I don't understand how someone who loves writing as much as I do, can blog so seldom. The thing is, I journal extensively, every day, so I suppose I sate my appetite for writing in that way. Also, it's a lot easier to whip out my journal and pen, than to get the laptop ready for writing. And there's something about writing by hand that feels incredibly meaningful. Our area's inexplicable few months of no loadshedding came to an abrupt end on Sunday night, taking me completely by surprise, so typing on a laptop is even more encumbered, with power outages lasting up to four hours, sometimes reaching a total of ten hours within a 24-hour period.
In the final days of my current part-time job, teaching matric English to adults, I'm preparing my students for their final exam paper, which they write on 9 June. While revising the different types of essays, I realised that my love for writing was essentially a love for reflective writing, more than any other type. Sometimes I venture into an argumentative style, and sometimes discursive, but my default mode is reflective - I see my blog as a type of fragmented memoir, written over many years. It's like Plan B, in case I don't get to write an actual book. I think the contents of this blog could easily make a book.
Yesterday, I had a very interesting conversation with my son. He's always been a planner of note, thinking things through carefully, and has always spoken about caring for me in my old age. As he, at age 28, tweaks plans for his own life, he wanted to check in with me about how I saw my future. We've had iterations of this conversation many times, so it was not unusual or surprising. What I liked was that he wanted to know my preferences, with the view towards assisting me in ways that suited me. I'm proud of him for having this conversation while I'm still full of energy, relatively healthy, and with all my mental faculties in place. This is the time to have those discussions. Putting them in writing is the next, more formal step. I remember trying to have this conversation with my mom and my sister, years before my mom was diagnosed with Alzheimer's, and let's just say that only one of us was ready for it. It was at a time when my mom was moving into a granny flat, on her own, and I said we should talk about what we would do one day when she wasn't able to live on her own anymore. I was accused of being "morbid", and the conversation simply did not happen. Not then, and not ever. In my naivete, I was surprised that planning for something as natural as ageing - which is the happier alternative, let's face it - was a taboo subject. That was one of the many times that I was shamed for thinking ahead, gaslighted for mentioning something that made perfect sense to me, but that my two closest people were so afraid to confront, that they refused to acknowledge that it merited a calm discussion.
Maybe had we had the discussion then, things would've been different now. But we didn't, and we let life bulldoze us into last-minute, emotional decision making. I made a mental note to do it differently with my own ageing process, and to have those conversations with my children. Anticipating reduced independence and capacity, in one's latter years, is not morbid. It's healthy to do so. We plan for everything else, so why not for ageing and dying? I've discussed my funeral arrangements with my daughter many times, so she knows my wishes. We're all going to die sometime - making arrangements is not morbid. It makes things easier when that time comes, because important decisions will already have been made.
I've had flu, for a few days. Well, I haven't been to a doctor (no money), but it feels like flu. This time, with laryngitis. I spent three days at home, taking meds we already had, and resting. And not talking. I went back to teach yesterday, and planned to rest my voice until my next class, on Saturday. Unfortunately, that did not happen, so my throat is very sore, once again. My main concern is that I have my next Solo Session in 8 days' time, and I'm worried that I won't be in good voice by then. Postponing a show is such a schlep. But sometimes unavoidable.
Winter is indeed here, and I feel like life just gets that much harder, this time of year. It's the humbling season - many more hours of darkness, and it's cold, wet and gloomy. My bedroom is the coldest in the house, with no North-facing windows and my North wall constantly damp, as the rain seeps through, year after year. I watch the damp patches make different shapes, as the rainy season sets in. Loadshedding in winter is particularly depressing. With sunrise so much later and sunset so much earlier, daylight hours are much fewer, so one's need for artificial lighting and heating is greater.
Life has been unusually tough, for the past 9 months, with the anomaly being my music life. Not that putting on my concerts has not been tough. I look forward to a brighter second half of the year, and a brighter future, in general. South Africa's many problems are another layer of stress, but right now I'm focussing on my personal situation. On Monday, I have a job interview for a contract teaching post. I am extremely conflicted about it, as my passion lies in teaching adults, and this is a high school post. I may not even be what they're looking for. I'll see. All I can be is myself - I have loads of teaching experience, but I've not taught at a high school for 11 years, and I'm sure a lot has changed. I'll see.
Following up on other leads, as well, as I cannot have another prolonged period of financial stress.
I think I'll end with a gratitude session.
Today I am grateful that I am alive. I am grateful that, even though I have flu, I am generally healthy. I am grateful that the students I started teaching in October 2022 are busy writing their matric exams, and that I have played a role in helping them get closer to their goals. I am grateful for how they have impacted on me.
I am grateful for my children, and for the types of adults they have turned out to be. I am grateful that they have a strong desire to live their lives doing what's meaningful and exciting to them. I am grateful that most of my seeds fell on fertile soil.
I am grateful for recent time spent with my mother, now 93. I am grateful that, despite living with dementia, she can still play the piano and sing. I am grateful for her life, how it's shaped mine, and the impact it's had on so many people.
I am grateful for my sister, who's been my mother's primary caregiver for the past 11 years. She ensures my mom is kept comfortable, healthy, safe and happy, with all the daily routines necessary. I'm grateful that she also makes time to do things that are meaningful and fun to her.
I'm grateful for my friends and how they've enriched my life. The older I get, the more I appreciate the importance of friends who don't judge you, and who not only accept you as you are, but who celebrate you as you are.
I'm grateful for my creative pursuits - music, crafting and writing - and for how they help me navigate life's stormy seas.
And lastly, I'm grateful for everyone who has helped me through the past 9 months of financial difficulty. Achieving my goal of emerging from this crisis, and having a full-time job, would be both the end of one phase and the beginning of another, as I steadily work towards sorting out the chaos. I am grateful that the wheel has to turn, that endings are in fact beginnings, and that every challenge has taught me important lessons I needed to learn.
I am grateful.
