I’m in Wales looking after mum while my sister, brother in law and the boys are enjoying a well earned holiday in Turkey. It’s a full time job looking after mum. You wouldn’t think an 88 year old woman could be such hard work. I don’t feel comfortable leaving her alone for long. Her falls have become more frequent and she’s very frail. She does however have a huge appetite, which is a relief. She doesn’t have an appetite for life anymore though and who could blame her? I suspect she’s in quite a lot of discomfort and perhaps some pain and I’m certain the negative thoughts are on a continuous loop.
It’s day 3. I’ve asked her every day if she wants to do anything or if she’ll come for some air. She’s got a wheelchair now but I don’t think she’s used it yet. It’s parked in the garage, waiting, wheels poised still wrapped in their protective plastic packaging, ready for action and adventure – maybe a couple of hours at the seaside and a Mr Whippy or a trip to the shops. She doesn’t seem interested though so I won’t force the issue, but I’ll offer it up every day. I think we’d have fun.
I went for a walk at midday down to the stream and felt my mood lift after 10 minutes. I feel very unsettled here and it’s hard to get any focus. I need to practice and maintain some sort of routine so I’ve bought quite a lot of stuff and it’s all over the place – nothing’s where it should be. I packed my weights of course and it was arms and shoulders this morning. Did I feel like doing them? Probably not but I’m even more determined to stay strong after seeing how mum’s ageing. It’s legs tomorrow 😮💨 but my reward will be a walk in some picturesque scenery.
Picturesque scenery
I’d walk for miles every day given half a chance. I feel slightly frustrated since Snowdon’s right there, a mere hour away. I asked earlier what time’s best for me to go out – the underlying message being what time are you most likely to fall?!! I have no idea how I’d react if she did but I’d rather be here. I purposely didn’t pack any serious walking gear to avoid the temptation of a longer walk, but the urge is there and it’s strong.
I’m so used to just thinking for myself that it can feel restrictive being responsible for another person, especially an elderly mother. There’s always something to do, even more so than when I’m at mine. Plants to water, bins to put out, animals to feed. I can’t switch off. I can’t at mine either mind you. I haven’t turned the telly on yet. I’d rather be outside. That’s my switch off zone.
I wish mum could see the magnificent hills, feel the lush grass under her feet, watch the sleepy cows grazing half heartedly in the sweltering midday sun, feel the refreshing coolness of the flowing stream water through her fanned (arthritic) fingers. Mother knows best, although she’d definitely benefit from exposure to a few rays of sunshine.
I go to her room and her head is bowed in contemplation. The osteoporosis makes her look like a table top. She went back to bed this morning. She said she still felt tired. I didn’t question it. She had a nap late yesterday afternoon while I was getting dinner ready. 5 minutes before I plated, I knocked but she was fast asleep. She stirred briefly and asked if it was time to go to work. Gulp.
It might be selfish of me but it’s made me think even more about how I want to go. If I had a choice, it’d be by heart attack halfway down Snowdon. Please 🙏
It absolutely blooming categorically definitely wouldn’t be death by cow stampede, which almost happened during my walk on Friday evening. I crossed a field on a well trodden footpath and halfway, a herd of cows took an interest in me. I walked on as calmly as I could. With a third of the field remaining, they somewhat disconcertingly gathered speed. I walked faster. So did the cows. I broke into a trot. They did too! I legged it towards the gate as fast as I could and got there by the skin of my teeth.
Day 14 – A Walk in the Snow Makes my skin glow I feel nervous at first – Will it get worse? Will I get stuck in a drift? Too much snow to shift? Does ice lie beneath? I grit my teeth I put on my warm hat And that is that.
Once I’m out There is nowt Can stop me From feeling giddy It’s all white It’s alright Don’t fight Snow’s delight
Snow’s amazing At transforming Even a mild Mannered man to a child- like state of play No more grey Clouds today May they stay away For ever and a day
I fear that this blog post may include a Rare Bit of ranting but it’s my blog so I can rant if I want to and you, dear readers can read if you want to.
So far 2020 has been challenging to say the least. I do remember easier times but I was probably very young or blissfully ignorant. Or ignorantly blissful. I’m not sure. You tell me! The year has as yet failed to deliver the bounty I’d 2020 envisioned but it’s early days I reckon. Magic takes time to brew properly.
Last week I was very unwell and had to visit my GP more times than I care to mention as well as a specialist. I don’t do ill and I rarely visit my GP as (touch wood) I don’t need to. I am very healthy and I take good care of myself but perhaps I had been pushing too hard and my body made me stop and take stock? Whatever, I am back and on fighting form this week and ready to go low before rising up. Going low is a very important part of the process, it’s a sort of obligatory review so that I can improve my performance and enjoy some good times as I embrace my creative side. I haven’t really stopped since last Thursday. A sob is brewing, as is a bloody good stomp up and down some local hills.
Does 3pm on a Wednesday mark the start of my weekend? Does my week ever end? I haven’t figured it out yet but with the shitload of notes I have to learn, it’s more a case of an hour snatched here and there and if I’m lucky, a half day.
Work has been particularly challenging recently with some repercussions arising from my illness but I’ve felt confident enough to express my concerns to the right people in the right way and matters are now contained. Working part time in a rather alien job will always be a fine balancing act and in order to give my best performance there, I have to let go of worrying about my most precious musical assets – my hands. Tonight, as I prepare mentally for 4 days of exciting new dots, stripes and indications, I look down at the paper and cardboard lacerations from dismantling the reinforced boxes I struggle to crack open and allow them time to heal. I bemoan the sore soles of my Skechered feet. I never practice on a Wednesday evening. My head’s not right never mind my body.
Did you know I have a house in Wales? Wow, that’s amazing, you may well think. Lucky bitch, you may think. Think again. It’s the first house I bought, a quaint and characterful 2 up 2 down with small cottage gardens at the front and back. I’ve been renting it out since 2007 and it helped me finance my postgraduate studies and the mortgage for the house I currently live in. The latest tenant, a creative arty type who paid 6 months rent upfront at the start of her tenancy and looked good enough on paper, has turned out to be a bit of a nutbag. She stopped paying rent properly last year and has been receiving assistance from a government body. I am owed a significant amount of money, money with which I could do a myriad of wonderful things, top of the list a proper holiday. Did someone mention Santorini? I wish! I had to take the tenant to court last month, using up my precious paid leave. More money, more expense. I quite enjoyed the court experience though, despite my concerns beforehand. It wasn’t at all like what you see on telly and I felt pleased to have someone take my side and point out the error of her ways.
Yesterday was eviction day at the Rare Bit house and you know what? She’s still there. She hasn’t budged. More hardship, more going without the small luxuries I might like to indulge in, and I’m scrimping on everyday basics I need. I’m fucked off. I’m seriously fed up. I might get to go back to court though.
I’m so fed up I’m going for a run. Running doesn’t solve my problems but it allows me to empty my head and rid myself of some of the aggressive energy I have pent up inside me. I’d like to do things to this woman which belie my kind and generous nature. You don’t fuck with Rare Bit.
I share a lot of Alain de Botton’s content on my Facebook page, somewhat selfishly as I enjoy checking his stuff out late at night after work. A lot of his work resonates strongly. Maybe we’re of a similar age. I wish he’d do a short video or write a piece called “Why do people act like arseholes?”
I finally figured out my 16 going on 17 year old cat has gone completely deaf. I googled it. Her meows have amplified in volume since Christmas. She can’t hear herself. I bloody can! She sleeps in a deep coma for hours on end and doesn’t hear me call her when she’s awake. She sounds aggrieved and frantic whenever she sees me. I’m afraid that other than an escorted walk round the block which she loves so much when the weather picks up, she’ll have to stay in to avoid being chased by dogs, cats and cars. Llwyd has always been bold, lolling in the sunshine in the middle of the street outside our house, strutting past the house at the end of the terrace with a pack of loudly barking Rottweilers enclosed behind just high enough fencing. Can’t catch me, she glares at them teasingly.
Let sleeping cats lie. Preferably on top of great music
I could moan about all my woes and make this whingeing Wednesday but I’d rather make it whoopee Wednesday which will lead to triumphant Thursday. Expression is the most important thing. Nobody wants to read about the shit you’re going through but it fucking helps to get it out in black and white. If you’re still reading, well done!
I bumped into the bin man again on my way to work today. We chatted and he said I’m always smiling. Little does he fucking know but in all honesty I feel better when I smile so fuck it. : D
Last Sunday, I played 2 solo spots in a concert I’d been looking forward to since I was invited. I had carefully chosen a programme of tried and tested pieces from my repertoire and I’d included a piece I’ve wanted to relearn properly which feels semi biographical. Illness prevented me from playing at what I felt was my best but I played the best I could have under the circumstances. Sounds like I’m making excuses and I detest that. A perfectionist with an obsession about detailed preparation, I felt more defenceless than usual in an unfamiliar situation. I winged it more than I like winging it and vowed never to play rough and ready like that again. Two days prior to the gig, I was in 2 minds about asking someone to replace me. I’d already been paid. It was like a rollercoaster ride gone wrong.
The performance was eventful to say the least but there were some special moments. It took place in a church with huge windows looking out on gardens with a labyrinth and there were snowdrops and daffodils.
Every half hour or so the heating would come on and I started sweating profusely. My harp dug her heels in and refused to stay in tune despite 3 efforts at retuning, blowing hot and cold back at me with a passion. I unwillingly refused to be seduced from my tuning efforts with a half dozen attempts by concerned individuals to ply me with tea and cake in the interval. I had to hold back on answering questions from curious members of the audience who were intrigued and fascinated by my harp. You’ll get a chance after the interval, I promised.
On stage, poised for Act 2, I got a sinking feeling when I couldn’t find my playing specs. Dashing around looking for them took almost 5 minutes but everyone was good humoured about it and I got a round of applause when I finally returned to the stage after finding them in the changing room and not with my harp, where I thought I’d left them.
My Q&A session began by spinning my harp around and asking “Have you ever seen the backside of a harp?” which prompted much gasping followed by a wave of laughter and several interesting questions. I thought my playing was poor by my standards, but my audience engagement has improved massively and I really enjoyed public speaking, maybe for the first time. The playing will follow suit for sure.
Time to run, need to work up an appetite…
I’m back! Hearing the hypnotic hoot of the owl which welcomed me as I stepped outside and seeing the moon slightly fuller than half way reflects my feelings. Problems? What problems? I don’t give a hoot anymore.
Today was a good day. I’m feeling quite insular and introverted and that’s ok. Feeling that I should do this, ought to behave like that, that I should be as people expect me to be, puts on an immense pressure. In the past, people have insinuated that I’m a bit manic at times. So what if I am? I feel things to extremes and I’m ok with that. It just seems that others aren’t ok with the times I don’t fit into their moulded expectations of how I should be. What goes up must come down, or at least hit a plateau. I have highs and lows and I’m glad of them most of the time. Heavens forbid a neutral flat line.
I spent most of the day out and about with my thoughts. There were very few moments of anxiety and by managing my time (leaving plenty of time to get to my meeting), any tension was reduced. I’m not keen on big cities these days, especially not at peak times, but I do love the indulgence of not having to sit daydreaming in my car on the motorway. Daydreaming on public transport is preferable and it’s still a novelty except in rush hour. Not much is a novelty then with the jostling of elbows and grumpy commuters.
I went for lunch on Sunday with 2 other women. I was very tired and I admit I wasn’t riveting company. I had three intentions – to be sociable, eat and leave. Apart from good food, it was a bit disappointing. I wasn’t able to engage. I don’t know these women very well and I would love to have more men in my life. I’m not a fan of smalltalk at the best of times. Spoken word is a bit of challenge. I’m a bit shy with strangers and I find it difficult to articulate my thoughts, preferring the safety and reflection of the written word. Perhaps it was fatigue, maybe it was because I’d been surrounded by sometimes deafening sounds and music on Sunday, but the conversation was like listening to white noise and I couldn’t identify with anything they were talking about. After lunch we started to meander meaninglessly around town, hovering awkwardly to watch a parade. I like to move and walk fast. The heavens opened and I politely made my excuses. Besides, I had just one more deadline that evening, and by 7.30pm, I knew I could just press the pause button.
I crave physical and emotional intimacy. I know I’m capable of feeling and sharing both these qualities and I think it’s a basic human need. We weren’t created as solitary entities. Thing is finding the right person. For me, that’s someone warm, funny and communicative with quite a lot of patience who is kind yet firm. Someone challenging yet supportive who encourages growth together. They’re out there, it’s a question of finding them. It’s an ongoing personal battle.
Reading back over this, I’m aware I sound like a right miserable c**t and nothing could be further from the truth. I have my moments. Don’t we all. I’m aware my birthday’s coming up and I’ve even started to think about Christmas. Fuck. I swear they’ll be an improvement on last year. Neither occasion was bad, just average. I want memorable please, for the right reasons.
I do miss music. I rarely listen to music at home these days, preferring the hum of my fridge and the soothing hypnotic tick tock of the clock. I can no longer justify my former refuge, my haven, my safe place. For now. I would love to make music the focal point of my world again. I miss minding the gaps between the notes. In the meantime, I’m enjoying the expressive safety of writing.
I’ve got a surfeit of excess energy tonight. Yesterday was vile, a shitastrophy, a day that would have been best spent under the duvet in my most fetching hoodie, but I embraced the challenge anyway and fought the urge to seek refuge from it all in bed. I’d been away for the weekend and HAD to catch up on some work. I eventually got some good practice done. I swear, if you’d seen me, you’d have phoned the nearest psychiatric unit. I kept bursting inconsolably into uncontrollable sobbing spells. I’d completely lost my lust for life. I bore an emotional headache from such an intense lengthy expression of emotion and its ensuing numbness. My self-talk was lamentable until my second hour of practice. Music makes everything better for me.
My gritty eyes stung and smarted in the pool. The class was the highlight of my day. It’s such a tough workout but I love the sense of solidarity within a group of women fighting the currents, swirling round in circles, gritting our teeth and squeezing our cores for dear life. Eventually pummelled into submission just after midnight, I read a few lines from Gwyneth Lewis’ Sunbathing in the Rain to accompany me into a deep slumber.
Oh!
After a busy shift, tonight my creativity is back with a vengeance. I can’t stop singing. My thoughts cascade forth and I try to harvest the cream of a copious crop, jotting each brainwave in purple, pink and white. All it takes is a simple lifeline, a straw to be clutched with both hands. A gesture. A courageously tentative question. I dared. I asked. Suddenly the world transforms. It’s a warm welcoming environment and I feel connected again. I seriously considered medication last night but it’s not a route I want to go down. I still believe that’s just sticking a plaster on, masking the wound. The problem remains. I have some important issues I need to deal with concerning my career and my personal life. It’s as simple as that. End of.
Speaking of which, I might have mentioned I’ve been dabbling in the world of online dating again. I’ve been on 4 dates so far, none of them hideously uncomfortable or mindblowingly memorable. I dispatched the first 2 candidates efficiently and gently. S was my most recent potential suitor. After some engaging messaging, I made the mistake of accepting his WhatsApp invitation. Our date in a pub in town on a Sunday evening was dull. I sensed some possible control issues when he wanted to stretch our first encounter beyond an hour before we’d even met, ignoring my fatigue following a four hour stint of playing. Despite my request to meet near my workplace that day, he insisted on sticking to his plan. I was very tired and heard myself coming out with my same old story with lacklustre delivery. I couldn’t wait to escape and cursed my fate on my drive home. I’d been swayed by his quirkiness and the fact he sent me a couple of photos of his cat, which was identical to mine other than it was a male cat with a fatter face. I think I’d have preferred to go on a date with his cat. With hindsight, I think he was too similar to me but I like to think I’m more interesting.
Wrecked
When I got back from my weekend at sea, I still felt I needed to clear the air. Before I went, he pulled me up in a message saying I hadn’t been in touch after I said I’d contact him. I had no recollection of this. I apologised and told him my head was all over the place (true) with all I had to juggle. Yesterday morning I sent him a message saying it had been good to meet him but that I just didn’t fancy him. I think he took it personally and I got quite a terse message back. Yes, I put myself in his shoes. In his position I wouldn’t have taken offence. To someone, he has been attractive, he is attractive, and will be considered attractive again. Just not to me. If someone told me the same thing, I’d take that on board and it would make it easier to move on. I’m certainly not everyone’s cup of tea. Anyway, I’m happy with the clarity and politeness of what I expressed and I’m not responsible for his reaction. I now have closure. I just wish I could delete him from WhatsApp. He’s getting lower on my list of messagees and eventually he’ll disappear into infinity. Poof. Just like that.
I love Easter. It’s one of my favourite times of year with its air of promise and misty chilly mornings that bloom into beautiful sunny days as if by magic. I’m working on Saturday night. The shop work is going well. It gives me a sense of purpose and responsibility and adds real structure to my day. There’s a new manager and with him comes a sense of freshness as he pulls things into the shape he wants. I worked harder yesterday than I have since I started in January. He offered me a miniature chocolate egg, one of those really sickly ones filled with sugar, probably about 5 teaspoons in total. I’m saving it for a crisis. I worry about my hands of course, and working milk is agonising, but if I keep to 12-16 hours a week, I should be ok.
Sunday is my day off. I’m looking forward to going with the flow, although I have a vague plan. There’s plenty to keep me distracted. There are doors to be opened and interesting new places to be explored.
Curiosity
I’ve been to a lot of pubs recently and they don’t phase me any more, except when they’re really busy and noisy. We went out and ate some amazing food on Saturday night. The cocktails and wine were flowing freely but I wasn’t tempted. The aroma of red wine is satisfyingly nauseating. We were next to a party of 20 or so and I really struggled to engage in group conversation, my ears throbbing along to the pulsating loud music and the rowdy cacophony and expressive outbursts of celebratory revellers. My efforts to transform my shell likes into pointed feline ears were useless and I remained silent for the most part. I’m a good listener in these circumstances.
I’ve got another date lined up for Friday night, with J in a local pub. He seems nice, nice smile and nice eyes but he ends each message with a BIG triple X. Our first few exchanges were simply sealed with a single smack. Silly isn’t it? Don’t worry. It’s not a dealbreaker! He asked if I’d like to eat with him. That, however, is a no no. I only eat with people I know well and feel comfortable with. I think it partly stems from seeing Cynthia Nixon on a date in Sex and the City when she wore braces, her teeth sullied with spinach. I can laugh at myself but I like to have a say about the boundaries within which I do so.
Rare Bit Blogging 