It never ceases to amaze me when people say, very condescendingly I fear, that a poor person or a disabled person 'cannot afford to keep pets'. In the case of the poor person, they are making a judgement call to the effect that the animal is a luxury item. In the case of the disabled, that the responsibility is too much.
Well, I say to all those spurious arguments, because they ARE spurious, that very often the pets are the only reason that the individual continues to struggle through life. Pets give one a sense of purpose as well as fairly unconditional love, something that often is lacking within the family circle even, Yes, family members do love one, but their love always carries judgements with it. Very few people recognise the ability of another to decide upon priorities and to be fully qualified to take charge of his/her own life where something like a pet is concerned. Whether the person is simply jealous (giving love to something or some one else)i or not an animal lover himself or herself or whatever the reason, it is one area where criticisms abound.
When I had to go into the hospital, knowing that I would not be able to take care of the Putti for some time afterwards, there were those who were quick to tell me I shouldn't have them any longer, as though one simply could jettison living creatures who loved me and depended on me and who, moreover, were extremely vital to my own spiritual and emotional welfare.
It has been three months since my first operation... two months since they discovered the blood clot and cancelled the second operation. I only now am beginning to be able to go downstairs to take care of the Putti.
I cannot get into a bath yet. I cannot sleep in my bed as I cannot mount or dismount from it as it were. The stairs to go upstairs to the bedrooms are far steeper than those that go downstairs to the Puttis' Hall of Mirrors home.
There still is no way to reach the floor in my condition. It was only when Freya finally bought plastic crates to raise the litter boxes about a foot off the ground that I became able to clean them. There are chairs or some sort of perch for me throughout the room so I can sit to clean them. It still is a brutal business as the pain is tremendous. The left hip worsens on a daily basis. The right is recovering slowly from the operation but remains very stiff and the leg, ankle and foot swell after any activity, whether from the blood clot, the blood thinner or simply results of having a prosthesis in there unclear to even the 'experts'. So little really is known about any of it. They are all guessing, based on the experience of others in the last decade or two. We are guinea pigs, no more and no less. I know that.
When I enter the Hall of Mirror, Pumpkin immediately begins to howl loudly and goes not stop throughout the time I am there, unless I have him on my lap. I did not understand it at first. He hid from Freya for almost two months and then emerged from his 'cave' only to hiss at her. It was only when I reappeared finally that he began to stay out of his cave and vocalise.
It hit me this morning: he is complaining about my absence of over two months! He never had a chance to let me know how he felt until now, so I must tolerate this verbal abuse until he realises he is loved and that I could not have deserted him voluntarily. The sad part is that, when they all have become accustomed to me being back on the job, I probably will be able to have the second operation and then will be absent from my little ones again!
I have to say that I have missed them all terribly. Sitting here in the recliner, knowing they were separated from me only by a flight of stairs yet as inaccessible as if they were on the Moon was HORRIBLE. I used to limp to the fireplace to call down to them, hoping they would hear as I used to be able to hear them from that vantage point once in awhile. I would call down my endearments, but never received a verbal response. Perhaps it simply confused and bewildered them, the disembodied voice of their 'humble servant' like a ghost or spirit from another world.
I do know that I push myself relentlessly for their sake and not much else at this point in time. The pain is horrible but I know they need me. Would I be so determined if I did not have them? I rather doubt it. The delay of the second operation with the pneumonia and blood clot really hit me hard. I cried for two days when no one was looking. I had had such hopes of being able to MOVE properly again, to WALK... and here I am, two months later with my left leg almost unusable still.
People were really kind after the operation but as the months passed, I no longer receive visits for the most part, except for the mandated visits from the home care people. I hope to God they will be able to clear me for the operation at the end of October....
If they do, it will be a mixed blessing as it will occur close to Christmas, virtually making it impossible to trim a tree or perform the little traditions and rituals dear to my heart. Freya won't do any of it. She has made that clear. I want to go out for a little Tree BEFORE the operation. I would like another small Blue Spruce, a live one. If it is in a pot, it can be watered and should live through the season and, one hopes for many years afterwards. My current tree died while I was in hospital... no one thought to water it. A host of plants almost died Some actually died, but the tree could not be revived. Although I made my feelings about it clear, no one has removed it from the corner of this little office that is my temporary domicile. It is in the corner, a vivid reminder of Death. I had to ask my Home Care helper to aid me in the disposal of all the flowers from the hospital finally... no one else thought it important enough to deal with it. I reached a point where i could not bear to be surrounded by DEATH, even if they were only dead flower arrangements. Now it is the wrong time of year for living plants. I never liked mums or any of the daisy type of flower for some reason and that is all that is being sold now. Someday perhaps I will have an orchid. No one ever bought me one and they were too dear for me to buy for myself in good conscience. I would love a flowering plant that would survive through the winter.
I do understand Freya though. When I was her age, I was not terribly interested in gardening or plants other than the 'witch's garden' of forbidden, poisonous plants that forever has fascinated me. In those days, it was impossible to find THOSE plants for the most part, especially where I lived. Now I could have Aconite, Angel's Trumpet and all the other traditional herbs and flowers, for this is the right climate for them and many nurseries exist now for plants formerly referred to as 'weeds'.
Wednesday, September 21, 2016
Sunday, September 4, 2016
Any Place but Here
Today is my birthday. Perhaps... and this is a common myth, special occasions like birthdays should have less and less significance and one, having 'grown up' or perhaps simply grown weary, should not care if it is a horrid, horrid day.
I am not a person who ever could believe that birthdays are nothing speial. Whether celebrated by any one else, they remain a day dedicated to the simple fact of your being, of your being on this earth, having arrived on a specific day and a specific time, and having been given a specific name.
It is not gifts but surely when you see a person or are in the same house as a person, is it not positively churlish not to wish him or her a happy birthday or many happy returns or somehow give a message of goodwill? Otheriwse, in my view, you are going out of your way to make that person miserable and to make that person feel small and insignificant. I would not do that to my worst enemy on his/her birthday. I think that the chivalrous thing to do, nurtured as I was on 'The Three Musketees' and other 19th century books of that nature, to wish that person a very Happy Birthday before I ran him through with my sword.
Well, that is the old-fashioned code of chivalry or, dare I say it, simple common courtesy or good manners. I wonder sometimes how I ended up here with these stoic people who lack those common good manner. Odd how the landscape and land itself feels almost homelike to me, so much like England, and yet how the people are an almost alien race, and especially the men.
When I first moved here and was invited to some one's Thanksgiving dinner, I was absolutely horrified the their custom of feeding the men first, seating the men together and the women separately, women endlessly SERVING the menfolk and scurrying about to serve them better. Not the way I was raised! I tried to laugh it off to some extent, but it still strikes me as utterly wrong and utterly uncivilised. This is the land of beer amd sports, where women are silent when men are watching some sort of game or another on the telly... only seen when a beer or snack is commanded.
I suppose then I should not be surprised at this birthday of mine. If I am very determined, I should be able to shut my eyes and will myself elsewhere. i imagine one of my favourite cathedrals first or even a small jewel of a Church. Take me to St. Mary's Church near Cadogan Square in London or the Miracoli in Venezia.
Oddly enough,, it is not what I see when my eyes are open when I am in one of these sacred places dear to my soul but the very essence of it, the rather dusty perfume, the sense of lightness of being, ages in layers upon layers as light as a feather and yet redolent of time's passing and of history.
I love the smell of those old churches of Europe. The churches in the States do not possess it, possibly because they do not burn candles and incense from century to century or they simply are not old enough. The old California Missions probably are the oldest churches in the States and they possess a little of the soul of an ancient church of Europe.
I could go farther back in time to Ravenna, to the mosaic-clad Churches there. Such glittering glory, like being inside a begemmed casket. I was awestruck when I first saw them as a young girl. And the Christ of Ravenna, blonde and cleanshaven, handsome... much more to my taste than the dour, dark bearded representations on which I had been raised. He was a Greek God, the Christ of Ravenna, a flawless Sacrifice in the tradition of Dionysos.
If i had any guts, I would leave this body now and travel the secret paths to other realms and other realities... One of my favourite books as a child was 'The Story of the Amulet'. I loved the way the children could walk through the half of the Amulet and find themselves in another time and place, in ancient Egypt or Britain at the time of Julius Caesar. The irony here is that the time they wished to escape is now the romantic past itself for us!
Of course, it all went wrong for them as it usually does in tales by the wonderful E. Nesbit, but then adventures really aren't about things gong right, but rather about having exciting new experiences, whether good or bad.
A little selfish prayer now: Gods grant me a better ending to this day than its beginning or middle... at the very least, please let me spend a little time with my cats, whom I miss so terribly.
My feet are numb and my ankles are swollen. It is the medication, and I dreaded to take it from the start, but the alternative could have been far worse. I do not worship doctors and I fully am aware of the fact that once you are older than 30 really, you are nothing more than grist to their mills of experimentation. After all, no one lived much longer than 30 in past eras... so we are all on borrowed time guinea pigs who should be grateful for the chance to gasp out a few more decades in comparative passable health. So what if you cannot walk! Give the person an artificial limb and some blood thinners and see what happens. If the heart acts up? Clear the blockages and try more new medications. Sink or swim...
I am not a person who ever could believe that birthdays are nothing speial. Whether celebrated by any one else, they remain a day dedicated to the simple fact of your being, of your being on this earth, having arrived on a specific day and a specific time, and having been given a specific name.
It is not gifts but surely when you see a person or are in the same house as a person, is it not positively churlish not to wish him or her a happy birthday or many happy returns or somehow give a message of goodwill? Otheriwse, in my view, you are going out of your way to make that person miserable and to make that person feel small and insignificant. I would not do that to my worst enemy on his/her birthday. I think that the chivalrous thing to do, nurtured as I was on 'The Three Musketees' and other 19th century books of that nature, to wish that person a very Happy Birthday before I ran him through with my sword.
Well, that is the old-fashioned code of chivalry or, dare I say it, simple common courtesy or good manners. I wonder sometimes how I ended up here with these stoic people who lack those common good manner. Odd how the landscape and land itself feels almost homelike to me, so much like England, and yet how the people are an almost alien race, and especially the men.
When I first moved here and was invited to some one's Thanksgiving dinner, I was absolutely horrified the their custom of feeding the men first, seating the men together and the women separately, women endlessly SERVING the menfolk and scurrying about to serve them better. Not the way I was raised! I tried to laugh it off to some extent, but it still strikes me as utterly wrong and utterly uncivilised. This is the land of beer amd sports, where women are silent when men are watching some sort of game or another on the telly... only seen when a beer or snack is commanded.
I suppose then I should not be surprised at this birthday of mine. If I am very determined, I should be able to shut my eyes and will myself elsewhere. i imagine one of my favourite cathedrals first or even a small jewel of a Church. Take me to St. Mary's Church near Cadogan Square in London or the Miracoli in Venezia.
Oddly enough,, it is not what I see when my eyes are open when I am in one of these sacred places dear to my soul but the very essence of it, the rather dusty perfume, the sense of lightness of being, ages in layers upon layers as light as a feather and yet redolent of time's passing and of history.
I love the smell of those old churches of Europe. The churches in the States do not possess it, possibly because they do not burn candles and incense from century to century or they simply are not old enough. The old California Missions probably are the oldest churches in the States and they possess a little of the soul of an ancient church of Europe.
I could go farther back in time to Ravenna, to the mosaic-clad Churches there. Such glittering glory, like being inside a begemmed casket. I was awestruck when I first saw them as a young girl. And the Christ of Ravenna, blonde and cleanshaven, handsome... much more to my taste than the dour, dark bearded representations on which I had been raised. He was a Greek God, the Christ of Ravenna, a flawless Sacrifice in the tradition of Dionysos.
If i had any guts, I would leave this body now and travel the secret paths to other realms and other realities... One of my favourite books as a child was 'The Story of the Amulet'. I loved the way the children could walk through the half of the Amulet and find themselves in another time and place, in ancient Egypt or Britain at the time of Julius Caesar. The irony here is that the time they wished to escape is now the romantic past itself for us!
Of course, it all went wrong for them as it usually does in tales by the wonderful E. Nesbit, but then adventures really aren't about things gong right, but rather about having exciting new experiences, whether good or bad.
A little selfish prayer now: Gods grant me a better ending to this day than its beginning or middle... at the very least, please let me spend a little time with my cats, whom I miss so terribly.
My feet are numb and my ankles are swollen. It is the medication, and I dreaded to take it from the start, but the alternative could have been far worse. I do not worship doctors and I fully am aware of the fact that once you are older than 30 really, you are nothing more than grist to their mills of experimentation. After all, no one lived much longer than 30 in past eras... so we are all on borrowed time guinea pigs who should be grateful for the chance to gasp out a few more decades in comparative passable health. So what if you cannot walk! Give the person an artificial limb and some blood thinners and see what happens. If the heart acts up? Clear the blockages and try more new medications. Sink or swim...
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