LOGG # 110 OUR PARENTS WERE RIGHT AFTER ALL

I was reminded today of what my husband, a rebel in his own life, sadly said years ago when we were in a crises- "parents are always right after all"  As I advance in years I realize more and more an indigestible truth-he was right- parents are always right. I look back over my varied life and my many mistakes and find that many of their shibboleths that I tried to tear down in my youth were right after all. Many very old sayings were often repeated to me by my parents and teachers and they still resonate in my ears as I have a feeling they still do to the young of today. These are some examples of these shibboleths repeated to me in my perceptive youth that I remember trying very hard to ignore -"A penny saved is a penny earned" groan-"A stitch in time saves nine"-"a rolling stone gathers no moss"-who wants moss anyway? "early to bed early to rise" "the early bird gets the worm"???? who wants to eat worms? You can see I was a rebellious youth -and a lazy one. The ones I ignored most of all were the ones for healthy living-"always sleep at least eight hours at night;eat regular meals; breakfast is the most important meal of the day and -another groan-porridge is good for you." In my younger days I was a nurse who favoured odd hours to facilitate my lifestyle.  I was also an artist in my spare hours and as we all know artists lead irregular lives to be able to create so I ignored these words of wisdom too. I ,as you all know, have just  spent a fair amount of time in hospitals as a patient and hospitals are the epitome of good parenthood. Regular meals regular exercise and regular sleeping hours are written in stone but above all is the serving of porridge every morning. As with everything else I did in rehab I agreed to this custom too and every morning, like everyone else, ate my porridge-in my previous life a horrid substance and learned to like it.This is a bit scary as I don't want to completely capitulate to conventional wisdom. Nonetheless here I am on my own -nary a parent in sight- eating porridge every day. I hate to say this but I am feeling healthier and I think I am losing some ounces because of this-I am always optimistic. Am I suggesting that we should always listen to parents, that parents are always right? That the young especially should do so? No of course not! The proper way for them to live is to do just what I did-mostly ignore the wisdom of their parents, make many glorious mistakes, be humbled by them, learn from them thereby creating their own unique life. What the world does not need, especially now, is "cookie cutter" offspring.As the French ,bless their unique hearts say- "vive la differance" So dear readers ,capitulate sometimes, acknowledge the wisdom of your elders sometimes, but always remain true to your unique selves and above all never waste time on regretting past mistakes- they are your true teachers and now listen to your wise blogger  and always eat your porridge-- I can't believe I just said that!

ODE TO ABERDEEN # 2 AND A NICELY TURNED ANKLE

I am happy to report I have been promoted to 100% weight bearing -my broken ankle is mending beautifully and resembles the ankle it once was and I am grateful. The loss of the ability to use my ankle due to  breakage was devastating but what hurt as much was the appearance  of my new ankle. I have always been pleased with my ankles-having what was called in Mid Victorian Era "a finely turned ankle" and I am  sorry to confess that I was shamelessly mourning this loss. My ankle was grotesquely swollen , the foot badly formed,the shin and calf bruised in many colours and the skin scaly. My nicely turned ankle was no more.The Victorians knew what they were about when they emphasized the ankles- There was nothing more provocative than watching an elegant lady descending from a carriage,lifting her skirts a few inches and exposing a finely turned ankle.This turned heads.Indeed exposure of ankles and legs was so powerful that it started the practice of covering chair legs in material and the covering of -horror-piano legs. Every era has a different idea of what is sexually provocative. We all know what the emphasis was in the 1950's and the less said about that the better. The sixties was all about  mini skirts and the "leg men" were in heaven watching those long limbed British girls on Barnaby street in London. The emphasis in the eighties was on long luxurious hair being provocatively flung about  and of course the midriff and belly button were worshiped in the nineties   but the Victorians had all these eras beat and the best part is that a finely turned ankle remains a finely turned  ankle even with the passing of years-so now you know why I mourned the loss of my fine ankle and was so pleased to see it finely turned again.This blogg is not about ankles really-this was just to draw you in. The real reason is my promise to write my Ode to Aberdeen #2- not an ode but a prose of praise. The praise is for the clients or residents of Aberdeen.The whole time I was there I was awed at the resilience and  spirit of the human being. The average age of the residents was about eighty five-ranging from sixties to a fine lady at a hundred and one. Most were in their late eighties-usually active before disaster struck. The main conversation at table was about the homes they left and, because of the nearness of Christmas-of Christmas past and wishes to get home in time for Christmas present. One could see the knowledge in their eyes that they may not make it but none the less a brave front was put on and cheerfulness presided-very much as if we were indeed on a cruise. It was impressive to see the way everyone helped each other to overcome their disabilities-assisting at mealtime or helping to push the wheelchairs of the more challenged. There was always the possibility that one would not improve and would land up as a permanent resident. In the first week, a resident in a wheelchair asked me what had happened and after telling her I asked the same question-she said  "I broke my hip. It was a beautiful day with sunshine and I just wanted to go for a walk  with my walker and fell and broke my hip. That night in the hospital I fell out of bed and also broke my shoulder. That is why I am here". I was shocked and asked her how long ago this had happened and my blood ran cold when she said "Two years ago-" then as she wheeled away-she said  wistfully"It was such a beautiful day and all I wanted to do was go for a little walk." This then was the unspoken fear and was the impetus for all of us to improve. Every day most turned up for physio and exercises in spite of tiredness or pain or just old age and the bantering and good spirits belied the fact of suffering or doubt and even pride as we fumbled and  tried to follow the physiotherapist. The other thing that impressed me was the over stimulation we were bombarded with-the bright lights , the noise -never being alone-we were in four bed rooms-and the constant interaction with others. Yet I rarely witnessed confrontation  and bad temper.Good humour and politeness was common. The most heartening was the lack of envy as some of us moved ahead to walkers and more independence. The fortunate ones were always greeted with encouraging applause and smiles and not envy.  When I realized I would be home before Christmas I tried to downplay this news but of course there were few secrets at Aberdeen and it was heartwarming to hear the well wishes from everyone as I left. The last thing I want to talk about was my respect for Blackie. Blackie was a scruffy black cat that lived at the rear entrance  of Aberdeen in a three story wooden house complete with heater, steps leading to the next two floors and penthouse. The whole place was festooned with Christmas lights and nativity scene on the balcony.As I exited I was greeted by the sight of my son-in-law standing on a rickety upturned bucket and stringing more lights. Blackie's owner -in wheelchair -told me he had spent over seventy dollars on decorations.Blackie distainfully paced before his house =not impressed.Everyone in the Aberdeen tried to find a way to meet Blackie who with his master has been living there for years.

Blogg # 108-SILVER LININGS AND ODE TO ABERDEEN

Today is finally cloudy and warmer.  I see from my window the frost has disappeared off the wood pile-a nostalgic reminder of my youth on the farm-and there is no blinding sun or blazing white Mt. Baker anymore but there is a silver lining where the  grey sea and  the mountains meet that is beautiful and there are soft lowering grey clouds in the sky. The weather has changed. Festivities are over, people are back at work and I am finally alone-so I can see how well I manage on my own. I made my own breakfast-oatmeal and a piece of dry toast-I am trying to not gain weight and even warmed up left over coffee. I have noticed I feel more vulnerable than before the accident so am being very careful. I also am thinking about the future- how I will change my own living quarters to make it less cluttered when I go home and wondering in trepidation how I will manage there. The vulnerability also extends to feeling I am being  a nuisance here -cluttering up their space with wheelchair and walkers--and also missing contact and conversation with other people. It is interesting that though I love my family and we talk about many things,I cannot forget my role as "Mother or Grandmother" with all that implies,so I am always in that persona. I miss talking to Etta and the other inmates in the rehab-funnily enough -makes it clear that a good place for our sunset years may be in our own place or with other adults and friends .hmmmnnn.  To stop thinking on these negative lines, I started reading Umberto Eco's "The Island of the day before"- it is about a man shipwrecked in the 17th century-it is very fantastical with frightening and strange things which I usually can enjoy but in my vulnerable state I don't think it is wise to continue reading it now. I will choose something lighter and more grounded-maybe a murder mystery. Feeling vulnerable is not a  good way to start the new year. I had better stop  and do my exercises and some drawing-maybe draw the woodpile. As you can see, dear readers, I have progressed well in my rehabilitation and am no longer in the Aberdeen but instead am with my family in their  wheel chair accessible  home and am lucky and happy to be here but surprisingly keep looking back fondly to Aberdeen- hence the "ODE to Aberdeen." Of course I am not a poet-and know it well but will praise it in prose. First one will be to the staff-a very dedicated one-ranging from skilled physiotherapists to nurses, care workers, kitchen and cleaning staff.  They were always cheerful, ready to help us with our needs and we were often needy. I observed them in action for two months and did not hear one impatient word or action in spite of the fact that we often were impatient. These healthy young persons were especially kind in the mornings as they woke us, helped with washing and dressing ourselves,helped us select which clothes we wanted to wear and making sure our hair is attractively combed. One male care worker even used to slip us a wake up coffee while we were washing-he won our hearts. He also looked especially good in the shorts that the male nurses wear. The physiotherapists were skilled and very innovative in solving the real problems we gave them with our various injuries and our other  various disabilities,and the nurses and care workers showed great skill as they handled the various equipment that helped mobilize us. It was always touching to see one of them in the evening cradling one of the oldest permanent residents and gently coaxing her with a few spoonfuls of yogurt for her evening snack. Best of all though was their honest encouragement as we improved-to see their faces light up,giving us thumb up signs as they pass us in the hall as we make our first tentative  steps. The day a resident reaches the desired goal of going home the air is festive as various members of the staff come to wish good luck often with hugs. Also there is a tinge of sadness as  farewells are exchanged for this is the end of an  intense time with much closeness and intimacy.