Here I sit, in Alan's sitting room, late on a Thursday night, wondering if anyone will notice if I don't do the blog till Sunday. But I know that you all get anxious on a Thursday night, wondering if I will do just that, delay the writing of the week's events, stringing you out until you cannot cope any longer, leaving you wringing your hands and calling your therapist for advice. Oh it is a powerful position, that of a blogger. And one that comes with responsibilities. It is no excuse to have had such a large Indian meal that you can no longer move your arms. It is no excuse to be unable to read the screen because your eyes are crossed for the same reason. So I will struggle to stay upright, and battle on. Burp.
A Graceful Death is going to Northampton. I had a look at the venue on Monday, and was very excited to see a screen for projections (our AGD film) that covered an entire wall. The effect will be hypnotic. I will be there, normal sized, with my paintings in the room and on one entire wall I will be about 8' high and playing on a loop. It is lucky that we are being given a small room to chill out and meditate on the themes of the exhibition; it will be full of people trying to hide under the chairs.
I am preparing my talk too and have given up the idea of a power point. It is giving me so much pain, that I may give a talk on how the power point has taken over my brain and I am its victim - and this without even knowing if it is on my computer or not. So, my talk will be from the heart, and I will speak on Spirituality. I think that it is such a simple need, such a simple subject, and mostly we miss the clues. I walked into a patient's room recently, a man in his 60s, lying with his back to the door. I had not met him before, he had recently arrived. He turned round as I came into his room and said, does it matter that I have taught so many young people, do any of them remember what I said? Does any of this matter? I didn't know, and I said that I didn't know. But what I thought was, this is a spiritual moment. What do you think? I asked him. Does it matter to you? I used to teach survival techniques in nature, he said. And now I am here and I will not leave this place. Was any of it any use?
The next time I went in to see him, he said that he was sorry, his breathing was too difficult to talk. He was not able to speak again and I do not know if he found any resolutions for his questions. But I was taught something by him, of the need to recognise the moment, and listen with all my attention. Yes, I say to his memory, you were still teaching, I was your last pupil.
Today and tomorrow I am finishing my part one Doula for the Dying course in Lewes with Hermoine Elliot and the Living Well Dying Well Foundation. I have trained with Felicity Warner as a Soul Midwife, and am very happy to have all that I have learned with Felicity affirmed and expanded by Hermoine's excellent course. One of the best things about these two courses is the people I meet on them. We are determined and inspired to work with the dying, supporting each other with kindness and love as we try to carve a niche for ourselves and work effectively after our courses. And it is not easy, I may add. Ooooh no. There is so much to learn and such a long slow road to travel. To be effective we need experience and to get experience we need time and opportunity. And we need to to ask ourselves constantly, What am I doing? Am I effective?
The next day. Friday morning.
Here I sit, at the breakfast table with Alan, both of us on our laptops, a modern couple. I have a whopper of a day ahead. I feel very happy at this breakfast table, it is rather nice to be so modern, so busy, so time-poor that we cannot chat over our banana sandwiches and tea. Alan is an introvert and I am an extrovert. I can imagine that documents and important papers are a better option than a bouncing extrovert saying Hi! Hello. Look at me! This is what I am going to say. Hi! Oooh hoo! Here are all my thoughts and here is what I think of everything and let's boogie! Today, I too am on my laptop and feel a sense of real companionship as I tap away publicly blogging about myself, and he taps away on very important tennis business followed by very important invoices.
The whopper part of the day is to leave Lewes this afternoon, drive to Winchester, have dinner with my elderly aunt, her sister, my other elderly aunt and my father, all of whom are together for the first time in many many years, and all of whom will be exhausted by now having been together eyeball to eyeball for the last few days. My dear father, the youngest at 80, gets very confused and muddled. I am going to drive from Lewes, dine with all of them in Winchester (a real treat, they are remarkable people), take Dad from Winchester to Teddington where he lives, drop him off and drive back to Bognor Regis.
Yes. I will go to Heaven.
And Alan has just looked up from his laptop, to me on mine, across the tiny breakfast table and said, not My dear, how fine you look today. Or, Do have a lovely last day at your course and go safely as you drive across the country tonight oh wonderful taxi driver. No, Alan said, it's 8.54 and you are going to be late.
I am going to text him now that I am off, and later I will email him about how my day has been.
And the blog has been posted on the Friday as promised. Now I must away. Bye bye Alan, if I forget to text you, I am off now, see you soon xxx.
Friday, 19 October 2012
Friday, 12 October 2012
Hollerin, Hooverin and Galloping Around
Very soon, I go and collect the incomparable Eileen Rafferty from Bognor Regis station. She will arrive to a house that is now a graveyard for fleas. I have until the 17th of this month before I can hoover and wash the floors and carpets, but today, I gave in. Once the pest control fellows had covered the whole house in flea exterminator, I was told to leave everything in place for 21 days. Those 21 days would have been up on Wednesday next but Eileen sent me a message this morning to say that she would be at Bognor this evening, and I thought, I am giving in. Eileen may or may not get fleas this weekend, but my nerves cannot stand the humiliation of showing her my filthy home. It was never like this for Doris Day. So I hoovered downstairs at 9.30 this morning, and I hoovered upstairs at 4.30 this afternoon. I feel many stones lighter and a good deal younger now. I can hold my head up high and say to Eileen when I go and collect her, I live like Doris Day, Eileen Rafferty, spotless and perfect in every way. This is a home where standards prevail and I am at the top of my tree. See your reflection in my floors, and tremble.
I have been aware of changes on the horizon. It is like watching an army of horsemen gathering just there, in the distance, jostling and stamping and waiting for the order to charge. The order to charge came this week, and though it is a friendly charge, it is alarming all the same. The horsemen represent projects and ideas and events and paintings, all of which to be done by me soon, and at once. I heard the thundering of the hooves of the charging horsemen a week ago and blow me down, they are all a whooping and a hollering and galloping this way and that around me now, and I don't know which way to turn first. I seem to have said Yes! to everyone that passed me recently and asked me to do something. Yes! I said with a cheery grin, I'm the one! Don't mind if I do! Will you, someone said, do me a painting. Yes! Can I have one too? Yes! Will you come and join a panel in Oxford to be and expert on spirituality and end of life matters? Yes! Will you come to my conference? Yes! Will you come on my course? Yes! Will you leave your course in Lewes, drive to Winchester for 6pm, pick up your Dad, take him to Teddington and then drive back to Bognor Regis? Yes! And so it goes on. I think I will give you a breakdown of things that I am doing right now. We will do it in bullet form and I will be terse and informative. This is the result of having horsemen whoopin and a hollerin around me everywhere I look. It concentrates the mind amazingly.
I have been aware of changes on the horizon. It is like watching an army of horsemen gathering just there, in the distance, jostling and stamping and waiting for the order to charge. The order to charge came this week, and though it is a friendly charge, it is alarming all the same. The horsemen represent projects and ideas and events and paintings, all of which to be done by me soon, and at once. I heard the thundering of the hooves of the charging horsemen a week ago and blow me down, they are all a whooping and a hollering and galloping this way and that around me now, and I don't know which way to turn first. I seem to have said Yes! to everyone that passed me recently and asked me to do something. Yes! I said with a cheery grin, I'm the one! Don't mind if I do! Will you, someone said, do me a painting. Yes! Can I have one too? Yes! Will you come and join a panel in Oxford to be and expert on spirituality and end of life matters? Yes! Will you come to my conference? Yes! Will you come on my course? Yes! Will you leave your course in Lewes, drive to Winchester for 6pm, pick up your Dad, take him to Teddington and then drive back to Bognor Regis? Yes! And so it goes on. I think I will give you a breakdown of things that I am doing right now. We will do it in bullet form and I will be terse and informative. This is the result of having horsemen whoopin and a hollerin around me everywhere I look. It concentrates the mind amazingly.
- Saturday 27 October, I join a panel in Oxford as an expert (whoop whoop holler holler) on spirituality in the end of life. We watch Nell Dunns play Home Death and answer questions afterwards. At the Pegasus Theatre, Magdalene Road, OX4 1RE. From 4.15 to 6.30 www.kickingthebucket.co.uk
- Before I go to the Pegasus Theatre I am having lunch with an old school friend who lives and works in Oxford, whom I have not seen since 1904 and probably won't recognise. But, there is lunch involved and I know that we will recognise each other and go all silly and misbehave just as we were when we last saw each other, aged 16. We will see if we can suck our lunches up through our noses and then fall off our chairs laughing before I will have to pick the pasta out of my hair and go and be an expert on something or other somewhere else.
- Tuesday 30 October I go to Northampton to set up for the conference Spirit of Caring: Spirituality and Well-being in End of Life Care www.loros.com. I am showing the A Graceful Death exhibition there and addressing the conference on the Wednesday 31 October. This is full of gravitas and I am on the one hand, so delighted to be talking on something that I feel strongly about, on the other hand I am having kittens because I am addressing real people who know more than me. Subtext to this is -
- I have no idea how to do a power point and have in my head, that if I don't do a power point presentation, due in only a few weeks time, I may die. I need to talk this over with a sensible adult. Thank you Eileen.
- I have to finish the two new paintings for AGD, and have them photographed (thank you Eileen). I am very nearly finished but both need the accompanying texts to be prepared, written, printed and laminated.
- There is poetry from a lady in Canada, and a wild essay on death by the gloriously outspoken writer Oliva Fane, to print and prepare. There are also booklets to prepare and print. I found a man called Chris who will do it all for me in his shop for a price. I wonder if he can do power points and write presentations. And paint. Free me up nicely.
- Cousin Maddy is meeting me at the venue on the 30th to help me set up. She is watching me present the next day and then going home. That is so helpful I am speechless briefly but not for long because I need to speak quite a lot on the 31st.
- Eileen says I should practice my presentation on her tomorrow. Brave. Foolish. Selfless. Help.
- Wednesday 14 November I take the AGD exhibition to Edinburgh Zoo to the annual Good Life Good Death Good Grief event www.goodlifedeathgrief.org.uk. The information and poster is being created as we speak, so there is nothing as yet on the website about this event. Does it exist? I believe so.
- It will take me two days to drive to the zoo and two days to drive back. Staying with friends on the way there and on the way back. It will be like being on tour.
- 3 painting commissions
- I more book to illustrate
- A soul midwife meeting to arrange
- A new AGD exhibition and soul midwife education event in Bridport to organise for next year
- A working alliance with the lovely Nigel, Soul Midwife and nurse in Brighton
- Possible AGD work here in Chichester over Easter
- Life Board workshops up and running from my dining room.
Saturday, 6 October 2012
The Quagmire of Ick and Brene Brown who is not even a bit in it.
Oh, you know, this week has had no form. I remember on last Monday morning, writing my plans for the week ahead on the whiteboard in the studio, and feeling blank then. I am not sure if I wrote anything more than the very basics of what I wanted to get done this week, in the vaguest of language. For example, on Tuesday in the Family bit, it had "bath". And in the Work bit of Tuesday it had "paint". And now it is Saturday night. Here I sit on my fancy sofa, my twinkly cushions all around me, having had a bath and put on my dressing gown that smells gloriously of scented washing liquid with added fabric softener and the essence of kitten laughter and snow; here I sit and think what, what was it, that I did this week?
How about this then. On Wednesday evening, a friend took me to see Prof Brene Brown talking about vulnerability, shame, guilt, love and hope. Brene Brown is wonderfully amusing and clever. Have a look at this
and now, I can't think straight. I can't tell you anything at all about the week just gone, it feels as if my head is stuffed with cotton wool. I loved seeing Brene Brown, and I think there is much in what she says about dealing with people who face dying. When someone is facing their death, they are sometimes paralysed with vulnerability. We, looking on, trying to help, may not understand this, we may not recognise it in them, nor in ourselves. We are ever so vulnerable too. At the Hospice this week a parent that I had met just once a day before, said to me just hours after his daughter had died, will I recover? I felt lost and vulnerable. I didn't know what to say, I would love to have been knowing and right and the boss, but I was just a volunteer. There was nothing I could say, and you know, one of the things that I felt was that of all the people to ask, I am the worst. I am not a nurse, I am not a therapist, I am not trained and I don't know what to say or do. So I hugged this father and held him tight and thought that nothing could be as bad as this for him ever again.
You may have to forgive this week's blog for being a bit below par. I feel a bit below par. There are butterflies in my tummy and I am trying to work out why they are there. Here is what I have come up with.
As I was writing this, I looked to my left and there, waving the front two of its long legs at me, was a very large black spider. It was just a breath away from my shoulder, on the sofa cushion next to me. Think yourself lucky, it seemed to say with its legs testing the air in front of it, think yourself lucky. I am a nice spider, full of charm and wit. I do a lot of volunteering too, and am very keen on green issues, but do you think it makes any difference? No. not a bit of it. Despite the redoubtable character qualities that I possess, people run yelling Mama! when they see me. I am handicapped, don't you see, from the start. But you, continued my noble spider, have everything. No one runs yelling when they see you, and you do not have to hide your light under a bushell, as I do. You can afford to go out there, do your stuff, and you are given chance after chance after chance. All I get if I come out into the open, is a person with a hoover, or a broom, or a fly swat. So buck up my darling, buck up. An early night, a cup of tea, and tomorrow is all yours for the taking.
Mama! I yelled, Spider! And then I felt guilty because it wasn't fair to tease it like that. So I picked up the cushion and put the spider on the floor behind my sofa, and wished it good luck in its volunteering, and climbed back on the sofa quick in case it came anywhere near me and I would have to hoover it. You are right, large spider, I said to it from the sofa as I sat with my legs tucked up underneath me, not one part of me touching the floor - you are right. Thank you, I will go to bed now, and let us hope that you find an equal amount of peace, there, under my sofa, as I will from my bed. Just don't come out till I have left the room.
And now, to leave you, the answer to this Quagmire of Ick. This must have been magicked by the spider, who I think was a kind of guru. Here is a quote from Heart Jewel by Geshe-La and sent to me by spider power and by my friend Gail on Facebook - thank you Gail, I am healed.
How about this then. On Wednesday evening, a friend took me to see Prof Brene Brown talking about vulnerability, shame, guilt, love and hope. Brene Brown is wonderfully amusing and clever. Have a look at this
and now, I can't think straight. I can't tell you anything at all about the week just gone, it feels as if my head is stuffed with cotton wool. I loved seeing Brene Brown, and I think there is much in what she says about dealing with people who face dying. When someone is facing their death, they are sometimes paralysed with vulnerability. We, looking on, trying to help, may not understand this, we may not recognise it in them, nor in ourselves. We are ever so vulnerable too. At the Hospice this week a parent that I had met just once a day before, said to me just hours after his daughter had died, will I recover? I felt lost and vulnerable. I didn't know what to say, I would love to have been knowing and right and the boss, but I was just a volunteer. There was nothing I could say, and you know, one of the things that I felt was that of all the people to ask, I am the worst. I am not a nurse, I am not a therapist, I am not trained and I don't know what to say or do. So I hugged this father and held him tight and thought that nothing could be as bad as this for him ever again.
You may have to forgive this week's blog for being a bit below par. I feel a bit below par. There are butterflies in my tummy and I am trying to work out why they are there. Here is what I have come up with.
- The real success of flea treatment from the Pest Control Department is leaving the stuff they put on the floors untouched for 3 weeks. No hoovering, no washing, no nuffink. So now, a week later, I am beginning to feel the panic of a housewife who knows that very soon, she can write her name with her foot, in the detritus on the floor. So, in my mind, my house is falling down around me. I hate dirt and mess in the house, and feel if I have it under a bit of control, my mind will work and I will come up with full and complete ideas and not stint on the follow-through.
- I am not Brene Brown who I think is really who I am meant to be. Only she got there first.
- I have a talk to do on Spirituality and Well Being at the End of Life. I haven't started, and I keep not doing it. It is for very soon and if I don't do it, I will have proved to myself that I should be fired by myself. I had a horoscope done many years ago and one of the things that was recommended for me to do, for which I would be absolutely top notch, is running a typing agency. I shall do that then.
- I can't remember where anything is. 15 year old son thinks I am going to die soon.
- Older Son is gone from the house. He has found a bedsit and a college place and has moved away. Oh what a good thing this is, but I worry.
- Instead of doing my talk, I have said said to anyone and everyone, Oooh pick me! Pick me! so I now have tons of meetings to go to and very important things to do for other people. I have begun to ask anyone who is nice to me if they wouldn't mind writing the whole presentation for me, but no one really knows what I am talking about. Not a good thing for someone who needs to get a message across.
- What message?
As I was writing this, I looked to my left and there, waving the front two of its long legs at me, was a very large black spider. It was just a breath away from my shoulder, on the sofa cushion next to me. Think yourself lucky, it seemed to say with its legs testing the air in front of it, think yourself lucky. I am a nice spider, full of charm and wit. I do a lot of volunteering too, and am very keen on green issues, but do you think it makes any difference? No. not a bit of it. Despite the redoubtable character qualities that I possess, people run yelling Mama! when they see me. I am handicapped, don't you see, from the start. But you, continued my noble spider, have everything. No one runs yelling when they see you, and you do not have to hide your light under a bushell, as I do. You can afford to go out there, do your stuff, and you are given chance after chance after chance. All I get if I come out into the open, is a person with a hoover, or a broom, or a fly swat. So buck up my darling, buck up. An early night, a cup of tea, and tomorrow is all yours for the taking.
Mama! I yelled, Spider! And then I felt guilty because it wasn't fair to tease it like that. So I picked up the cushion and put the spider on the floor behind my sofa, and wished it good luck in its volunteering, and climbed back on the sofa quick in case it came anywhere near me and I would have to hoover it. You are right, large spider, I said to it from the sofa as I sat with my legs tucked up underneath me, not one part of me touching the floor - you are right. Thank you, I will go to bed now, and let us hope that you find an equal amount of peace, there, under my sofa, as I will from my bed. Just don't come out till I have left the room.
And now, to leave you, the answer to this Quagmire of Ick. This must have been magicked by the spider, who I think was a kind of guru. Here is a quote from Heart Jewel by Geshe-La and sent to me by spider power and by my friend Gail on Facebook - thank you Gail, I am healed.
 |
| What I look like when in the Quagmire of Ick. That is chocolate in my mouth. |
 |
| On top of a mountain, a winner, with my three glorious brothers. |
Friday, 28 September 2012
The Naughty Little Flea and the Haka
Here is a musical introduction to this week's blog, setting the agenda. When I told my Darling Dublin Friend that my house was being attacked by fleas, she sent me this. I realised then that it was all up to me, there were only muffled giggles from Dublin and no offers to come over and help pelt the little buggers.
Today I will talk about my flea infestation, and the manner in which you get what you ask for, but not in the straight forward manner that would make sense in a busy world. I will also give you a brief idea of what I am doing at the moment.
15 year old son woke recently and said, Look. Look at my itchy bites. I thought, Ah. I will ignore this and it will go away. So I sent him on his way with a cheery wave, until, I awoke with itchy bites a few days later. I have itchy bites, I yelled, it's all about me! Poor son showed me his new bites and we began to fear we had bed bugs. Son and I stripped our beds to the bone and saw no bed bugs at all, no signs of them and no evidence whatsoever. They are hiding, I said to son, let us do this later in the dark and show them who is boss. We waited till dark, and pounced, still in the dark, with a torch, to catch the bed bugs that I imagined lolling around on our beds, complaining that there was nothing to eat, and who had made such a mess of the mattress and bed frame? But nothing. Not even the tail end of a bed bug scurrying for cover into the springs. Well, our relief was short lived as we both awoke the next morning and compared our new bites.
I called our local council, and asked for help. Send me your best exterminators, I said, I have bed bugs but they are a new breed of clever and invisible bed bug, and we need the Arnold Schwarzenegger approach. Madam, said the kind lady on the phone, you may find that you have fleas. Mother, said my excellent daughter on the phone later that night, you have fleas.
Two pest control men came. Ah! they said as I showed them the beds, there are no bed bugs, you are clean of bed bugs. The reason you cannot catch them, even with a torch, even late at night in the dark, is because you, praise the Lord, have none. I had looked online at the methods of getting rid of bed bugs, and it seems that I would have to pay a lot, burn the house, all its contents, and move abroad to get rid of them. What a relief.
Have you a cat? Asked my new best friends from Arun Pest Control. I don't, but my polite and elegant lodger does. Reggie, the sleek black man cat, lives with my very wonderful lodger in the annex which I rent out.
Reggie, sure enough, was sitting proudly amongst his fleas. There is your answer, said my pals from pest control. The cat needs to be deflea-ed and so does your house. Come tomorrow, I cried, and save us. Righto, they said, 11am. But, they said, you must now hoover every inch of your floors, especially the edges of the rooms, you must get rid of dust and mess, clean under all the beds, the furniture, throw out clutter. When you have done that, remove every item that you can from off the floor so that we can come in tomorrow and give those fleas a chemical Armageddon.
Here is where the manner in which you get what you ask for becomes an interesting discussion point. At this point, the nature of the universe collides with the most basic of things, the removal of fleas.
My older son moved out last week, to a nice little place in Brighton. Moving of a young person always throws up the following
And so God gave me fleas. Jump to it, he said both to them and to me. If I give you fleas, you will have to scurry around clearing up your house between the hours of 3pm when you get the diagnosis from Arun Pest Control, till 11am the next morning when they will arrive like Ghost Busters, with all their paraphernalia with which to bash seven bells out the fleas. Chop chop, he said. Spit spot, as Mary Poppins has said. Spit spot.
I have a five bedroom house with an annex. It is a big job. I rolled up my sleeves, furrowed my brow, did a war dance like the Haka, and with a yell, I began. I hoovered the floors, walls, ceilings, and furniture. I threw away, I banished, I flung from the house; the flea larvae loves the dust, the flea expert had said, eliminate all dust. Dust, I said as I battled through, Dust, you are toast. At 11am the next morning, a single man arrived with a small pump and some chemicals (not 10 men with a lorry with a radar on the roof as I had expected) and within a couple of hours, my house was a battle field in which the fleas had been routed. I cannot hoover or clean the floors for 3 weeks, as there is a layer of flea napalm on it. But the house, the furniture, everything as far as the eye can see, is clean! It is over! I live in a show house (ish), I have fresh flowers in every room and Doris Day can come and live here now, I have gone from the ridiculous to the sublime. I have what I wanted, and all because of Reggie. Thanks Reggie. But don't do it again.
What am I doing these days? Here is a list.
So now, to end, I will show you how the fleas felt when I was doing my Haka type war dance. Watch this and tremble.
Today I will talk about my flea infestation, and the manner in which you get what you ask for, but not in the straight forward manner that would make sense in a busy world. I will also give you a brief idea of what I am doing at the moment.
15 year old son woke recently and said, Look. Look at my itchy bites. I thought, Ah. I will ignore this and it will go away. So I sent him on his way with a cheery wave, until, I awoke with itchy bites a few days later. I have itchy bites, I yelled, it's all about me! Poor son showed me his new bites and we began to fear we had bed bugs. Son and I stripped our beds to the bone and saw no bed bugs at all, no signs of them and no evidence whatsoever. They are hiding, I said to son, let us do this later in the dark and show them who is boss. We waited till dark, and pounced, still in the dark, with a torch, to catch the bed bugs that I imagined lolling around on our beds, complaining that there was nothing to eat, and who had made such a mess of the mattress and bed frame? But nothing. Not even the tail end of a bed bug scurrying for cover into the springs. Well, our relief was short lived as we both awoke the next morning and compared our new bites.
I called our local council, and asked for help. Send me your best exterminators, I said, I have bed bugs but they are a new breed of clever and invisible bed bug, and we need the Arnold Schwarzenegger approach. Madam, said the kind lady on the phone, you may find that you have fleas. Mother, said my excellent daughter on the phone later that night, you have fleas.
Two pest control men came. Ah! they said as I showed them the beds, there are no bed bugs, you are clean of bed bugs. The reason you cannot catch them, even with a torch, even late at night in the dark, is because you, praise the Lord, have none. I had looked online at the methods of getting rid of bed bugs, and it seems that I would have to pay a lot, burn the house, all its contents, and move abroad to get rid of them. What a relief.
Have you a cat? Asked my new best friends from Arun Pest Control. I don't, but my polite and elegant lodger does. Reggie, the sleek black man cat, lives with my very wonderful lodger in the annex which I rent out.
Reggie, sure enough, was sitting proudly amongst his fleas. There is your answer, said my pals from pest control. The cat needs to be deflea-ed and so does your house. Come tomorrow, I cried, and save us. Righto, they said, 11am. But, they said, you must now hoover every inch of your floors, especially the edges of the rooms, you must get rid of dust and mess, clean under all the beds, the furniture, throw out clutter. When you have done that, remove every item that you can from off the floor so that we can come in tomorrow and give those fleas a chemical Armageddon.
Here is where the manner in which you get what you ask for becomes an interesting discussion point. At this point, the nature of the universe collides with the most basic of things, the removal of fleas.
My older son moved out last week, to a nice little place in Brighton. Moving of a young person always throws up the following
- rubbish
- clutter
- foulness
- old bits of food
- plastic bags
- disorder
- chaos
- horror
- madness
- breakdown
And so God gave me fleas. Jump to it, he said both to them and to me. If I give you fleas, you will have to scurry around clearing up your house between the hours of 3pm when you get the diagnosis from Arun Pest Control, till 11am the next morning when they will arrive like Ghost Busters, with all their paraphernalia with which to bash seven bells out the fleas. Chop chop, he said. Spit spot, as Mary Poppins has said. Spit spot.
I have a five bedroom house with an annex. It is a big job. I rolled up my sleeves, furrowed my brow, did a war dance like the Haka, and with a yell, I began. I hoovered the floors, walls, ceilings, and furniture. I threw away, I banished, I flung from the house; the flea larvae loves the dust, the flea expert had said, eliminate all dust. Dust, I said as I battled through, Dust, you are toast. At 11am the next morning, a single man arrived with a small pump and some chemicals (not 10 men with a lorry with a radar on the roof as I had expected) and within a couple of hours, my house was a battle field in which the fleas had been routed. I cannot hoover or clean the floors for 3 weeks, as there is a layer of flea napalm on it. But the house, the furniture, everything as far as the eye can see, is clean! It is over! I live in a show house (ish), I have fresh flowers in every room and Doris Day can come and live here now, I have gone from the ridiculous to the sublime. I have what I wanted, and all because of Reggie. Thanks Reggie. But don't do it again.
What am I doing these days? Here is a list.
- I sold my Teapot Fairy to my dear friend and Soul Midwife Mandy, and am putting some wings and a halo on it so that it is a Teapot Angel.
- I distance reiki'd Felicity Warner (www.soulmidwives.co.uk) and she said she felt better. She is a kind lady.
- I am planning my route up to the Chimp House in Edinburgh Zoo where I am taking A Graceful Death to take part in the Good Life, Good Death, Good Grief annual event. This is becoming a wonderful outing as I am staying at different friends along the way and way back.
- There are wonderful conference facilities in the Chimp House in the Zoo. Got you there.
- I am all over the shop getting ideas and meeting people. Now that I don't have fleas, I have an extra dimension to me, and believe that the world is all mine.
- I have to do a power point presentation on Spirituality and Well Being In End Of Life Care, for the Spirituality Conference next month for LOROS (Leicestershire and Rutland Organisation for the Relief of Suffering). I am full of strange ideas that need some careful sorting. More on that as it evolves.
So now, to end, I will show you how the fleas felt when I was doing my Haka type war dance. Watch this and tremble.
Saturday, 22 September 2012
Faffing. Perceptions and Reality.
This blog is a day late, I hope you have not suffered. However, we are here now, writing and reading, so perhaps we can let this slide into what some may call the Great Cosmic Circle of Life. And now, from this same Great Cosmic Circle of Life comes today's blog. Read on, it is topical, and universal. I deal, today, with faffing. There are two strands of thought in my head at the moment, 1. Perception 2. Reality.
Fiddling and Faffing. (Perception)
I am all of a dither. My to do list would read thus
As a Faffer, the day is not long enough. There is too much to do, and yet when asked to make a list, the list would read as above. Here is an example of a more considered Faffer's list
At times like these, when I can't quite get my thinking straight, it is as if the things that I long to do and that I have promised to do, drift away past me, like the old Bisto gravy advert, where the two children sniff longingly and delightedly as the smell of Bisto tantilisingly passes under their noses and out through the open window into the middle distance. I am sure that I have signed up for more than I can deliver, I am sure that I don't have the power to deliver all those dreams that once seemed so important. It is not helpful, though inevitable, to be over critical when watching ones life and ambition drift like the Bisto advert, out of the open window and off into the neighbour's garden. Ah me! I say as not only my dreams and ambitions disappear slowly into my neighbour's garden, ah me! Time itself has been upended and what was once simply just a day for filling with pithy and delightful things to make the world a better place, has become a barren and ever decreasing speck of nothing on the space time continuum. Time, that thing which was once mine to command, is but a gravy advert, wafting away from under my nose out and into Bognor Regis, along with all of my common sense . At this point, 15 year old son comes home from school and I am relieved because one thing I can do at all times, is cook sausages.
Girding of the Loins. (Reality)
Very astute folk say that we can't know what we do want unless we have experienced what we don't want. Well, I don't want to faff. I know I don't want to faff because I have done so, and it gets me nowhere. Here is the reality and the part where I metaphorically gird my loins and get on out there. So to speak.
Time! I say, with passion. I bite my thumb at you! What is this nonsense that there is not enough of you? There is always the same amount of you, and sometimes you get full up. Sometimes you don't. It is my perception of you, when in a droopy state of mind, that is making me feel so low. So now, when I am aware that time is not my enemy, faffing is a thing of the mind, and that I am not, somehow, homeless and without a future, I can get on with stuff. Once I am clear of mind again, once I have come out from the Tunnel of Faff, I wonder what on earth it was all about. Those people slapping down memos saying, Good Lord, she was but a whisp of promise in the air, that is all, sever all connections! are now saying, What vim! What verve! Let us work with her because she is all that she said she was and whatever that is, we need it to save the planet. Send her an email saying Yes!
My lists when I am feeling on top of things, make sense. They create order for me, so that I do not feel that my projects are ridiculously unrealistic. I have a calender in my kitchen, I have a diary in my bag and I have a To Do list in my studio. I also have a large whiteboard in the studio on which I write all of the projects and commitments that I have for the year and behind that, I have three whiteboards on which I have written A Graceful Death, Commissions, and Other. Overkill? Perhaps. And my friend Jane just gave me a lovely notebook to use for all my thoughts and ideas. I need all this organising, I like to write it all down, and I like to see evidence everywhere of what is happening in Antonia Land. It can all be terribly exciting. It acts as a brake too, so that the truly potty ideas can be rubbed smartly out and a small now now Antonia, feet on the ground please. Concentrate. Sensible only please, administered. When I am with my Soul Midwife friends who are trained medics I tend to decide to go and study medicine. Tomorrow. When I am with my Soul Midwife friends who are members of the Clergy, I tend to want to go an get ordained. Tomorrow. I have to keep a strict eye on myself in order that I do what I do best, which is to paint, to write, to be with people when they need it and to cook sausages. And to do A Graceful Death and do talks and do workshops and meet new people and say yes to everything....
So this is my reality. I get stuck, and then I get unstuck. When I am stuck, when I am miserable, I can't paint. I can't think, and I can't do anything. When that passes, which it always does, I am very relieved and set about writing my lists with gay abandon. I can do it all! You want A Graceful Death in Smolensk? Yes! You want a workshop on Soul Midwives in the Offshore Oil Industry? Yes! You want a spot of Reiki even though you live in Timbuktu? Of course! You want a portrait of your entire extended family in fancy dress plus all retainers? Yes! Actually, none of these things happen, I have not been offered anything like this but if I was, I would say Yes!
And So -
And so, life goes on. Back to the Great Cosmic Circle of Life which we mentioned at the beginning of this blog. Written in fire at the top of the Great Cosmic Circle of Life are the immortal words Faff Not, Thou Of Little Faith and below, still in words of fire, Gird Thee Thy Loins, Time To Write A List. And in between, descriptions of many stages along the way. And in the middle, written in a hand older than time itself, the words, Remember Thou, Bisto.
Fiddling and Faffing. (Perception)
I am all of a dither. My to do list would read thus
- Fiddle a bit in office
- Fiddle a bit in studio
- Faff in both rooms
- Hoover everything
- Expect the bailiffs
- Deny everything
As a Faffer, the day is not long enough. There is too much to do, and yet when asked to make a list, the list would read as above. Here is an example of a more considered Faffer's list
- Um.
- Write a list
- I really ought to wash the bathroom tiles
- Er.
- Got to write a speech and paint 4 more paintings by 5pm today
- Plan the whole of next year
- Call Weight Watchers help line
At times like these, when I can't quite get my thinking straight, it is as if the things that I long to do and that I have promised to do, drift away past me, like the old Bisto gravy advert, where the two children sniff longingly and delightedly as the smell of Bisto tantilisingly passes under their noses and out through the open window into the middle distance. I am sure that I have signed up for more than I can deliver, I am sure that I don't have the power to deliver all those dreams that once seemed so important. It is not helpful, though inevitable, to be over critical when watching ones life and ambition drift like the Bisto advert, out of the open window and off into the neighbour's garden. Ah me! I say as not only my dreams and ambitions disappear slowly into my neighbour's garden, ah me! Time itself has been upended and what was once simply just a day for filling with pithy and delightful things to make the world a better place, has become a barren and ever decreasing speck of nothing on the space time continuum. Time, that thing which was once mine to command, is but a gravy advert, wafting away from under my nose out and into Bognor Regis, along with all of my common sense . At this point, 15 year old son comes home from school and I am relieved because one thing I can do at all times, is cook sausages.
Girding of the Loins. (Reality)
Very astute folk say that we can't know what we do want unless we have experienced what we don't want. Well, I don't want to faff. I know I don't want to faff because I have done so, and it gets me nowhere. Here is the reality and the part where I metaphorically gird my loins and get on out there. So to speak.
Time! I say, with passion. I bite my thumb at you! What is this nonsense that there is not enough of you? There is always the same amount of you, and sometimes you get full up. Sometimes you don't. It is my perception of you, when in a droopy state of mind, that is making me feel so low. So now, when I am aware that time is not my enemy, faffing is a thing of the mind, and that I am not, somehow, homeless and without a future, I can get on with stuff. Once I am clear of mind again, once I have come out from the Tunnel of Faff, I wonder what on earth it was all about. Those people slapping down memos saying, Good Lord, she was but a whisp of promise in the air, that is all, sever all connections! are now saying, What vim! What verve! Let us work with her because she is all that she said she was and whatever that is, we need it to save the planet. Send her an email saying Yes!
My lists when I am feeling on top of things, make sense. They create order for me, so that I do not feel that my projects are ridiculously unrealistic. I have a calender in my kitchen, I have a diary in my bag and I have a To Do list in my studio. I also have a large whiteboard in the studio on which I write all of the projects and commitments that I have for the year and behind that, I have three whiteboards on which I have written A Graceful Death, Commissions, and Other. Overkill? Perhaps. And my friend Jane just gave me a lovely notebook to use for all my thoughts and ideas. I need all this organising, I like to write it all down, and I like to see evidence everywhere of what is happening in Antonia Land. It can all be terribly exciting. It acts as a brake too, so that the truly potty ideas can be rubbed smartly out and a small now now Antonia, feet on the ground please. Concentrate. Sensible only please, administered. When I am with my Soul Midwife friends who are trained medics I tend to decide to go and study medicine. Tomorrow. When I am with my Soul Midwife friends who are members of the Clergy, I tend to want to go an get ordained. Tomorrow. I have to keep a strict eye on myself in order that I do what I do best, which is to paint, to write, to be with people when they need it and to cook sausages. And to do A Graceful Death and do talks and do workshops and meet new people and say yes to everything....
So this is my reality. I get stuck, and then I get unstuck. When I am stuck, when I am miserable, I can't paint. I can't think, and I can't do anything. When that passes, which it always does, I am very relieved and set about writing my lists with gay abandon. I can do it all! You want A Graceful Death in Smolensk? Yes! You want a workshop on Soul Midwives in the Offshore Oil Industry? Yes! You want a spot of Reiki even though you live in Timbuktu? Of course! You want a portrait of your entire extended family in fancy dress plus all retainers? Yes! Actually, none of these things happen, I have not been offered anything like this but if I was, I would say Yes!
And So -
And so, life goes on. Back to the Great Cosmic Circle of Life which we mentioned at the beginning of this blog. Written in fire at the top of the Great Cosmic Circle of Life are the immortal words Faff Not, Thou Of Little Faith and below, still in words of fire, Gird Thee Thy Loins, Time To Write A List. And in between, descriptions of many stages along the way. And in the middle, written in a hand older than time itself, the words, Remember Thou, Bisto.
Thursday, 13 September 2012
All Singing, All Dancing Soul Midwives. And Gerald.
Morning. Here is your menu for this week's news.
The Soul Midwife meeting, the second of its kind and we hope the start of many more to come, happened here this week. We Soul Midwives are passionate about our work, and are longing to work with those facing the end of life. We know we can do it, we all feel the need to change the perception of death by making it part of life (which it is), talking about it, acknowledging it and helping to prepare for it. We have found though, that all of us work in different ways for the same end. For a while I was confused, feeling that I couldn't possibly do the work that the other Soul Midwives did, and I felt that what I had to offer was not good enough. I didn't know enough, I wasn't trained enough, I hadn't enough experience. And the subject is so big. How can we do anything to help anyone? How can I, a teeny tiny speck of dust, make any difference ever in a world a) full of people who know what they are doing b) full of people who don't know what they are doing c) full of people who long to know what they are doing and d) full of people who think I am barking.
To do any kind of Soul Midwife work, you have to sit alongside people who face the end of their lives. We work alongside members of other professions - doctors, counsellors, therapists for example. You have to be able to stay with them, to listen, to help if they ask it, and to do whatever it takes to make their last times here, alive, good, meaningful, bearable, acknowledged. This is a time to stop faffing, and to say what needs to be said. Do what needs to be done, listen to things that need to be listened to and at all times go with whoever is dying, as far as they want you to go, in order that their death is as best as it is possible for it to be. That is all you need to start. And a Soul Midwife is not just someone who sits with another as they are dying, a Soul Midwife can help at any time, for as brief or as long as it takes, along the journey from diagnosis to death. As long as we are there when called, we do what is necessary and what we can for that person who needs us, we are Soul Midwives. I remember once having only a text conversation with a dying lady, and that one text conversation was all that she needed. So that was the extent of my Soul Midwifing for her, it was all that she wanted.
There are Soul Midwives who are deeply experienced and are in the medical profession. There are Soul Midwives who run funeral businesses, who manage care homes, who offer complimentary therapies for end of life conditions, who do more spiritual and alternative treatments like Shamanism, and Angel Reiki. There are Soul Midwives who are looking for a path to follow, and have not found it yet, but are drawn to the work. There are Soul Midwives who volunteer at hospices, at care homes, Soul Midwives who are looking after family members, friends, friends of friends as they die, and there are Soul Midwives who teach and who help other people start their journey helping the dying to die. There are Soul Midwives who comfort someone sitting next to them at a bus stop, and move on because that encounter was all that was asked of them. I had a Soul Midwife encounter once with a man with months to live as we sat at Specsavers, waiting to be called for eye tests. It was all that was required, and he moved on.
And Me! And there is me who paints people at the end of their lives and takes the A Graceful Death exhibition around the country, and talks about whatever I am asked to talk about. To whoever will listen. As a Soul Midwife, I work with the dying by being gentle, loving, present, and by trying to listen. I do whatever I can that works, I do arty things, and fun things, and mostly I just watch and let them take the lead - but I have no training, no qualifications, no idea. I can't tell a kidney from an eyeball, I can't do alternative medicine, I can't chant and do singing bowls and I don't know how to get someone off the bed and into a coffin. So, returning to feeling that I wasn't as capable as other Soul Midwives, I felt myself overwhelmed by what I couldn't do, instead of concentrating on what I could do.
The Soul Midwife Meetings that we have begun to hold, which was at my house this week, is where I look into the eyes of other Soul Midwives to see that they too thought the whole area was full of things that they are not, and we all realised that we are absolutely fine. Good Lord, we all said, we are doing just fine and it is wonderful to put everything into context and carry on. It does not matter if I can't channel angels, or put in a drip successfully, or tuck someone neatly into a coffin so that they don't sit bolt upright after quarter of an hour. It matters that we do what we do well, and that we take inspiration from the other Soul Midwives that came to the meetings. And so, readers, that is what we did. And just to finish this Soul Midwife thing, I am working with a friend and Soul Midwife colleague from Brighton, to put together a plan of what we offer and what we can do, prices, packages, contact numbers and so on, in a leaflet which we will distribute to all and sundry. We want to pool our resources, and to support each other as we work in our own way, to the same end, of helping the dying to live well till they die, and to die as well as they can. The End. Or is it?....
Weight Blinking Watchers
I struggled. It was not that I was hungry, I wasn't, it was just that I had to weigh my food and not snack on egg mayonnaise while I cooked cheesy oven chips. I struggled, and I persevered. Today, at weigh in, I had lost a pound and a half. This is truly wonderful, but I wondered if it took a week to put on a pound and a half. I doubt it. It would take an afternoon to put on a pound and a half, and this struck me as unfair. However, that is the way it is, and if I am at present, a barrel of lard, then it is going to be sulks all the way back to being my normal size. I was terribly busy today, and promised myself a binge on something or other as a reward for being so thin now but it never happened. All I could do is eat 3 weetabix with a half a tin of fruit in fruit juice, and I still have one point to go. Good Lord, am I brainwashed, or saved? I did not want a lump of cheese. I did not care about toast. I had three weetabix when two are the norm, and pigged out on an extra godforsaken weetabix. It is a scarey world.
Age UK Friendly Neighbour Scheme
I have signed up as a volunteer for Age UK. They offer a scheme called Friendly Neighbours, which is what I am now doing. We visit the elderly who are socially isolated, and just chat with a cup of tea (no biscuits goddamn it, no weetabix either). The scheme lasts for 12 visits, and then the person being visited is reassessed to receive a more intense package of visits and help around the home etc. Today, I went to visit my first lady, and I had a ball. She talked about her life, and we drank tea, and she gave me invaluable advice on how to keep my partner, Alan, sweet. Give him a hug! she said, and when he comes in, make sure you look your best. And when he is not expecting it, give him a kiss! Men love to be kissed, she said. I bet they do, I thought. Alan would be pleased I think, to be kissed, but if he was watching American Football, he probably would not notice if I came in with a tea trolly on my head. So, I will go back to my lady next week. As we parted, she said Darling. Those earrings, they are not you. I don't like them. So I took them off and she said Ahh! Now, you are an executive, that looks so much better. Well, I like this lady and I never liked the earrings anyway. And I like looking executive. At least she didn't say Darling. You look fat. Ever thought of weetabix as an an alternative to all known foods?
Doula for the Dying course in Lewes
I have begun this Doula course in Lewes today, run by Hermoine Elliot of the Living Well Dying Well Foundation www.livingwelldyingwell.net. I was delighted to see that my friend the Soul Midwife Felicity Warner's book was there on sale, and I settled in to see what Hermoine's course offered me. It offered me a lot. I like Hermoine, I have met her before when I first tried to interest the world in the A Graceful Death exhibition and I have always wanted to go on one of her training courses. And here I am! On the first one and very excited about it too. Because I am back at home late at night now, having driven at 7.30 this morning to Lewes and arrived back here in Bognor at 8pm, and I am on Weight Blinking Watchers, and pooped beyond reason, I can't tell you the first thing about it except that I agree with everything and I think I am going to be a Soul Doula. Hermoine is thorough, and practical, and made me think a lot about my own reasons for doing this work. As I say, being exhausted tonight, I am blowed if I can remember what my reasons are, but it is OK, I think they are sane. It may be a good idea to write about this excellent course next week when I will be another pound and a half lighter and better able to communicate. No, it isn't linked. Yes, I will go to bed in a minute.
And finally -
I arrived home and despite being so weary, made a large vegetable stew, gallons of it for tonight with enough for my packed lunch in Lewes tomorrow, and have eaten it all while doing this blog.
I went to the National Portrait Gallery last week with my Mother, 82, to see the photos of the Queen throughout the last 6 decades. Mother is a little hard of hearing and called out to me, over the heads of many tourists and visitors, from one end of the gallery, where she stood in front of a very fetching larger than life sized formal portrait of the Queen, to me looking at a selection of photos on a wall on the other side, Oh I do like the Queen because when she sits down she doesn't fiddle with herself. Frozen silence for a second, then muffled coughing fits as people tried to pretend they didn't hear Mother and tried to stifle their giggles in their hankies. Mother has no idea why so many red faced giggling people were in that room looking at the Queen in the nineteen ninetys. She just thought they were odd.
Son, 15, has been traumatised by the breakdown of his laptop. It is in the menders, and so to help him cope, I have bought him what he wanted, a hamster called Gerald. Son, 15, loves Gerald, who is a wee dwarf hamster with red eyes. Gerald lives in an extraordinary creation that Son has made for him, with branches from shrubs in the garden, with chaotic climbing frames made from old video boxes, with buried piles of food in the sawdust, all inside a huge old hamster cage that used to house at least 2 large, not dwarf, hamsters. Gerald and Son have a bond. Gerald tries to run away from Son and Son tries to build him ever more complicated play areas. The cage looked a bit like a jungle last week, but I think that Son came to realise that dwarf hamsters are not like lions, and don't need undergrowth and trees to sleep under. Gerald is terribly happy, and so far loves his new life as a Facebook substitute. Son adores sweet little Gerald who being a dwarf hamster, will never grow to be tall, though he may grow fat. He has treasure troves of nuts and delux hamster food hidden by Son all around his cage. As we speak, Son is teaching Gerald how to play video games and I will leave them to it.
Good bye now. I must leave at 7.30am tomorrow and on Saturday and I need a bubble bath to make it all worthwhile.
- The Soul Midwife meeting here in Bognor
- Weight Blinking Watchers
- Age UK Friendly Neighbours Scheme
- Doula for the Dying Course in Lewes
The Soul Midwife meeting, the second of its kind and we hope the start of many more to come, happened here this week. We Soul Midwives are passionate about our work, and are longing to work with those facing the end of life. We know we can do it, we all feel the need to change the perception of death by making it part of life (which it is), talking about it, acknowledging it and helping to prepare for it. We have found though, that all of us work in different ways for the same end. For a while I was confused, feeling that I couldn't possibly do the work that the other Soul Midwives did, and I felt that what I had to offer was not good enough. I didn't know enough, I wasn't trained enough, I hadn't enough experience. And the subject is so big. How can we do anything to help anyone? How can I, a teeny tiny speck of dust, make any difference ever in a world a) full of people who know what they are doing b) full of people who don't know what they are doing c) full of people who long to know what they are doing and d) full of people who think I am barking.
To do any kind of Soul Midwife work, you have to sit alongside people who face the end of their lives. We work alongside members of other professions - doctors, counsellors, therapists for example. You have to be able to stay with them, to listen, to help if they ask it, and to do whatever it takes to make their last times here, alive, good, meaningful, bearable, acknowledged. This is a time to stop faffing, and to say what needs to be said. Do what needs to be done, listen to things that need to be listened to and at all times go with whoever is dying, as far as they want you to go, in order that their death is as best as it is possible for it to be. That is all you need to start. And a Soul Midwife is not just someone who sits with another as they are dying, a Soul Midwife can help at any time, for as brief or as long as it takes, along the journey from diagnosis to death. As long as we are there when called, we do what is necessary and what we can for that person who needs us, we are Soul Midwives. I remember once having only a text conversation with a dying lady, and that one text conversation was all that she needed. So that was the extent of my Soul Midwifing for her, it was all that she wanted.
There are Soul Midwives who are deeply experienced and are in the medical profession. There are Soul Midwives who run funeral businesses, who manage care homes, who offer complimentary therapies for end of life conditions, who do more spiritual and alternative treatments like Shamanism, and Angel Reiki. There are Soul Midwives who are looking for a path to follow, and have not found it yet, but are drawn to the work. There are Soul Midwives who volunteer at hospices, at care homes, Soul Midwives who are looking after family members, friends, friends of friends as they die, and there are Soul Midwives who teach and who help other people start their journey helping the dying to die. There are Soul Midwives who comfort someone sitting next to them at a bus stop, and move on because that encounter was all that was asked of them. I had a Soul Midwife encounter once with a man with months to live as we sat at Specsavers, waiting to be called for eye tests. It was all that was required, and he moved on.
And Me! And there is me who paints people at the end of their lives and takes the A Graceful Death exhibition around the country, and talks about whatever I am asked to talk about. To whoever will listen. As a Soul Midwife, I work with the dying by being gentle, loving, present, and by trying to listen. I do whatever I can that works, I do arty things, and fun things, and mostly I just watch and let them take the lead - but I have no training, no qualifications, no idea. I can't tell a kidney from an eyeball, I can't do alternative medicine, I can't chant and do singing bowls and I don't know how to get someone off the bed and into a coffin. So, returning to feeling that I wasn't as capable as other Soul Midwives, I felt myself overwhelmed by what I couldn't do, instead of concentrating on what I could do.
The Soul Midwife Meetings that we have begun to hold, which was at my house this week, is where I look into the eyes of other Soul Midwives to see that they too thought the whole area was full of things that they are not, and we all realised that we are absolutely fine. Good Lord, we all said, we are doing just fine and it is wonderful to put everything into context and carry on. It does not matter if I can't channel angels, or put in a drip successfully, or tuck someone neatly into a coffin so that they don't sit bolt upright after quarter of an hour. It matters that we do what we do well, and that we take inspiration from the other Soul Midwives that came to the meetings. And so, readers, that is what we did. And just to finish this Soul Midwife thing, I am working with a friend and Soul Midwife colleague from Brighton, to put together a plan of what we offer and what we can do, prices, packages, contact numbers and so on, in a leaflet which we will distribute to all and sundry. We want to pool our resources, and to support each other as we work in our own way, to the same end, of helping the dying to live well till they die, and to die as well as they can. The End. Or is it?....
The next Soul Midwife Meeting is here, in Bognor Regis, on Tuesday 27 November. All Soul Midwives welcome, let me know if you can make it. antonia.rolls1@btinternet.com
Weight Blinking Watchers
I struggled. It was not that I was hungry, I wasn't, it was just that I had to weigh my food and not snack on egg mayonnaise while I cooked cheesy oven chips. I struggled, and I persevered. Today, at weigh in, I had lost a pound and a half. This is truly wonderful, but I wondered if it took a week to put on a pound and a half. I doubt it. It would take an afternoon to put on a pound and a half, and this struck me as unfair. However, that is the way it is, and if I am at present, a barrel of lard, then it is going to be sulks all the way back to being my normal size. I was terribly busy today, and promised myself a binge on something or other as a reward for being so thin now but it never happened. All I could do is eat 3 weetabix with a half a tin of fruit in fruit juice, and I still have one point to go. Good Lord, am I brainwashed, or saved? I did not want a lump of cheese. I did not care about toast. I had three weetabix when two are the norm, and pigged out on an extra godforsaken weetabix. It is a scarey world.
Age UK Friendly Neighbour Scheme
I have signed up as a volunteer for Age UK. They offer a scheme called Friendly Neighbours, which is what I am now doing. We visit the elderly who are socially isolated, and just chat with a cup of tea (no biscuits goddamn it, no weetabix either). The scheme lasts for 12 visits, and then the person being visited is reassessed to receive a more intense package of visits and help around the home etc. Today, I went to visit my first lady, and I had a ball. She talked about her life, and we drank tea, and she gave me invaluable advice on how to keep my partner, Alan, sweet. Give him a hug! she said, and when he comes in, make sure you look your best. And when he is not expecting it, give him a kiss! Men love to be kissed, she said. I bet they do, I thought. Alan would be pleased I think, to be kissed, but if he was watching American Football, he probably would not notice if I came in with a tea trolly on my head. So, I will go back to my lady next week. As we parted, she said Darling. Those earrings, they are not you. I don't like them. So I took them off and she said Ahh! Now, you are an executive, that looks so much better. Well, I like this lady and I never liked the earrings anyway. And I like looking executive. At least she didn't say Darling. You look fat. Ever thought of weetabix as an an alternative to all known foods?
Doula for the Dying course in Lewes
I have begun this Doula course in Lewes today, run by Hermoine Elliot of the Living Well Dying Well Foundation www.livingwelldyingwell.net. I was delighted to see that my friend the Soul Midwife Felicity Warner's book was there on sale, and I settled in to see what Hermoine's course offered me. It offered me a lot. I like Hermoine, I have met her before when I first tried to interest the world in the A Graceful Death exhibition and I have always wanted to go on one of her training courses. And here I am! On the first one and very excited about it too. Because I am back at home late at night now, having driven at 7.30 this morning to Lewes and arrived back here in Bognor at 8pm, and I am on Weight Blinking Watchers, and pooped beyond reason, I can't tell you the first thing about it except that I agree with everything and I think I am going to be a Soul Doula. Hermoine is thorough, and practical, and made me think a lot about my own reasons for doing this work. As I say, being exhausted tonight, I am blowed if I can remember what my reasons are, but it is OK, I think they are sane. It may be a good idea to write about this excellent course next week when I will be another pound and a half lighter and better able to communicate. No, it isn't linked. Yes, I will go to bed in a minute.
And finally -
I arrived home and despite being so weary, made a large vegetable stew, gallons of it for tonight with enough for my packed lunch in Lewes tomorrow, and have eaten it all while doing this blog.
I went to the National Portrait Gallery last week with my Mother, 82, to see the photos of the Queen throughout the last 6 decades. Mother is a little hard of hearing and called out to me, over the heads of many tourists and visitors, from one end of the gallery, where she stood in front of a very fetching larger than life sized formal portrait of the Queen, to me looking at a selection of photos on a wall on the other side, Oh I do like the Queen because when she sits down she doesn't fiddle with herself. Frozen silence for a second, then muffled coughing fits as people tried to pretend they didn't hear Mother and tried to stifle their giggles in their hankies. Mother has no idea why so many red faced giggling people were in that room looking at the Queen in the nineteen ninetys. She just thought they were odd.
Son, 15, has been traumatised by the breakdown of his laptop. It is in the menders, and so to help him cope, I have bought him what he wanted, a hamster called Gerald. Son, 15, loves Gerald, who is a wee dwarf hamster with red eyes. Gerald lives in an extraordinary creation that Son has made for him, with branches from shrubs in the garden, with chaotic climbing frames made from old video boxes, with buried piles of food in the sawdust, all inside a huge old hamster cage that used to house at least 2 large, not dwarf, hamsters. Gerald and Son have a bond. Gerald tries to run away from Son and Son tries to build him ever more complicated play areas. The cage looked a bit like a jungle last week, but I think that Son came to realise that dwarf hamsters are not like lions, and don't need undergrowth and trees to sleep under. Gerald is terribly happy, and so far loves his new life as a Facebook substitute. Son adores sweet little Gerald who being a dwarf hamster, will never grow to be tall, though he may grow fat. He has treasure troves of nuts and delux hamster food hidden by Son all around his cage. As we speak, Son is teaching Gerald how to play video games and I will leave them to it.
Good bye now. I must leave at 7.30am tomorrow and on Saturday and I need a bubble bath to make it all worthwhile.
Thursday, 6 September 2012
Fat Reiki Mama.
Today we are going to discuss my new role of Reiki Mama. The Fat part will become clear, the clue is in the heading Weight Watchers. I am happy to say that it has all been very straightforward, I am now attuned to do Reiki 2. I can happily Reiki anything now, including concrete. As you settle in to attune to this week's blog, at all times be aware, I could be Reiki-ing your chair even as you sit in it. I can't actually Reiki anyone unless I have their permission but I can Reiki anything, including rooms, buildings and gardens, plants, outer space. It is all fun and games from now on. So, the plan for this week's blog is as follows -
1. Reiki 2. Weight Watchers 3. Edinburgh. 4. New AGD musician Lizzie Hornby. 5. Any Other Business
Settle yourselves, pour the tea, put the kids (lovingly) outside, tell the boss you will do it later, and let us discover what this week has all been about.
Reiki.
I was attuned last weekend, and am now Reiki 2. This means that I can do it all over the place; people, rooms and buildings either by being there or by distance; I can heal plants, animals, people, things. This is the idea, and I expect all of you who have been doing Reiki 2 for years are sighing gently and thinking, I was like that once. Here I am though, on a high, power mad and healing all the rooms in my house and then, the garden and then - other people's gardens. I sent healing to Felicity Warner's orchard in my enthusiasm imagining all her apple trees filling up with Pink Lady apples (my favourites, and not in Felicity's orchard. Yet.) and imagining Tesco sending lorries to pick them up and sell them in their stores. I have sent distance healing to kind and willing friends, none of whom have been cured, but I tell myself, they may have felt a bit better at some point. In order to be able to practice as a business, I still have to do my Anatomy and Physiology for the required insurance so that when you shoot into orbit after a healing session and lose your contact lenses, we can replace them on the insurance.
Reiki is a lovely form of healing through energy. When I am doing it, I am only a channel for God's love and energy, and it isn't me at all. Despite being addicted to praise I have to concede that it is God, and that the recipient receives the healing they want and choose to receive, through me channeling God's love. Probably a good thing, without the correct distance and understanding I could say Look! Look what I, mighty Reiki Mama have done! No one helped me, I just healed you fair and square and any divine stuff is because I can! Bow low, and send me your friends to be healed too.
So I have now only my lavender bushes in the front garden left to Reiki. The entire house and contents have been done, all the flowers in the porch, and the entire garden too. The lavender however, is resisting and is turning into dried out old gorse bushes and so needs a gentle, extra concentrated but fairly stern session.
Weight Watchers
Oh this is what we do, we who tend to love cake and fried eggs on toast. We become porky, and find ourselves needing some help to shed it again. I have been eating so much lovely stuff recently and was shocked to find that my clothes no longer fit me. Of course I went into denial - they were shrunk in the wash, it was the their fault, and not mine. Going out to eat is such a joy, but I was beginning to select my pudding before my other courses (courses, mind, not course). Bit by bit I expanded until the day, recently, when I put on a lovely (elasticated) sun dress to go for a walk with my 82 year old mother, who is known as OGL, Our Great Leader. My, said my mother, what do you consider is your downfall with food dear? How is your diet going? Goodness me! I replied, I am not on a diet! and then, I don't want to talk about it. That I don't want to talk about it, made me realise that I was avoiding the issue. I had put on weight and there was no two ways about it. So I toddled off to Weight Watchers, Bognor Regis, to find that I have 2 stone to lose. Day two today, and I am doing well. I have bought a scales and am measuring proper portions and am feeling, funnily enough, fine. I aim to be back to normal by Christmas in order to join again in January. When I get back to wearing all my clothes that I once took for granted would fit me forever, I shall celebrate by going out for dinner with my dear other half Alan, and have two puddings for starters, and two more after the main course.
Edinburgh
I am going to take AGD (the A Graceful Death exhibition - see www.agracefuldeath.blogspot.co.uk) to Edinburgh on the 14 November. I am showing it, with a small amount of talking, in the annual event of the Scottish equivalent of Dying Matters, Good Life, Good Death, Good Grief http://www.goodlifedeathgrief.org.uk/. I am very excited about this, it is being held in Edinburgh Zoo. The last single day showing of the exhibition was at Notts County Football Ground, and that went very well. I won't be showing it next to the Orang Utangs, it will be in a nice big lecture hall in the main building. It will take four days to drive there, set up, do the exhibition and presentations, and drive back again. Bognor Regis to Edinburgh and back with 48 paintings, books, telly to show the film is going to be so exciting for a thin, healing artist. I shall post more on this later, as it is still in its organising stage.
Lizzie Hornby, the new and glorious AGD Musician
I met Lizzie when I was on Felicity Warner's Soul Midwife course in Devon. I knew Lizzie was a teacher, and worked with children, and could turn her hand to many things but I didn't know that she was a musician. Recently, I heard a recording of Lizzie's own compositions on the piano and had one of those Eureka moments. This was the music I wanted to accompany the AGD exhibition. It was a wonderful, a sad, and a very exciting and happy moment all at once. Oh my. Please click on the link below and listen -
I find myself becoming transported by Lizzie's music. I think it is beautiful. She composed, played, recorded all of this herself and I am in such a state of happiness that Lizzie has agreed to let me use it. And, when we have opening nights of the exhibition, Lizzie will play a concert of her music live. I can't think of anything more lovely. Somehow, even though AGD is not just about Steve any more, I can feel Steve loving this music. It brings him back to me, and if I could be ridiculous for a moment, I feel him with me in it. I stopped off on the way home from St Ives to have lunch with Lizzie, and took a quick photo of her garden. Even this photo matches her music. And of course, we had a lovely lunch and talk too.
I want to play this music for AGD because it is beautiful, and it doesn't lead me anywhere. I am not suddenly sad on hearing it, nor am I suddenly happy. I am affected by it just because it is lovely but it doesn't interfere with the exhibition, the paintings and the poems. It stands both alone, and it complements the exhibition. Look at the rays of light in the photo below. Wouldn't you think someone for whom this is a part of their house, would write music as lovely as she does?
Any Other Business
I am trying to love Green Tea. It is, I am told, good for weight loss. This is hard work but I know people who have not only persevered with, but like the stuff. And none of them are fat. It is my fate to drink green tea to be beautiful again.
Tomorrow, I meet my 82 year old mother on a train going to London. I get on at Bognor and she catches it as it flies through Pulborough. We are, she tells me, going to hit the hotspots. I believe her. I shall wear corsets.
I have started my volunteering with Age Concern UK. As a volunteer, I am on the Good Neighbour scheme where I visit an elderly person who is lonely once a week for 12 weeks, in order to have tea and chats. I love this, and the person who I am visiting has had a truly amazing life. I found myself terrified for any nice Age Concern UK volunteer who was given my mother to befriend, should the need arise. They would not last five minutes.
I have decided to write a book. When, is anyone's guess, but the decision has been made.
And finally, a friend has just texted to say that the Reiki worked, she is feeling happy again. Darling friend, I didn't do any. So I will just take the credit and move on quickly.
1. Reiki 2. Weight Watchers 3. Edinburgh. 4. New AGD musician Lizzie Hornby. 5. Any Other Business
Settle yourselves, pour the tea, put the kids (lovingly) outside, tell the boss you will do it later, and let us discover what this week has all been about.
Reiki.
I was attuned last weekend, and am now Reiki 2. This means that I can do it all over the place; people, rooms and buildings either by being there or by distance; I can heal plants, animals, people, things. This is the idea, and I expect all of you who have been doing Reiki 2 for years are sighing gently and thinking, I was like that once. Here I am though, on a high, power mad and healing all the rooms in my house and then, the garden and then - other people's gardens. I sent healing to Felicity Warner's orchard in my enthusiasm imagining all her apple trees filling up with Pink Lady apples (my favourites, and not in Felicity's orchard. Yet.) and imagining Tesco sending lorries to pick them up and sell them in their stores. I have sent distance healing to kind and willing friends, none of whom have been cured, but I tell myself, they may have felt a bit better at some point. In order to be able to practice as a business, I still have to do my Anatomy and Physiology for the required insurance so that when you shoot into orbit after a healing session and lose your contact lenses, we can replace them on the insurance.
Reiki is a lovely form of healing through energy. When I am doing it, I am only a channel for God's love and energy, and it isn't me at all. Despite being addicted to praise I have to concede that it is God, and that the recipient receives the healing they want and choose to receive, through me channeling God's love. Probably a good thing, without the correct distance and understanding I could say Look! Look what I, mighty Reiki Mama have done! No one helped me, I just healed you fair and square and any divine stuff is because I can! Bow low, and send me your friends to be healed too.
So I have now only my lavender bushes in the front garden left to Reiki. The entire house and contents have been done, all the flowers in the porch, and the entire garden too. The lavender however, is resisting and is turning into dried out old gorse bushes and so needs a gentle, extra concentrated but fairly stern session.
Weight Watchers
Oh this is what we do, we who tend to love cake and fried eggs on toast. We become porky, and find ourselves needing some help to shed it again. I have been eating so much lovely stuff recently and was shocked to find that my clothes no longer fit me. Of course I went into denial - they were shrunk in the wash, it was the their fault, and not mine. Going out to eat is such a joy, but I was beginning to select my pudding before my other courses (courses, mind, not course). Bit by bit I expanded until the day, recently, when I put on a lovely (elasticated) sun dress to go for a walk with my 82 year old mother, who is known as OGL, Our Great Leader. My, said my mother, what do you consider is your downfall with food dear? How is your diet going? Goodness me! I replied, I am not on a diet! and then, I don't want to talk about it. That I don't want to talk about it, made me realise that I was avoiding the issue. I had put on weight and there was no two ways about it. So I toddled off to Weight Watchers, Bognor Regis, to find that I have 2 stone to lose. Day two today, and I am doing well. I have bought a scales and am measuring proper portions and am feeling, funnily enough, fine. I aim to be back to normal by Christmas in order to join again in January. When I get back to wearing all my clothes that I once took for granted would fit me forever, I shall celebrate by going out for dinner with my dear other half Alan, and have two puddings for starters, and two more after the main course.
Edinburgh
I am going to take AGD (the A Graceful Death exhibition - see www.agracefuldeath.blogspot.co.uk) to Edinburgh on the 14 November. I am showing it, with a small amount of talking, in the annual event of the Scottish equivalent of Dying Matters, Good Life, Good Death, Good Grief http://www.goodlifedeathgrief.org.uk/. I am very excited about this, it is being held in Edinburgh Zoo. The last single day showing of the exhibition was at Notts County Football Ground, and that went very well. I won't be showing it next to the Orang Utangs, it will be in a nice big lecture hall in the main building. It will take four days to drive there, set up, do the exhibition and presentations, and drive back again. Bognor Regis to Edinburgh and back with 48 paintings, books, telly to show the film is going to be so exciting for a thin, healing artist. I shall post more on this later, as it is still in its organising stage.
Lizzie Hornby, the new and glorious AGD Musician
I met Lizzie when I was on Felicity Warner's Soul Midwife course in Devon. I knew Lizzie was a teacher, and worked with children, and could turn her hand to many things but I didn't know that she was a musician. Recently, I heard a recording of Lizzie's own compositions on the piano and had one of those Eureka moments. This was the music I wanted to accompany the AGD exhibition. It was a wonderful, a sad, and a very exciting and happy moment all at once. Oh my. Please click on the link below and listen -
I find myself becoming transported by Lizzie's music. I think it is beautiful. She composed, played, recorded all of this herself and I am in such a state of happiness that Lizzie has agreed to let me use it. And, when we have opening nights of the exhibition, Lizzie will play a concert of her music live. I can't think of anything more lovely. Somehow, even though AGD is not just about Steve any more, I can feel Steve loving this music. It brings him back to me, and if I could be ridiculous for a moment, I feel him with me in it. I stopped off on the way home from St Ives to have lunch with Lizzie, and took a quick photo of her garden. Even this photo matches her music. And of course, we had a lovely lunch and talk too.
I want to play this music for AGD because it is beautiful, and it doesn't lead me anywhere. I am not suddenly sad on hearing it, nor am I suddenly happy. I am affected by it just because it is lovely but it doesn't interfere with the exhibition, the paintings and the poems. It stands both alone, and it complements the exhibition. Look at the rays of light in the photo below. Wouldn't you think someone for whom this is a part of their house, would write music as lovely as she does?
 |
| Lizzie Hornby's garden, just perfect for both Lizzie herself and her music. |
Any Other Business
I am trying to love Green Tea. It is, I am told, good for weight loss. This is hard work but I know people who have not only persevered with, but like the stuff. And none of them are fat. It is my fate to drink green tea to be beautiful again.
Tomorrow, I meet my 82 year old mother on a train going to London. I get on at Bognor and she catches it as it flies through Pulborough. We are, she tells me, going to hit the hotspots. I believe her. I shall wear corsets.
I have started my volunteering with Age Concern UK. As a volunteer, I am on the Good Neighbour scheme where I visit an elderly person who is lonely once a week for 12 weeks, in order to have tea and chats. I love this, and the person who I am visiting has had a truly amazing life. I found myself terrified for any nice Age Concern UK volunteer who was given my mother to befriend, should the need arise. They would not last five minutes.
I have decided to write a book. When, is anyone's guess, but the decision has been made.
And finally, a friend has just texted to say that the Reiki worked, she is feeling happy again. Darling friend, I didn't do any. So I will just take the credit and move on quickly.
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