2 Jan 2013
This is one of the two questions I’ve been asked most
frequently; the other is, “Where can I buy your CD?”
I’ve just spent the past hour or so reading through all my
blog posts since I started blogging, which was in the middle of 2009. Many of
them reminded me of promises I’d made to myself, inspiring me to take a new look at some things I’d dropped along
the way, as I allowed life to consume me. So, if they inspire me, the writer, there’s
a strong chance they’d inspire others. Maybe the most logical thing, while not
original by any means, is to turn what I’ve already written, and published as
blog posts, into a book. I have a few ideas for the title, some more socially acceptable
than others. J
Today’s my sister’s birthday – Happy birthday, sis!!! May you continue
to be surrounded by your loving friends. And may you find the strength inside
you to deal with life’s challenges when they arise.
I think I’ve spent the past week wanting to blog, but not
doing so because my son and I currently share the laptop and he’d set himself
some serious goals with his own writing. Because I have the next few days to
myself, space to do whatever I like whenever I like, I let him use it – the
cycles of our lives ensure me uninterrupted solo time, so I patiently wait my
turn.
We had my mom with us for a few days, and it was interesting
to see how she was handling her memory loss. She knows she’s forgetful, and she
often refers to it before asking a question. We never tell her she’s already
asked it, and we never add to her negative talk about her condition (Amnestic
Syndrome). I tell her she has to learn to accept it, that we’re all fine with
it, and that we love her, but she’s obviously got to go through her own
processes, as she adjusts to the profound changes in her life. Only she knows
what it feels like to actually live with her memory loss. Nine months ago, she
was hopping onto a train and taking herself to music shows, going to eat lunch
at her favourite little chain restaurant, meeting friends, and organising and
singing at concerts. Now she could get lost, forget where she lived, and so she
doesn’t go out on her own anymore. She’s in peak physical health, at age 82,
but because of her memory loss, she has to live a very different life. She
feels most comfortable when she’s with the immediate family, because she’s
self-conscious about her condition, afraid that friends might become annoyed at
her repeating herself.
I don’t think my mom realises how special she is to everyone
who knows her, and how much capacity we all have for accepting those we love,
especially when they’re afflicted with conditions beyond their control. The
bigger picture is, she’s in a comfortable, attractive home with my sister and
her husband, she’s taken good care of, she’s treated lovingly, and all her
material needs are met. She has certain routines and she has friends who visit
her and take her out. She doesn’t have the stresses of living alone, of cooking
and cleaning, and so on. Her life has changed radically since March 2012, but
she’s in a very good space now. She’s always been an avid reader, and this is
her main activity.
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Opposite my house, one of my neighbours has taken in two
homeless people, giving them space in his double garage. There, they’ve set up
a structure which serves as a bed, and this is a permanent feature, staring me
in the face, as the garage has no door. Day and night, I’m exposed to the
goings-on in this space. The worst is that the guy sometimes hits the woman.
Most of the time, he’s drunk and I have to listen to his verbal abuse of her. She,
to her credit, often scolds, not reciprocating. Today, however, she seems to
have had enough of the subservient role, as she’s swearing right back at him.
Usually I go outside and ask him to stop swearing, but today I think I’ll leave
them (her) to vent. I have a dilemma with this couple – I want to help, but
when I see how much my neighbour has to go through since his decision (they
require constant attention), I know I don’t want to take that on. It’s his
decision, and he has to live with the consequences. There’s an attitude of
entitlement that I honestly can’t handle. The homeless man irritates the hell
out of me by harassing my visitors – he comes right up to their car windows,
with his offensive, alcoholic breath, and nags them for money. Most of my
visitors are my guitar students, my clients, so I often have to go outside and
reprimand him. He sees this as an opportunity to engage with me (negative
attention is better than no attention) and then I have the problem of cutting
him short without seeming disrespectful. The woman has serious health problems,
and she’s had to be fetched by an ambulance and hospitalised twice in the last
six months.
Sometimes I feel like I’m having an out-of-body experience,
when I’ve been doing back-breaking housework for hours because I don’t have a
domestic worker, and I’m tired and resentful because it’s the weekend and I’d rather
be relaxing, and this man comes to my door and asks for money. I usually give
clothes or food to the beggars who appear at my door, but I have a real problem
with this guy. I detest the fact that he sits on his arse all day, using
whatever money he gets (from begging) to buy cheap wine and get pissed out of
his skull, and then he has the nerve to
ask me for stuff, like I OWE him something! Work in my garden, sweep my yard,
DO something, and then I’ll think of helping you. That attitude of entitlement
seems to be fuelled by the kindness of someone like my well-intentioned
neighbour.
What their presence has introduced into our quiet little
neighbourhood is a little cave of obscenity. The vulgarity is so toxic, I find myself
standing at my front door all hours of the night, asking them to please stop,
as there are children around. With limited social skills, the guy’s temper goes
from 0 to 100 in 5 seconds, as he resorts to the ugliest words to humiliate the
woman. It’s so disgusting and so sad. The crazy thing is that that neighbour’s
often not around to hear the drama.
11/03/13
About two weeks ago, the violence that this man inflicts on
his partner got so bad, that I called the police. To their credit, they came
fifteen minutes later. By this time, the man had disappeared, and the bleeding
woman, who’d been shouting, “Call the police” not that long before, was telling
the policemen, “No, officers, there’s no problem. No problem at all.”
I was sad for many reasons – for the cruel cycle of abuse,
and for the people trapped in relationships where they can’t escape, even when
an opportunity to do so is presented; but I was also sad that my teenaged
children had to learn that lesson about domestic abuse in such a direct way.
I have a dilemma, now: what do I do the NEXT time the guy
beats the living daylights out of the woman and she screams for someone to call
the police? And how do the police keep responding to these calls, knowing the
usual outcome?
