Tuesday, June 9, 2015

Out of the long ago

This century has not been my century.
It began with the death of my oldest sister in 2000, from whom I had been estranged, the way that family members can be. If they are dysfunctional, I expect I should add: but what families aren't? I still miss my sister. Always will.
Her daughter was living with me at the time  because I didn't see that my issues with her mother should spread to her.  "I see her blossoming. Thank you. Thank you", my sister said. While she was dying.My connection with this niece is now one of my joys.
I look back at the rest of those years and remember the several times white ants attacked at both home and work, and how confronting, difficult and bloody expensive that was. and what a problem that is when you are trying to save every dollar you can. The issues when a valued employee attempted suicide and you have to explain that to your clients, spoiled ### that she was.. The issues when a trusted employee bought into an opposition business and spent such an amount of money on advertising that I simply gave up. Why had I lost heart by then? Another, later woman pointed her finger at me before clients and accused me of calling her a liar. And so on and so on.
The way that heavy rain came through my bedroom ceiling  a second time, after being repaired, ruining ceiling, curtains, pelmet, etc. If that was not enough, rain poured in, in deluging sheets, in a different area of the house. I used every towel, every newspaper to try to mop up this saturation. It stank: well after weeks of drying, ancient dog piss reeked through and made this virtually uninhabitable. My son rescued me.
The extraordinary rain at this time led to extraordinary growth; maintaining  the garden was suddenly well  beyond me.
You think that you have coped with some difficulty, overcome it, Yes, and then of course we got quite an extraordinary, unprecedented amount of rain which evidently lodged in the roof moss, had nowhere else to go, and my sitting room was awash , rain poured through the ceiling, down paintings, onto coffee tables, carpets -. By this time one is bowed: the fates have you in their sights. The remorseless hounds of heaven are baying after you. There is nothing you can do,
I sent generous love to my 2nd sister and her son when she excitedly emailed me about his engagement.They had  a small group of guests. I was excluded. As I had put effort into hosting her and her family for Xmas for many years, there was a regretful feel about this. Regretful? I wanted to punch her on the nose.
There was an also a similar issue about my school year's 50 year reunion., to which I was only admitted at the last moment. Because, I understand,  implied criticisms I had printed of the catholic religion,.But what questions and anguish along the way.
I had to fish Puddy's body out of the pool. Dear Puddy, our loved orange cat. I wish I had done better. I didn't. Writing those words doesn;t express the  sadness and the horror.
The white cat defies talking about, but it was far from a  happy ending.I will never find a resolution.
Lucy dog was my daughter's dog: a terrier. Not my type. Doesn't suit  me. I was, in my ignorance, used to dogs lasting about twelve years.Lucy lasted well beyond this, but not as a well functioning entity.Lucy slept  in my bedroom. She needed to go out once or twice a night. That meant that I had to wake up once or twice a night. In winter, face under zero cold, let her out, snuggle back to warmth, hear her scratchings at the door, brace oneself to hit the cold., let her in. Those years like having a baby: never a full nights sleep, For years. it also meant that I couldn't leave home: how could you hire someone prepared to do this? If you judge me an idiot, you may well be correct.It was for love: love for my daughter.  How many fools have said this?
I didn't ever expect to wake up one morning and see Lucy's neck and head at right angles to her body. Horror.  Like a Stephen King novel.What went after was worse.
 I really don't want to talk of this.Or, about quite a lot of other.
This morning an old, once  boyfriend rang,
He has intermittently been in contact since our first chaste connections as 17 yrs olds.
The encounters over the years have been  onesided, from him, many, intermittent... In the early nineties, after my husband died, I felt so plagued as he rang constantly I took to swearing at him at his relentless phonecalls, My solicitor sent messages threatening an avo. All these years later ... it feels different. "Yes, you can write to me,":  I say, which is what he asks, "I don't know that I will reply."
He's sentimental at heart, which our society doesn't allow a man to be. .
I have no interest at all in a romance or even a relationship of any kind, but a connection by mail? Possibly.  I feel quite warm towards him. At a letter's length.
But is this the a turn for the better or a continuation of the negative 2000's? Who knows? I am wary.


Elephant's Child said...

Oh dear.
So much overwhelming, relentless horror and pain. Not your century at all. Annus horribilus repeated.
I am so sorry. And hope for better days/years to come.

R.H. said...

This is like a folk song (but getting dangerously close to Kerryn Goldsworthy). Anyway,give him a chance.

And goodness me, I enjoy your writing, it don't mess about.

Frances said...

What a kind woman you are, Elephant's Child. These incidents were actually small in the scheme of things - (tho' I should have mentioned losing money, making bad decsions, etc etc). It was the absence of compensating ups that gradually made me downhearted. How can I say that when I was given three fine grandchildren? What a whinger I can be.

And it's good to see you back, R.H. I was sorry to read how ill you were. Thanks for the compliment re writing
, and ...I've edited that embarrassing tosh.

R.H. said...

Thanks, that's a nice suprise. I had a bleeding ulcer, partly due to an old stab wound.
Hospital was a bad experience generally but there's a good side to most things if you can see it. While I was recovering from surgery three blokes came and went from the other bed in my room, all taken away for surgery. They were frightened of course but each managed to put on a brave front. It was like they'd thrown everything to fate.
The practice was for the anesthetist to turn up an hour or so prior to surgery for a little chat, and slip into it somewhere that there was "always a risk."
The response was always brave, philosophical, but the last of them - a fit looking bloke in for heart surgery - was the best. When they came to collect him and a nurse asked the customary: "How are you feeling?" he said, "If I say good, I'm lying. If I say no good, that's no good."

Frances said...

Love his comment, RH.