New Year's Eve

Well, it's really NewYear's Eve's Eve, as far as contiguous life goes, eh. I'm still awake from Friday even tho' it's technically Saturday.

Henry and I think that trying to work out what one should do with the leap-second we'll get tomorrow night is just silly. A National Public Radio program asked folks what they planned to do with their free second. At least two guys said, kiss their wives. For just a second? Henry and I are just going to blink while the second ticks through.

There have been developments with Dad and Frances. A Development: Their friend LMcA is going to convene a group of interested friends, to work out how to monitor and support D&F after I leave, and before D&F decide they need to move into care.

LMcA is not the easiest person. She's very bright indeed, but of the 1950's, and remained a non-careered woman all her life. I don't know enough to say it was a waste that she didn't go into the professional world - she's done an awful lot in the informal and volunteer worlds. But, gosh, she talks a lot. I imagine a career would have diverted her mouth - why do I think that? She talks a lot - one just has to interrupt; I'm glad to have found out she copes okay with that.

I forgive her verbosity: a huge anxiety for me has been, what will happen with D&F after I go back to the UK? For someone to voluntarily address this, someone of such talent, is a blessing. (Maybe I'll talk about grace and blessings sometime - the language has become meaningful for me in the last couple of years. With reference to life, love, energy - not Christic.)

We - the group of friends contacted by LMcA - meet next Wednesday, after D&F and I have met with the agent for their Long Term Care insurance policy. That meeting should yield info about what's covered for whom (they have personal coverage, where one may need Nursing but not the other), when, and how you 'turn it on'. The 'what' includes which local care facilities they can plan for - including the luxury one F says she thinks would do, or not?

On a smaller scale: F and I sorted her linen drawers today. When she and my dad moved last year, linens were one class of possessions that got put away differently in the new place that they'd been in the old place, and she didn't really know where to find what.

She may not remember now which drawer has Kitchen table clothes and placemats, which has Fancy, which Christmas. But at least, when she opens a drawer, it will contain all of one kind of thing.

About my Parent Anxiety: I stayed home, fiddling with getting photos on to the internet and stuff, until late morning. Rang D&F - no answer! Went over to their place anyway, and lurked. The disposition of things didn't look like their leaving was an emergency exit by them, but - WHERE WERE THEY?? If not back by 14:00. I was going to start calling around....

They arrived home about 13:10 all calm but Dad tired, having been for F to have her hair done. We had a few minutes of discomfort, me saying 'a call to tell me you were going out would have been nice'. That pushed F into defense mode - she 'remembered' me saying I'd be engaged all day. She made it up to cover - why can't she just say, 'yeah, sorry....' After all, it takes an amount of courage for me to say I wished they'd called. We got over it. Jill used to described them as solupsistic.

But the defensive theme was revisited. Pastoral Pastor from their Church both visited D&F this afternoon, andlater came to the Open House I attended. His conversation with D&F included F saying she didn't understand why I've made this 6 month sojourne (which is over in 20 days).

She's asked me often if I didn't miss my home, or if I were looking forward to going back, or if people there were in touch with me and wanting me back: All these questions are her covers, generated by her inability to just ask me why I came, why I'm here.

I'm sorry I didn't engineer an ongoing conversation about it: I had clear objectives for this 6 months, but I guess I never told them. (So how alike are we!) My dad, by the way, seems to accept and appreciate this long visit of mine, whether he understands or not. Maybe I'll write it out for F. If she'd get glasses enabling her to read... Gosh, those dime-store magnifiers she sometimes puts on don't always do it.

I do have generational issues with her, eh? That extend beyond issues addressed with my own mother (who died when I was 20, 38 years ago...)

This all goes too long for anyone reading blogs to bother with, but it's helping me.

And I've just lost the miasma of insight (;-) I'd gotten to. It will be invisible to you, reader.

I can say that the same generational differences were startlingly clear with my British mother-in-law. She goes into a 'cut glass BBC' voice when trying to impress or be proper. Like listening to BBC clips from the War (WW2... hello, young people). (Or maybe I betray my Americaness: is cut glass about upper class, BBC about standardised middle class?)

Tonight, I met a man who runs a store. I asked, what kind of store? I thought he said 'book', and was bewildered when O started talking with him about her family's wharf on Taylorsville Lake. He'd said 'boat'... I'd have a learning curve for voice, here - taking time - as I had in the UK. Look, I can get all the way to understanding the voices Northumbrian, usually, and Fife and Cornwall, and that was hard work. Please don't make me have to work on Kentucky dialects... well, maybe it would be fun...

Please, how do people speak at my home? Can I understand them? Can they understand me? Understand my interesting, well yes, it is an accent...

The differences about how to deal with one's own and others' feelings, varying between those born before WW2 and we born after, are harder to pin down than are accent patterns. I will write out for D&F, why I came, Objectives, and how I think I've done. (Not bad. Expensive.)

Beyond the Objective stuff is the material of my relationships with my dad and Frances: The history of my parents' marriage, loss of their second baby (hey, Mom - how'd you deal with that?). My, their, feelings about the divorce. How F felt, 30 years old, dealing with a 40 year old husband and me, 10, showing up for a 6 week visit. She and I had clear barriers: she was my Stepmother, and I her Stepdaughter, to encompass and 'deal with' by burial! our pains that things weren't as in a story book family.

She and my dad lost two babies, and the boy she and Dad adopted shot himself. With the second baby my mom and dad had, still-born, I am the only survivor of five. F carries the residual grief deeply; and somewhere resents it's me that's here, not David, Pam or Tim. She forgets Christine all together.

I will get a revenge: when F and my dad are dead, I will have those babies moved from Alabama and Iowa to the plot here in Cave Hill. D&F did move their own plots there - beautiful cemetary, in which one can imagine rejoicing in natural calm - from the desert-awful place they first chose, and moved Tim's urn. Guess I fantasize a united family at the molecular level. (My mom had her ashes scattered at sea, her memorial is in love in Palos Verdes, California. She'll stay there.)

Sweet Henry's not sure he's followed all this, but he's pleased it's all said now, and I'll let myseft go to bed. He's thankful he lost touch with his family, and has me now. He thinks it will probably be okay...

What Henry Looks Like

We are trying to get this picture in the main template - 'Hello' looks friendly, and I like Picassa... but what is the URL for Henry's photo, that Profile asks for?

Anyway and for now: Say hello to Henry Penguin, as he rests on the rocking chair, keeping an eye out for me. 

A blog isn't necessarily a diary?

Someone's read me! Evidence is a count of 4 accesses of my profile. And I've only sent the URL to 3 people.... All questions of literary concern flood my mind. Who am I writing for? What quality standard do I set myself? (What if people only ever access my profile and never make Comments?) Nice to have ideas here that aren't about old parents, leaving them, all that stuff.

Weather contrast: 55 F in Louisville at 01:20; Much Colder in Kent, with road to the Dover Docks in trouble. (The M20 is in trouble. Why is the A2, stalwart route, not mentioned?) But the ferries are running apparently, and win as usual: least bit of trouble and the Tunnel closes. Dover Rules Okay! My pension may yet be safe.... We may get rain tomorrow in Louisville.

Henry wants his photo posted - I've promised to get on to it. And today I did post - at the Post Office - two boxes of summer clothes back to Kent. They should arrive in Feb, plenty of time.
It was my first gesture of Moving Out Soon, along with taking the Explorer (I could post its picture too) for an oil change and Inspection.

Those car services are free on Tuesdays for people 58 and older. Another first... taking advantage of being my age.

Huge question: do I spend say $250 for a thorough valeting and tire balancing for the Explorer, so Potential Buyers will get the Best Impression? Or do I not. 'Not' means washing and vacuuming the beast myself, a big argument for paying out!

Frances was down, tearful a lot today: a bad day. She's internalised the restrictions of being Home Bound, imposed by Medicare rules on what in the UK would be called District Nursing services, for her leg ulcers and blood thinness monitoring. Tried to get her to say she'd like to go out next Tuesday for her birthday; all she'd say is she can't.

We did call the Insurance lady, left a voice message. Frances doesn't remember the discussions about it all. I had to manufacture conscious patience with her today.

Hair appointment on 7 Jan - will be shaggy. Narnia Lion; New Orleans zoo lion? No - both better kept than my hair. Bourbon. Kiwanis - I could make that a hyperlink, as there is a Kiwanis website; maybe later. Lost debit card, cancelled by bank so I can't get to online account info. Maybe I'm not broke again yet? Patty can't find the angel nightlight present - I'm sure I took it over. Frances variously wants to order another one, or have me go help Patty hunt for it. Frances did a proper supper tonight, first in ages; and berated herself for using old potatoes. I hate the Kennedy Center Awards: posh This Is Your Life squirminess. Sweater is growing, back almost done. Can tell where yarn changes. My friend's mother hasn't died yet, apparently.

Henry says it will be okay, and lots of times, that's enough for me...

Now it's not Christmas

Sometimes you just have to go slowly. I need Dad and Frances - and me - to find out how their long-term care insurance works; what it covers, how you 'turn it on', what happens when one of them qualifies for a benefit but the other doesn't, etc.

I cleared the idea with each of them 2 weeks ago, when Frances was hospitalised with her DVT, her clot. Finally tonight Dad asked if we have an appointment with the insurance lady this week - so I know it's okay to call tomorrow to make the appointment.

Then we had an unbelievable conversation about looking at care facilities - so everyone knows where they'll go when they decide they're ready (which was last year, according to most friends). Frances said she doesn't want to go driving around looking, besides they know about lots of them. And I guess the field is narrowed to 3 or 4 - which will make it easier, eh, Henry?

And on another side of the business of returning (19th January) to my life in England, I learned today that my Explorer will get me $2200 from the dealers. Shucks, that's only a cost of $2800 for driving it since August (when I bought it for $5000). $560/month - less than it would have cost to lease a car?! Humph. Ad goes in the paper tomorrow! Surely I can get more in a private sale?

Now that it's not Christmas, all I have to do is divest myself of this Kentucky life - car, apartment, parents.

Henry says it will be okay....

Christmas night

Here's a first blog post. (Nervous.)

My 88 year old dad, sans wrap, walked me and my smallest-haul-ever bag of presents out to my car. "Frances doesn't understand that I don't feel the cold right away" and it was 40 F after all.

He thanked me for all I'd done, and I smiled, said it was easy, gave him a hug.

Perhaps 'easy' didn't sound right - I certainly didn't mean anything dismissive, and adjectives meaning 'good, fulfilling, I'm so glad for today', would have been better. But this Christmas has been easy, whereas all in the past have been stressful. Gosh.

Today, there were no stresses. There weren't! It went like this: Stockings first, completely filled by me this year (I've been contributing for some 25 years to the stockings, but this was the first time no-one else played Santa). Sweet-roll brought yesterday by Betty (herself 85) for breakfast. Dad and I to church (Frances napped).

Best of the service was where we all said 'Baa!' following 'sheep', and 'go, sheep!' following 'shepherd', etc. when the Jesus birth story was told. And the congregation got to suggest carols, 6 in all. My dad, I, and two friends accounted for 4 of them. What does that tell us?
Mine was 'It Came Upon A Midnight Clear' - subversive Unitarian text! No mention of Jesus Christ - rather, it argues for peace among us as our product of human love.

When Dad and I got home, there were phone calls from family and to family. And The Presents - best were the ones I'd bought for her from him; and for him from her. There were others from family, and I got some given me by the folks who knew I'd be there. My wonderful coat, paid for by the parents 4 weeks ago, was nestled under the tree.

There were naps all round, only two phone interruptions.

Christmas Dinner was bought-in-and-microwaved - try it! SO easy! I even had time to make some basil butter for the carrots. Heart warmed by Frances, 'I love carrots!'. Heart warmed by appreciation, praise. It's so easy.

Appreciation, expressed or not. My dad worked at the Sudoku book during all the TV ad breaks until he got the first one; and he charged his Palm Z22 then put it aside to Learn tomorrow. The Palm Z22 is to his old 'PDA' as Windows is to DOS..., and the lid hinge on the old one broke, and tape repairs only last so long. I think he's excited about the Z22.

Frances can't persist like that. She exclaimed with pleasure at the green of the new outfit, but didn't try it on. She read one picture-page of The Meaning Of Life with cute animals and pithy sayings - 'I don't like animals much, you know'. She did like the finger cymbals in the Belly Dancing Kit. She didn't eat her asparagus as it was 'al dente' and she's Southern, likes all veg mushed!, can't change now (at 78, 79 in 9 days). She did all the dishes, tho', and has given me this 'Christmas' sweater - she's got so many, she 'won't miss one'. She lets me confine her to her 'lazy-girl' chair with double pillows under her calves, for circulation and keeping the almost-bed sores on her heels swinging in air.

I've almost lost my place - is all blogging like that? I was saying, today was easy, no stress. We watched TV after the meal - I do like Gray's Anatomy! And I've come home to my little apartment. All I want for Christmas is a plan with them, for them, for what to do when I go back to the U.K.

Henry Penguin says it's okay....