Falling in loveh th

Today I fell in love with the Northumbrian Smallpipes I've been playing for 4 years.

This morning I played them for the Unitarians (who have been my home since July - I already fell in love with them). They behaved beautifully, absorbing, not reacting to, my nerves.

Henry agrees that sometimes love is like this, but he pauses, implying there may be other kinds.

My apartment is almost empty. O came and helped yesterday, and B is going to buy this laptop, and I should get it done tomorrow. Or Tuesday. Break in blogging comes soon, either way.

Henry is looking forward to our Upper Class-on-airmiles trip back; he reckons the parents will be okay. Humph.

Moving Day

Freinds with a truck will come around 3 pm to take away furniture - bed, kitchen table, wonderful desk I type at and piano bench holding me up; beautiful rocking chair (Henry sits on it in his photo).

It occurs to me I ought to give thank-you presents... Guess I can organise that later, I've got 4 days or so.

Who will want my little plant? What shall I do with this loyal laptop? Why have I allowed this to drag out so, almost to the point of criticality?

My Chalice Circle gave me the beautiful Chalice necklace A makes, to remember them by. I haven't gone for breakfast at Waffle House with O - need at least to pretend I'm taking today seriously.

Wonder how blogging will work on my Dad's old machine? He is getting cable internet installed today, and he and Frances have decided to put me on their Power of Attorney and Health Surrogates document. Dad certainly didn't mention that these decisions were the topic of lunch Monday with McA. Nor did I say it was the topic of a meeting with McA and others 10 days ago. I've become a successful plotter - dangerous.

Henry says I'd better get to work, packing and sorting. He doesn't care that I do have pretty coloured post-its to use as lables for what's been sorted.

let's pretend we're feathers...

Leave me alone, Henry!

I had a wonderful 'Carribean' arm and hand 'treatment' today. If you've not experienced massage with hot stones, or a parrafin hand dip - try it. Things cool off pretty quickly, so you have to be able to grap momentary sensation. Anyway, the nail polish is still perfect. I give it another 9 hours....

Very much into the end of days, now. All book What Next? sessions done. All different. I could do them for ever. Part of it is that it suits my 2 hr. attention horizon.

You see? Immediately off the point of leaving my apartment, for which I've not done the necessary paper-sort. And I've promised to play pipes Sunday, but do I practice? Ha. Guess I will tomorrow...

What is my social context, you ask? One friend buries her mother tomorrow, and risks alienating the other parent because her anger at both is let all free flying. Another friend starts bowel cancer treatment next week, yet still has issues about managing his social interfaces. I of course attack him.... Many new friends model for me my saddness at leaving this place, them. My stubborn parents make no gesture of acknowledgement of their vulnerability. Why should they?

I have to write a letter to the guy who holds their power of attorney, to let him know I expect to be here when Attorney Powers need excercise, and I hope we will be fluid friends - him, corporate executive, available? - at the time. Father of mine, your stubborn head-in-sand is stupid.

Tosh. Sweet dreams, dumb bird.

PS Spell checking. My spelling's crap, but clicking the ABCtick icon never tells me so. Anyone else have experience with this?

limits

I have a friend who I love, to the extent that I do tell him when things he does bother me. A limit on that l0ve may be about me not takeing good enough care, to not tell him hurtful things when he's 'down'. But should I refrain? How do I know? Guess I'm a bully, and I can't process him. Can't guarantee that I'll always know when he's feeling poorly.

I really can't deal with how ill he is. He will not die: I assert it, insist upon it.

He apologises: Why? I mean, as an identity, apologising sucks! In defense of up-life-god-stars or angels it might be cool - I think that's what the Apologistic movement was about. But factor in current culture, and the implication is one of guilt. I vote for the Assertionist!

And what's it got to do with me? Well.... If my friend Apologises, either to argue for a particular philosophical position, or to present decremented persona, I have also to take a position. That's the logic of it, isn't it? I and all friends are on the back foot, to respond.

Look, mate, you're all okay in my view! Nothing to apologise for! Or, please spell out your position so I can consider it. I can't understand you if you don't explain. Dialogue.

It's me to apoligise now. My friend doesn't want to deal with any of the logic and emotion I present. I am a cruel or thoughtless friend, probably. I've been round this cycle several times: maybe blogging will anchor it, give me cease.

Henry says just ignore me. Get on, me, with real stuff - sorting out papers to keep or throw out. Go to bed, for goodness sakes!

Henry's lucky/glad hes's just a stuffed, soft creature.

Good night, Henry.

I say Henry's okay...

At 8 this evening I dozed thru a good lecture about CARE and the work they do. Left right away, was in bed by 9:15. Read a little - new treat, a pattern book for crochet with beads. No sleep.

A melatonin, and as much of a sudoku game on my phone as I could do. Sleepy, sleepy...

Imagined visions of Dad falling over, taking the top off the fake Christmas tree. Of Frances driving. Of her knocking over a candle - I must get them a kitchen fire blanket. Dad will view it with distain. Rehashed the surprisingly loud discussion this evening with them, conducted over the hateful pizza that only makes us fat! but is brought to the door.

So now, Blog as lullaby. I went to see Narnia this afternoon, non-alcoholic escape from the twin hurt of protracted leaving and them so old. But faced music at tea time: when are we going to see care facilities? Has to be soon....

But they've decided they don't need to; they know which one they want any way. Does it allow couples to stay together? To have more than just bedrooms? Does it have a waiting list? Stunned faces on them.

Dad countered with wondering what the urgency is - they aren't ready now anyway. Sigh - it's when I have to repeat the difficult lines of argument that I get impatient. The reason is to be on the waiting list; to know they can afford it; to be able to focus on the move, the choice having already been made.

Father jumps the logic (which I've typed here more reasonably than I said it), to laughing about getting in a house clearer. Up I rise - but not until I'm here! He laughed! We had to go thru it a second and third time before he said, You're serious!

I didn't remind him of how little they did for the last move, how much of the clearing was done by the loyal band helping them, as part of the move. I couldn't pull together words, 'to make sure you've got what you want to take, that friends and family have got what they want, and that the clearers only get what's left'. I couldn't say, I want to be here to help, to make it easier for you.

Instead I castigated them for not telling me about the last move until contracts and money had changed hands. What would I have done? Nothing, really, if their minds were made up.

Good things: shorter, bouncier hair smelling of fine oils; a real car to drive; Narnia; helping to put Christmas boxes away. A word-of-mouth What's Next? enquiry - horoscope says New Business Could Take Off. Friends inviting me to dinner. Dad's admiration of me for being a good friend. My scheduling for vacating the flat still looks okay. I have a neat Louisville tour tomorrow!

Unless it's just the intractibility of the situation, going back to the UK and leaving them to their self-built and chosen fates (maybe a projection of fault will help...), there is still something underneath going on, keeping me awake.

Henry's snoring....

Spice

All other entertainments spent, I'm Stumbling (http://www.stumbleupon.com/ - okay, I'll learn to do the cool link thing soon...). Stumble can be an Extension to the wonderful Mozilla Firefox browser. You set it up by choosing a few topics. Then, as needed, click Stumble! in the tool bar to be taken hither and thither... I'm learning about Spices on http://www.theepicentre.com/, going mainly to the Far East. It must be just after lunch, there.

S is going to New Zealand to escape her 40th birthday. I hope it works - might try it for my 60th. 2007 is forever from now, isn't it?

Such a mood. Flatter than half a pancake. There was, in the early 1950s, a radio programme from Cincinnatti, Ohio called Big John and Sparky, airing Saturday mornings, at 10 am in Tennessee, I think. I loved both Big John and Sparky! Big John would describe really flat things - aluminum foil, squashed bugs, etc. - as flatter than half a pancake. I was probably 45 before I realised he was slicing the pancake horizontally, not cutting the pancake diagonally in preparation for further cutting of bite-sized pieces, as I did when lucky enough to get pancakes for breakfast. All those years I spent, wondering why half a pancake was flatter than a whole one....

Dear reader, that tells you a lot about the struggles I've had comprehending the world. Today, with the benefit of a lot of education and therapy, I sometimes realise my immediate, instinctive, intuitive, naive apprehension isn't the right one, before getting into confusions.

Anyway, I was that half of a horizontally sliced pancake earlier this evening, and now, well, with all the spicing up, I feel almost hush-puppy rounded! The Chardonnay this evening is Toasted Head 2004, oaked California. (I'm in the process of learning the difference in taste between oaked and not. You have to pay attention, with the first glass.) Toasting your head sounds warm, doesn't it? Good for the coldness both here in Kentucky and in Great Britian.

What Next? went really well again this morning, in a wonderful downtown 'Old Louisville' two storey shot-gun styled house. Bless the Americans, who are the Center of the World and inventors of Everything. 'Shot-gun' when describing a house, means a straight hallway on one side of the house (separate or as part of the rooms) from the front door to the back, with rooms opening off it. Ever seen that in the UK?

All Old Louisville was built in the 19th century, and all houses are, well, 19th century style. The importance comes from the contrast with New Louisville, in its various waves radiating out towards the South, and East and NorthEast (the Ohio River is North, the West has always been built up). We nibble towards local politics, money, and the racism involved. Most people here, when I've talked about my perception of the racial segregation in Louisville - I and my life here have been in a North East white ghetto - either glass over, or say ahem and then glass over. My client this morning did at least say Yes! Louisville is the 2nd (or similar) most segregated city in the US. She talked about urban renewal projects from the 1960s that destroyed the downtown black business district, and set the White Move East in motion. Some white people choose to live in the neat old houses downtown. Some property developers have made bigger ones into 'condos'.

Sometimes Henry and I talk about where in Louisville we'd buy a house, if if if if...

I watched Dad and Frances sleep thru two hours of tv tonight, and they weren't making a conscious comment on the content. My despair at their vulnerability hid behind hurt at Frances's jokes that I might damage 'her car'. Heaven forfend - she will try to drive, at some point.

The voluabiltiy index of Toasted Head Chardonnay being towards the high end of the scale, Henry's gently saying I should stop now. After all, I have to get up in time to be made beautiful by the talented Diane at Diva Spa tomorrow, in 8 hrs 40 mins.

Okay, good night, Henry. (Good morning, Britian.)

In two weeks, I'll be in D.C.

What a day! Two nice people look at my car, both make offers. It had potential as a restaurant owner's produce workhorse in Louisville, stabled with a classic red Jaguar; or as the sports-car surrogate of a college kid, bought him by his parents, vouched for by his sister's boyfriend. I was heartened by the vouching.

The kid got it, and they were in a hurry: title transfered at 16:15 today. The restaurant owner gave me a ticket for a free lunch, but not the extra $500. Go eat at his place - Bazo's Fresh Mexican Grill, Wallace Ave., Louisville - make this year better for him than last.

And in the middle of this, Mr. and Mrs. H arrive for their What Next? consultation. It was very clear, serious, positive. They really had decided to move before they came, and talking with me gave space to address the hard bits that had been holding them back.

Married 58 years! He runs, tho' he's given up marathons for triathalon. She walks, so they both make friends out on the tracks. I learned that when the sticky bit of the discussion arrives, if there are two clients, they'll argue. If there's just one, s/he argues with me. Classic small group stuff, in front of me again. The H's were just wonderful at it - all passion verbalised, owned. One of the things Soft Systems Methodology is meant to allow is accommodation between competing world views - they did the work while I was remembering that. Probably not all rides will be as easy. But: I am pretty good at this!

Tea with D and F. The steaks were cooked okay, staving off Meals on Wheels for a bit longer. They have let me take the Buick. Some parents would have loaned their second car from the start. It would have saved me $2500, but I'm not bitter, except when I remember.... I'm glad of the Buick now.

Movies with the Minister was The Brothers Grimm. The Minister choose it because he likes Terry Gilliam. I was feeling very matter of fact, in a bantering group. I believed in the magic of the Princess, was glad the Grimmies won. I do believe in Tinkerbell, and that there is stuff out there beyond our ken. But then, I'm worn out.

At 9:30 tomorrow I have my 3rd What Next?, the first where I travel to the client. It will add set-up time; be looking to see if it makes any other difference. I begin to wonder how I'll get What Next? going in the more reticent UK. (Have I become really Americanised in my 6 months?)

Henry's saying go to bed, and do not drink the rest of the bottle, but I probably will, and probably won't for a while yet. He's just a baby - what does he know?

Bad spelling, punjctuation

We reread the last post after it had been sent. Oops.

All apologies for spelling and grammatical errors!

Wish we could say they won't happen again, but then Henry has a penchant for popcorn...

Hotting up! And the Unpredictability of Life

I Go Back in 2 weeks.

This morning: insurance lady reassured us. Parents' coverage isn't bad. We know how decreped they have to be to warrant cover starting.

This evening: Team R needs me to do a lot of talking with the parents: Power of Attorney? Health Surrogates? Criteria to evaluate care facilities. All the easy stuff? Don't think so.

But I finally talked to F's nephew: his plan IS to swoop in, scoop up F and take her to his home in the West, if anything - Anything? - happens to my dad. He and his wife have part of their house, designated if not quite yet configured, for the care of an elderly lady relative.

But I guess we will still need and emergency plan for here, for when something happens to Dad.

And all I have to do is get D and F into visits to facilities, write to the doctor-designate. Get Dad to tell me about their Power of Attorney and add me, the nephew, a friend or two.

Guess I'm feeling like it's all down to Me and I'm Leaving in two weeks.

Another kind of voice from over there, round the corner, says it's all down to D and F. Down to their fantasies about the end of their lives, about their need for care or not, and about who would provide it.

Insight: As our minds weaken with age or disease, the power of our fantasies and thoughts weaken too. In the end, only those ideas we have committed to law will count.

Damn.

Henry's gone out for popcorn.

...but I don't feel like it

Tomorrow is a crunch day. We meet in the morning with the long term care insurance advisor to learn how my parents' policy works, how to use it. I need to write a list of questions.

Then - hooray! - a woman comes to see my car! It would be better to clean it at least a little, to make a better impression.

In the evening, friends and I meet to plan strategies for support for the parents after I've gone home. I need to prepare some guiding materials so we don't just waste our time telling war stories.

I don't feel like doing any of it, and Henry says I don't have to do it all right now. But we both know play time is over, and I'd be better off getting to bed early and sober.

Sometimes I'd rather do sudoku

The remaining 16 days of this Kentucky sojourne are plotted on A1 newsprint, with a thorough To Do page. I'll get it done.

An acquaintance has referred her parents to What Next? for work on their future. The consultancy is taken seriously! We meet Thursday afternoon. Scary excitment!

Frances is 79 tomorrow - I've gotten her a girly cane, all shiny green with red and yellow flowers. It should at least be easier to see when she's forgotten where she left it. Dad forgot to either shop or ask me to shop, and I forgot to suggest it to him. They've only been married 48 years 10 months, and he's not a 'new man'. We did well for Christmas. She'll forgive, but from self-deprication or because she has no choice.

She and I are going out to lunch with P and J, anyway. I'll spend the morning helping Dad learn about his new PalmOne.

Henry says it sounds as well as can be expected.

No marathon

I'm using this blog thing as confessional therapy, eh? Well, I guess that's one of the legitimate uses of the facility.

The Louisville Courier-Journal ran an Op-Ed warning us not to regard blogs as real journalism. Real journalists are, effectively, peer-reviewed, work hard to give verified facts. Bloggers can say what they like, don't have to credit sources or support opinion or distinguish opinion from fact.

Okay - I'm warned. I use the C-J for Louisville news, and the main networks, reputable web sites, and public radio. I don't have time to look for news in blogs. Do you?

But I do read at least one blog, and appreciate artful craft and truthful account when I find it. Thank you - don't apologise. Such writing sets a standard for paring the confession, the personal noise, to a form others can use it, or at least be moved by it, be given pause.

Henry says we blog and learn, and will also forgive me if I need to write too much again. Everyone should have a personal penguin.