my crippled car seen to? I didn't pull the age and mobility card.

Yeah, privileged to have these problems, but seriously? I'm not built for these battles anymore. Does life get easier? No, it gets more fraught with absolute effin moronic stupidity.