Day 8 – caring

Writing into Life

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I wake early, around 6am, relieved to know that there is no pressure for me to get up and out of bed for a few hours yet.

I set myself a target of 9.30 but rise before then, go downstairs and make a cup of tea.  The important thing comes first though – giving Lydia a tummy and chest rub.  Then I open the back door and do a few repeats of ‘Healing Form’ as Lydia welcomes the day in her own way.  Sue, the Qigong teacher, reminded us of some of the details of the Healing Form movement in the class last night so I was able to reintroduce these to my practice.

It’s a quiet walk for Lydia and me this morning, with no passing cars, joggers, cyclists or dogs; just a tractor going to and fro’ across a field in the distance. 

Back home and she has her breakfast from her breakfast ball as usual; she is an expert now at nudging it around with her nose so that the dried food pellets fall out; it’s a lot better for her than passively eating from a bowl.

I have a restful morning, doing nothing much more than loading and setting off the dishwasher, and putting away some clean laundry.  I’m sure if I looked around the house I could – and would – find dust and cobwebs in various corners, but on the whole I’m up to date with what needs doing inside.

As it’s Tuesday I visit my friend who used to live in the village but now lives in a care home, a few miles away.  Her personal carer, J is there too, and we have a lovely chat together outside in the sunshine while J does M’s nails, commenting on the wonderful weather we’ve had this summer and how we wish we could have weather like this every summer.

After J leaves, I read M a short story from a magazine I’ve brought with me. She lies on the bed and snoozes as I read.  At 85, it’s good to see her relaxed and looking so much brighter than she did a few weeks ago.  It’s amazing what a change of environment can do.

Arriving home, I have a supply of dental sticks that I ordered for Lydia, and proof copies of my latest books in paperback form waiting for me.  I give Lydia a dental stick for a treat straight away and flick through the proofs.  I’ll need to look at them in more detail before I approve them for publication, but am pleased on first sight.

Self-management rule no. 20 is a good one: enjoy the process. I have found in my life that it is enormously difficult to do this, but am working on it, and – I believe – getting better at it by the day, bit by bit, step by step.

Poetry Rule No. 45 Don’t underestimate the therapeutic quality of vices – or verses

First published 5th June 2020

Turning the Tables

Lobster meat is sweet, I believe
I tasted it once, a long time ago
but I really don’t know
if the clacking, snapping, pincer-sharp
bite of the lobster-look-alike girl’s mind
belies anything even remotely kind

As I sit watching her eat that lobster meat
sucking her fingers with self-satisfied glee
pouting and spouting out the debris
of her clacking, snapping pincer-sharp mind
and smile inwardly at the resemblance I see
a wonderful, horrible thought comes to me

Wouldn’t it be great if a giant lobster loomed
and ate her up after popping her into
a boiling pot, while she was still alive?

This is the sea-bed of salivation
upon which I feed and thrive
turning the tables through poetry
on the clacking, snapping
pincer-sharp lobster-look-alike girl’s mind
and her kind

2020

Rules, Rhymes, Recovery, Recipe, Random – Glad About Life:

https://amzn.eu/d/6Ptwe4S

Woman, a Dog & a Blog – Writing into Life:

https://amzn.eu/d/63qIYzR

Talking

I’ve never been very good at talking.

At primary school I was cast as a mouse in the school play: all I had to do was say “squeak, squeak”.

The career advice I was given at secondary school was to become a librarian. 

I didn’t want to become a librarian (or be a mouse) – I wanted to be able to speak.

There have been times in my life when I felt, finally, that some degree of fluency was coming through. But I’ve never quite reached the point of feeling that I could say what I wanted or needed to say, in any given situation. I think that’s why I’ve turned to writing poetry, because however much the spoken word evades me, and for whatever reason, I can express myself in poetry, one way or another.  It doesn’t mean I don’t end up feeling ‘dumb’ and stupid in conversation when my brain can’t tune in to what is being said.  However, in more positive moments I can also reflect on the many facets of communication, and the importance of being heard, in one way or another.