faces

I sat in the car park at Morrisons, Lincoln, last evening - I couldn't be bothered to walk around another store. We had just traipsed around B&Q and the ASDA outlet looking at toilet seats, voile curtains, lamps and compost etc.etc. Then we decided to eat Mexican so had to collect some of the ingredients.

Anyway, while No.1.son and wife went into the store I remained sitting in the car doing what I do best, people watching. There are really only a few types of people, so I understand, and I suppose given that we are all descended from 6 "Eves" that is not surprising. That seems to fly in the face of the idea of individuality but, of course, it's the detail that makes the difference and the details are infinitely varied. A man went passed with gorgeous hair but as he got closer the proportion of his face in relation to his height and the length of the hair rather spoilt the image. There was the sloppily dressed guy with his eyes looking heavenward who seemed to fit the stereotype of the academic with his head in the clouds. Of course the reality is probably very different and all I am doing is exercising my own prejudices but it makes an interesting past time and beats looking at shelves full of products that I am not allowed to eat or rather aren't good for me. If I am people watching then I am not eating so I pass it off as part of my diet regime!
Categorising people is one thing, confusing it with reality is another. I like to muse on the other lives of the people who pass by, wondering what their mood and motives are. Are they shopping to get away from household tension or simply because they need to replenish stocks. Is it a special meal to impress, placate, buy favour or defuse stressful relationships or because of conditioning? Will the ingredients be chosen for quality or budget, for health or taste - the two should be synonymous but unfortunately aren't!

A couple stroll by, hand in hand, middle aged but still able to express affection, carrying eco friendly bags between them - sharing the load, crusty baguettes poking out like a stockade wall and melons stretching the jute bags to their limit. What kind of meal does that conjure up? Alfresco dining, with a Mediterranean theme. I salivate at the thought of luscious tomatoes drenched in olive oil and lemon, the drippings sopped up by the bread, interspersed with ripe. plump olives and pimentos, and, at some point, a dessert of melon cubes, grapes, strawberries with a syrup flavoured with fresh mint and preserved ginger. I come back from my reverie and shake myself. Too much tv watched I think.
In a rush a pair of women, obviously mother and daughter, overtake the relaxed pair, hugging strawberries and boxes of cereal, thinking of tomorrow's breakfast or embarking on the diet promoted by a current ad campaign? Two meals replaced by cereal and the promise of at least a drop in dress size in a matter of days. If only....

I watch them rushing, ambling, determined, unsure, their faces reflecting the myriad of reasons why we do anything and the needs that drive us. By now my hunger is palpable and I just want my pair to re-appear so we can get home and eat. The desire is overwhelming. I watch my son and daughter in law's faces as they approach the car. If he's been to the cash machine then the meal may be a more strained affair, if she has bought more than envisioned then the strain may make the meal inedible before it's served.

continuation

Mr Fantasy went home and then the phone calls began - from all and sundry. The care package didn't kick in as it should have and he started to phone people who then phoned us for information and advice! We played Pontius Pilate again, unashamedly, and referred them to the experts. This man was ambulant, continent and could wash and dress himself and manage his own toileting but we had doctors asking us if he knew how to open the door. How would he feed himself? Their own assessment referred to the fact that he had cooked a meal for his relative on a recent visit so the powers that be were told very firmly that he was quite capable of getting himself a bowl of cereal and a cup of tea, that he would only starve if he chose to.

He left and I started a holiday only don't run away with the idea that a holiday for me is going away or doing nothing. It began with my children organising some of it for me and so first item on the agenda was Speech Day at my grandsons' school. As promised to No.1 grandson ( although he didn't think I meant it) I wore the big hat and his mother wore a fetching little number, we arrived almost late and he cringed with embarrassment and tried to hide. The face of No.2 grandson was also a picture acccompanied by much head shaking. Once No.1 had received his award the day deteriorated somewhat; the weather closed in so the picnic was consumed hastily indoors. Then came the removal phrase. At the end of said phase there was barely room for passengers, both parents were bathed in sweat and tempers frayed. Mother swore that the start of the new term would find the offspring down sizing and father feared for both his own mental, and the car's,suspension. Coupled with this was anxiety about the funding for No.1's sixth form place, and the what ifs lay upon us all like a leaden blanket as we finally set off home.

I ask myself, constantly, how much more of this I can take? This seemingly relentless requirement for me to keep everyone else steady - and I know I have referred to this before in this place but it does seem to be a recurring theme -and my growing awareness that the ability and wherewithall to do so is draining away. The desire to be released from the continuing commitment is overwhelming at times. How many more times can I scream silently in the bathroom as I try to contain overpowering emotions?
I love all my children and their children to pieces but there is a point where age is creeping up and motivation has to be dug deeper for. In other words the spirit is still relatively willing but the flesh is so very weak.

the fantasy man

This week I have met two rather interesting people, demanding but interesting, that have tested my patience to the limit. Mrs Hyper was the term "in your face" personified. She positioned herself about six inches from my face and delivered everything at about one hundred decibels. Prior to admission she was so depressed she could barely bring herself to lift up the phone. Whatever the doctor has given her has had a significant impact and now she is so pepped up that she can't sleep or sit still, consequently her legs are swelling and she is almost as anxious but in an active sense, as she was before. Trying to get anything done with a whirlwind attaching herself to me and with a constant commentary made me feel drained. She was so emphatic and interspersed her narrative with references to various physical ailments - showing me a sebaceous cyst, her swollen calf etc etc- and her own personal history and that of her extended family, all at the same time. We all felt exhausted by the time she was collected and went home!

The fantasy man of the title just demands a book to himself.
He introduced himself to me with a clasp of the hand and hushed voice. "Someone is out to kill me dear, I know a lot of secrets and a lot of important people and that makes life dangerous for me." My heart sank. Life was stressed enough as it was without someone fantasising. He went on to tell me that the room was wired and he hoped that those listening in were getting their money's worth. I kept my face impassive and tried to behave as if it were the most natural conversation in the world. When I could escape I re-read his file and realised that the assessment was very sketchy and superficial - we would have to radically re think our approach. He cosied up to various other clients, whispering in vulnerable ears - I tried to observe discretely without exciting his hostility. He strode into the office and demanded paper and pen, to " record his observations ...." We waited to see what would develop and were disappointed with the result. A rough sketch and random jottings that while not exciting were a graphic illustration of the two people he talked about - never knowing which one would surface first when he woke. By the end of the week nothing would have surprised us and we all learned to assume poker faces. Two photo albums were thrust into a colleague's hands, full of wartime pictures - signed photos of an American beauty in uniform with shades of a Glen Miller style musical back ground. Maybe there is some hidden mystery here. The late marriage to a guarded blonde, who looks into the camera warily, who is photographed staring into the distance from a hill top, who looks unapproachable and icy. His family, such as it is, evinced concern but with such exaggeration that at the end of the interview we began to wonder who was conning who. Were the Oriental volunteers really fleecing Mr F or was it a ploy to keep his money intact ready for inheritance. The more detail the relative gave the more mind boggling it became and we decided to play Pontius Pilate and have nothing to do it with the situation.
Half way through the stay a social worker appeared to assess the situation and quickly realised she didn't know half of it. After a chat and perusal of the notes he'd made it became very apparent that she would have to reassess and possibly look at other options for care. The longer I am with Mr F the more like an iceberg he seems - we are only seeing the tenth of the mass(man) and the further we delve the more dangerous it might be. Watch this space.

you thought you had got rid of me!

Dear Blog you must be so disappointed to find that my hoped for disappearance didnot happen.
I am disappointed with myself for leaving things so long but then, it has given you a breather from my endless navel contemplation - one girl's meat is another's poison.
Things have been hectic and yet the material outcome seems to be negligible, as usual.
I accompanied the grandsons back to school on Sunday and on the way we trailed in the wake of a traveller's traditional caravan, the synchronised clopping of the horses' hooves totally in keeping with the countryside we passed through. It was also a living link with the boys' paternal great grandmother who was probably born in one like it.
We arrived at the school and led a crocodile of other cars seeking the right entrance to the car park. The official one was closed although the electronic barrier kept waving to us from the other side! It seemed to be mainly grandparents acting in loco parentis and then taxis full of Oriental teenagers who appeared to have been shopping for their lives.
The return trip was very quiet with just Mr Charming in the back. It must be very strange for him dealing with the coming and going of his brothers at erratic intervals.
Back to work on Wednesday and had to hit the ground running. Although nothing much seems to change in the lives of the very old if one is in tune with them then you notice the nuances. Thursday brought a surprise in the form of an extra member of staff so that The Boss and I could settle down to a bureaucratic marathon. Basically, we are doing a job that a senior administrator for the regulatory body has been doing in years past. Now we have to assess ourselves and still continue to pay loads of money to said body for doing a large part of their job for them. Unfortunately we won't get their salary. Talk about brainache.

We have moved on now and this weekend I felt as if I was doing mental health nursing. A client with fear that he was going to be killed by a hairdresser. As he said himself he is two people and when he wakes up he doesn't know which person will emerge, neither do we! Further along the corridor another client sits shouting in her room and we are unable to help her. These are the times when I feel most inadequate and dissatisfied. Also, at the weekend, I spent a lot of time steadying staff and by the end of it felt burnt out, asking myself who steadies me, apart from God?
Between work and family I start to feel very small and fragile and ask myself how much more I can carry. But not being a quitter I have to square my shoulders and try to make each day a new start. If only so that I don't have to dwell too long on my own weaknesses. I have had to remind myself not to become complacent and imagine that the Chinese whispers and bitchiness can't devastate me. I am a fool if I fall into that trap and I have been a fool enough times in my life already. Tomorrow is my day off, I have already done the washing and it's flapping gently in the breeze, being bleached my the sun, so once the robot's leg has been dragged around the house get ready dear Blog...