On edge
picture by darkmatter
This post was partly inspired by an entry on Ali Clifford’s photographic blog Twenty-Ten when she featured a candid portrait of her mother. I was moved by the image and by the title: she brought me here. If only my feelings for my mother were so pure and so simple.
My mother has come to stay. She arrived yesterday and will be with us for three weeks while the hubby is away on a business trip. I love her dearly, but there is … history … and much that goes unspoken between us. I have tried to discuss said history with my mother. Many times. But she cannot bear the confrontation. Either she shuts down, or she blows up. And neither situation is easy to endure. Especially for three weeks under one roof.
So here we are on day one and already I need an outlet for my frustration. How can one person push so many of my buttons at once? I’ve done a lot of work, a lot of healing, over the past six or seven years and I truly thought I was at peace with the past. I truly thought I had let go of Mum and all her petty stuff. I had evolved enough to have her come and stay for longer than we’ve spent together since I was a teenager coming home for uni holidays. I truly thought I was now above it all. And as far as she is aware, I am.
Oh, but what would I give for her to be different to who she is! What if she was relaxed and open and able to talk about anything with me? What if she could rationalise her experiences and trust her memories and express her love freely? What if she could be free from pain and relieved of the weight of her anxiety and depression? What would she be like then?
But it is futile to wish her different. She is who she is. Our relationship is what it is. The only aspect of this situation I control is my own. So I will try, very hard, to have a pleasant three weeks with my mother, to give her happy memories with her grandchildren, to avoid any conflict or unpleasantness that may arise, to keep building the precarious bridge between her world and mine.
But it won’t take much to push me over the edge.
February 10th, 2010 - Posted in personal growth, nostalgia, grandparents, grief, love, self-care | | 3 Comments
What’s on the shelf?
picture by lungstruck
When I was a child, I was a voracious reader. I remember loving Enid Blyton, then Nancy Drew, then Trixie Belden, and devouring Archie comics on the holidays. I used to go with my mother to the local book dealer, in the main street of my home town. While Mum traded paperbacks, I used to browse the second hand books and traded comics and always got to come home with a brown paper bag full ‘new’ reading for myself. I remember how dog-eared and sticky-taped some of the comic books were, but they still had purpose enough, so long as I could turn the page.
In highschool it was Isaac Asimov, Ray Bradbury, George Orwell and John Wyndham. In university, it became Edgar Alan Poe, D H Lawrence, Doris Lessing, I even read Fyodor Dostoyevsky (just don’t ask me about it ‘cos I didn’t understand it).
And then I stopped reading literature. I don’t know why. I can’t blame it on having children because I had stopped reading long before that. Maybe part of it was having to read so much academic content at uni, reading became a chore. Maybe part of it was my magazine addiction, which gave an instant hit of wisdom without having to give much of myself to the reading experience.
Maybe part of it was the accessibility of television. When I was a kid, there were only two channels and between them not much to watch. Now I can get a story or three every night of the week, and follow the series week after week, so who needs to invest in Catherine and Heathcliffe, when we can have any number of dramas at the push of a button? Careful, don’t strain yourself.
And now the wonderful world of books has returned to me and it’s been something of an epiphany. My tastes are eclectic, I will read almost anything, fiction or non-fiction, and derive some kind of pleasure from it. I’ve begun collecting with a vengeance, and particularly love finding a classic hardback, no matter what edition. I have a copy of House at Pooh Corner, dated 1956, and a 1968 edition of Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice. Not necessarily old or valuable, but they give me pleasure just having them on the shelf.
And I suppose the example my mother made trading books at the old bookstore back home has stuck with me as I’m a happy book lender and, particularly with fiction, am happy to keep passing books along a chain. They are communal property, to be consumed by as many people as possible. Ever noticed how people will gravitate to the bookshelves when they’re wanting to get to know you better? Like the contents of the bookshelf are an outer representation of the inner person? I like to get rid of my old stuff.
I have a growing collection of women’s health, pregnancy and parenting books. My shelf is loaded most heavily with non-fiction in the form of memoir and biography, psychology, Neuro-Linguistic Programming and titles by Bernard Salt and Malcom Gladwell, visual arts, architecture and gardening. I might call myself atheist, but I have a rather broad collection of spiritual and self-help and motivational literature. I’m drawn to encyclopaedias of any variety and have two books (you know, in case we lose one) on How To Do Just About Anything. You wouldn’t believe how handy they are.
And then there are the back issues of National Geographic, Australian Yoga Life and Simply Living. I still don’t know why I keep them. Like I’m some kind of squirrel stowing it all for the long winter.
So what’s on your shelf?
January 31st, 2010 - Posted in gratitude, nostalgia, play | | 6 Comments
Back to school
picture by LittleMissSilly
We’re almost ready and it feels a little bit sad that the holidays are coming to an end. It wasn’t that long ago that the kids were all home with me every single day, all day and we could do whatever we wanted, whenever we wanted, without answering to anyone.
Now the school bags lie bulging by the front door. The new school shoes wait in the cupboard. We’ve done the necessary haircuts and bought new lunchboxes. Even Miss Four will have childcare three days a week (I expect) and I’m not sure I’ll know what to do with my empty nest. I seriously doubt it will equate with a tidier house.
And they are ready - oh so ready - to begin a new term with their new books and pencil cases. Ready to say goodbye to Mum and the long holidays and reacquaint themselves with their school friends and their petty games. Ready for their new teachers too. The children inform me they wish to ride the bus this year, and if at all possible, do after school care activities with their friends. Ready and willing! Am I able?
Why should I sign them up for after school care when I’m home every afternoon to meet them and make them afternoon tea? Don’t they love me anymore? Don’t they appreciate the effort it takes for me to have them ready for school? I’ll be back to the slog of washing uniforms and packing lunches and nagging about homework and trying to fit a meal between taxi-ing everyone to their extra-curricular activities. I’ll be returning to the morning rush, the ringing phone, the lost shoe or sock (singular - they never disappear in pairs, have you noticed?). Am I ready for this?
Despite the mess and the fights and the declarations of boredom, I love having my kids home for the holidays. I miss them when they’re at school. I wonder if they miss me.
January 20th, 2010 - Posted in personal growth, childhood, nostalgia, community, duty of care, friendship | | 1 Comments
Out with the old
picture by *Sally M*
I guess I would call 2009 a transition year. It began with us looking down the long tunnel of my mother-in-law’s dementia. There was no knowing what the day would hold. Since she lived with us, all other concerns were pushed aside to accommodate her needs, including the needs of our four children. I actually can’t recall their first day of school for the year, though I know I took pictures at the time. This Xmas brought back a lot of memories of her as I recalled how she’d managed to choose appropriate presents for the children, and socialise with her family at Xmas lunch. Though her illness was evident to us all, none of us could have known we wouldn’t spend another Xmas together like that.
Her decline was swift and by April she was hospitalised, never to return home. Her absence was felt for a long time, still is, though we’ve moved on from the stressful intensity of caring for her. The piano lessons Miss Nine and I began as a comfort to her have continued. Her roses, which I reluctantly planted outside her kitchen window, are thriving. And we relax in the knowledge that she is being cared for as adequately as we might have managed ourselves, in a hospice run by the Alzheimer’s Association. It is located far across town, however, so we visit her when we can. It isn’t ideal, but it is what it is. Life goes on, as it must.
The silver lining is that my time became freer and I decided, somewhat on a whim, to return to uni and do a Masters in creative writing. It’s funny how childhood fantasies find a way of becoming a reality, but here I am, finally doing what I perhaps should have done too many years ago. I am enjoying myself, without getting hung up on what will come next. And I’m relishing the extra time with family too, though I berate myself for not getting out in the garden as much as I should. Somehow, it has managed to thrive despite my neglect.
And so have the children. Master Nine and Miss Eight both earned awards in their classes for their willingness to take responsibility and help others. I suppose they have their grandmother to thank for that. Master Six has developed quality friendships in his prep class and is profoundly ready for Year One.
And thanks to my studies, Miss Four will begin daycare this new year, which I expect she will love. The local centre operates using a Montesorri foundation which is familiar and acceptable to us. But as she starts prep next year (2011!) I feel compelled to make the most of my time with her. The freight train of life barrels along at its own speed, and, as usual, I’m running to keep up.
On the plus side, hubby and I have already decided how we will spend his 2011 long service leave. We have always wanted to do a trip around Australia as a family and this may be our only opportunity to realise the dream. It gives us something to plan and look forward to as we journey through the year ahead.
As for me, I intend for 2010 to be the year I get back to me. And in doing so, get back to the basics of family, friends, house and garden. I’ll keep banging the piano, and writing and blogging. I’ll read more, spend more time in the garden and simplify, simplify, simplify as the wise man Thoreau once advised. I’m generally not one for making resolutions, but there is no better time for change than a brand new year.
So here’s to change, and the eternal challenge of keeping up with it.
January 3rd, 2010 - Posted in personal growth, gratitude, nostalgia, grandparents, duty of care, grief, wisdom, health | | 2 Comments
The ties that bind
picture by quasimondo
Bo-nen-kai is the usual end of year gathering for all Japanese - whether it be with their work-mates, fellow students or friends - rather the same as we do here. It’s not traditionally a Xmas gathering, as Xmas isn’t celebrated in the buddhist and shinto religious traditions. But there are still trees and lights and baubles galore, because the Japanese love gift-giving, and so, they have adopted Xmas into their culture - and their traditional New Year cards are somehow ‘christmasified’ to acknowledge the festive season.
I’ll admit, I rarely do Xmas cards, and I tend to be a bit ‘bah humbug’ when it comes to receiving them, too. But the card that always raises a smile from this Scrooge is the one that, without fail, has arrived from Tokyo every Xmas/New Year for the past twelve years from my class at the U-Port adult education centre where I taught for two years. I am truly touched and, I confess, surprised that so many of them still gather for bonenkai every year and to sign a newsy greeting card especially for me.
How lovely to learn that Itsuyo’s daughter just got married! I remember how I used to tutor him and his wife every Saturday and share a Japanese lunch, often something I’d never tasted before. Back then his daughter was a ballet dancing high school student.
Shigemi, in the past year, has travelled to China twice, as well as Canada, Germany, Indonesia - a new travel record for him (must be work related).
Sayo, the seasoned traveller, goes somewhere challenging every year - this time to the Ukraine.
Hiroko, who speaks fluent French, asks about my life in the country and Shizuko, who is a new mother, is probably too busy for English lessons now. But for having been their teacher for two short years, the remarkable connection remains.
In fact, Shizuko and her friends (and husband to be) were in Australia for their Millenium Party, when I was pregnant with my first baby, now almost ten. And we met again when she came back to Australia to study glass blowing at The Jam Factory in Adelaide, and, complete with her Blue Bear costume, she helped my husband and I celebrate our tenth wedding anniversary. By then the baby in my belly was a toddler with a baby sister to boot.
I know I simply must go back to Tokyo and visit them, and it’s looking like I may have an opportunity in April next year, around my fortieth birthday. It will have been ten years since I was last in Japan and I’m looking forward to it like a child looks forward to Xmas. It’s so wonderful to know my old U-Port class will come out and visit me then. I can’t wait to see them and thank them for all the smiles and wonderful memories they’ve given me from a humble Xmas card.
December 23rd, 2009 - Posted in gratitude, happiness, nostalgia, community, ritual, love, friendship | | 0 Comments
