Granny's House

Yesterday I found a great vintage children's book in an antique shop.
Tiny Tots Annual from 1960, full of lovely illustrations and only $5.

  


 But the little one titled "Granny's House" caught my eye.

So cute, but the modern Granny isn't quite like the 1960 Granny. For a start, in an effort to break the stereotype old grandma, modern grannies need a cooler title, like Mimsy, Nooni, Jamma or Glammy. The glamorous Grandma is a thing.

 Lots of grannys now are fairly young, as back in the 70's we all tended to get married pretty young. Lots of grannys are still working and desperately trying to amass some super as they tended to take time out from careers to be stay at home mums in the 80's.




Lots of grannys are winning oscars, travelling and buying new furniture for the first time in their lives.



Lots of grannys are old hippies so their grandchildren think they are fantastic and weird.





But not many modern grannys bake apple pies
any more. And lots of grannys, if they do have grey hair, put a splash of hot pink or purple through the front.


Striving to be a good mix of old granny and modern granny is hopefully achievable.

That poem is never going to apply to me, so I've rewritten it.

I love to go to Glammy's house, 

Where all is chaos and not too clean

And Downton Abbey and Midsommer Murders,

In rows are to be seen.

In Glammy's house I don't have to be good,

Cos her houseworks fairly bad

I can run and shout and eat her chocolate,

As long as I don't tell mum and dad.

But Glammy's face is sweet and kind,

I never know what colour her hair will be.

I know about her Tim Tam stash,

When I go there to tea.

Recovery, Normality and Other Myths.

With Mother's day tomorrow my thoughts return again to that day nine years ago, the last day our family's life was to be the same as it always had been.

The Monday after was to be the day an MRI found my eighteen year old son's 5cm brain tumour. He was to have surgery the next day and I had no idea I would be hundreds of miles from home and would not return  again for weeks.
Of course the ICU, comas, paralysis, infections, weeks of rehab and the steep learning curve into the world of Neurosurgery and brain function, pulled the rug out from under my life and threw me into a completely new and horrendous place.

Once we were finally home , even though I knew things would be difficult and different, I at least felt I might feel a little more 'normal' or 'at home', but this just didn't happen. I realized our lives were like a side show ride, going around and waiting and expecting we would just jump back on. You sit there watching your old life go around and are puzzled as to why you can't just jump back on, at least to a little of it. The fact that my other sons and husband still rode their rides made things worse and pretty soon they started falling off too.

It wasn't even that I wanted my life back, it was more that I wanted to feel like I was home. I wanted to feel some 'normal'. But it was like all your favourite clothes didn't fit anymore and you couldn't work out why. Home and our lives were a strange, alien place. Give it a bit more time I thought, things will improve.
Six months and I was still puzzled. Twelve months and I was still puzzled. I'm not getting over this, I'm not getting used to this, what's wrong with me, I wondered.
I remember when I started looking for answers. The first article I read was was Kurt's story on brain tumour.net. Kurt wrote of his experience with a tumour twenty years ago at the age of thirteen. He wrote so clearly as if it happened yesterday. This puzzled me. 'Wow, why is he writing about something that happened twenty years ago?' I wondered. He wrote about time, lots of it, change , adjustment and acceptance. I'd had a year, what was my problem?

I didn't have a light bulb moment.
The light bulb flickered feebly on, brightening ever so slowly for me. I read more.
As a mum, your desire is to enable success for your children, to see them independent and happy. You realize you have lots of imbedded expectations of your children. Resetting your ideas of happiness, success and achievement takes a lot of time. Naturally I wanted to help my son reenter life in any way possible, but as my 'helping' failed I felt like I'd failed him too. Nothing was going the way I wanted it to. He was not going to be able to drive, to work, his social life was gone and at a time when life should be opening up, for him it was closing down.

So began the long path to acceptance. While I would never give up on my son, I certainly had to let go. This wasn't about me.

Acceptance brings with it reevaluation, peace, a realization that life's joys, achievements and successes aren't what we might have thought they were.
No, life is never going to be the 'normal' one it once was, but it's a gift. The last nine years have given us a gifts I wouldn't change for anything.


http://www.lemonsizedtumour.com.au/

.....for our full story.

Mental illness, grief and disability.

Mental illness, grief and disability: What not to say.

These are really big topics and all I can touch on is my personal experience.
We often wonder what to say when confronted with these issues in our friends and family, and over the years I've heard some "great" advice.

Mental Illness.

"Christians don't get depression"

You're not trusting God enough and your faith is weak, is what usually follows this statement. So christians don't get bi polar? Or any Personality Disorders? Or Brain Injuries?
It doesn't take much of a trip down the trail that follows this logic to see it's pretty flawed. It somehow follows that you bring this upon yourself with your own lack of faith.

 Old Man With his Head in his Hands. Van Gogh 1882

"I'm not the sort of person to get depression".

Somehow it's often thought only negative, weaker people find themselves depressed. 

It can happen to anyone, anytime. Winston Churchill, a great example. A dynamic, active, intelligent and strong man who was plagued with the black dog.

Same is true of anxiety disorder. It's not just a thing that affects nervy, anxious personality types. It doesn't care about your personality, which is why lots of military and police force workers can get it (pretty tough guys).

"Stephen Frys got bipolar."

I've had very little personal experience with bipolar, but a recent Australian Story about TV producer Adam Boland was interesting. When diagnosed with this disorder his mum gave him a list of famous people with bipolar. Google image famous bipolar and lots of really cool people come up.

I don't know if this helped Adam or his mum. Does this make it better and more acceptable than say...  Personality Disorder, Cognitive Disorder or Delusions? Google image 'Paranoid Schizophrenic Personality Disorder famous', and the images aren't so pretty.

While it is always incredibly helpful to know you're not alone in your difficulties,  to look at Steven Fry all smiling, intelligent and functional hosting a tv show probably isn't all that helpful.

Grief.

"You've got to move on."

While this was true for Dicken's Miss Haversham, I think it's far less common in real life than fiction, and even if it is the case is extremely unhelpful to say to someone.

Grief isn't some noxious weed in the garden of our personality that must be rooted out and poisoned at every opportunity. It's something that needs to be there and can be there for many years. Some griefs are life long and are lived with not got over. Particularly the parent/ child loss. The child losing a parent and the parent losing a child. You never 'get over' these.

We talk about our families all the time.
"How's your parents doing?"
"Where are your kids now?"
It can be really difficult for both parties, but maybe the bereaved need to talk about their loved ones too? Ask the widow to tell you about her husband. And then just listen and listen some more.

Disability.

"I saw that disabled guy on tv last night who climbed Mt Everest. What's your problem, why don't you do stuff like that?"

Comedian, journalist and disability advocate Stella Young who died at age 32 last year dreamed of a society where people with a disability who studied, worked and achieved great things were conventional, even ordinary.
http://www.smh.com.au/entertainment/comedy/stella-young-dead-comedian-abc-journalist-and-disability-advocate-dies-at-32-20141208-122ch8.html


Sometimes I think that stories in the media don't help the cause. Everybody loves a feel good story about overcoming the odds. But this is usually not the full story. It's a media snap. And great things don't have to be climbing mountains and competing in the Olympics.
All disabilities are so different and all big achievements don't look the same. Comparing them and judging is wrong.
"You're so brave" "you're so lazy" "You should be doing ......."
The mentally or physically disabled are doing the best they can just like the rest of us.

So Many Books, so Little Time

Trouble is, I'm not a book nerd. I want to read more but I have a few other things which have priority too.
Like watching a good movie, mind you, if I see it's from a book, I'll think 'I must read that book'.
Or patchworking, embroidery, listening to music or walking. Some of these things can be done simultaneous, especially if you use audio books.

Recently three books I'd ordered from the library came all at once. All memoirs.
By the time I got through Steve Bisleys, then Peter Fitzsimons (both aussie guys retelling 50's/ 60's childhoods) I couldn't finish the third one. Too much of a good genre gets a bit much.
Like too much cake.

Our Book Club has just joined the library. We get six books a year to discuss. We tried to choose six different genres to widen our reading experience. Its made me realise my reading genre list is small.
Have I read.......
A Classic?
tried Wuthering Heights as a teenage, didn't finish.
Crime?
one only, a friend loaned me one  few years ago.
Sci Fi?
um, no
Romance?
um, no
Thriller?
no
Fantasy?
not really

So, what exactly do I read?
I'll say what I don't read. I have the pile of books waiting by my bed. The pile in the corner near the dining room table, the pile on a shelf in the bedroom waiting to move to the pile next to the bed, the bookshelf ones waiting to move to a pile somewhere. Its worse than a hospital waiting list!

Here's a few from the piles.

  

 

There's a bit of history, bit of art, bit of romance, a classic and not a memoir in sight.

Some of these are borrowed, so I'd better get cracking.

That Gratitude Thing

The three things I'm grateful for over five days (or is that five things I'm grateful for over three days?) has been doing the rounds on facebook for a while now. It's well known that the act of writing things of gratitude down helps us to actually be more thankful and gracious. More so than ever as we live in such abundance our default is to take so much for granted and complain about many things.

Here's what I complain about (usually just in mumblings and rants to myself) but that I'm still incredibly grateful for.

Clothes:

Every morning I dread it. That never-ending question- what will I wear today? I dread it. And it's worse because you know you need to lose a few (at least) kilos and all the clothes are uncomfortably tight but you refuse to go up a size.

I'm really grateful that I have this problem. I don't belong in a time or to a culture or religion that leaves me with no choices or insists I wear a difficult item of apparel. I can wear trousers freely, makeup, get my hair done, choose any colour and am pretty free to wear what I like.

Food:

Every evening I dread it. What to cook tonight. I hate it and after over thirty years of cooking for a family I think I've finally run out of ideas.

The cookery books sit unused, the pantry is bare and Jamie Oliver is telling me I can whip up a superb looking and highly nutritious meal in fifteen minutes. I'm supposed to have a global kitchen with voatsiperiferp pepper and chipotle morita paste on hand and know what they are for.

I'm really grateful I have these options should I wish to avail myself of them. We are very lucky. I am grateful I can still make the occasional Shepherd's Pie using Gravox and Worcestershire sauce as the most exotic ingredients and my husband really likes it!

Shopping:

Which brings me to my next topic. Supermarkets. Hate, hate hate, supermarket shopping.
I am not a list maker and I go in there dazed, confused waiting for inspiration for the domestic needs to hit me, which it never does.

I'm grateful that I can though. I'm grateful that my life is so much easier than my grandmothers before me. I don't have to churn my butter and if a wild fancy takes me I can make my own tomato sauce, but if I don't I know I can always pop down to Coles and buy some.

Exercise.

You are supposed to do an exercise you enjoy and that is sustainable for you. I hate gyms, I hate tv exercise. 

I love walking, so that's all good. But most days it's a bit of a chore. I know I (and the dog) MUST do it. There's a bit of a moan under the breath and out I go.

I'm grateful I can. I know there will probably come a time in my life when I am no longer able to keep up the border collie speed needed for our dog. Once I'm out there, it clears my heads and gives me thinking time. I'm so grateful I have the physical ability and freedom to do this.

Ageing and negative attitudes.

I love the BBC show "Grumpy Old Women" and I agree with everything they say!

There's plenty to be grumpy about as one ages, and I do my fair share of grumping. Weight gain, failing eyesight, aches and pains, menopausal symptoms, what's happening to my skin and hair...... oh I'd better stop. It is very easy to be negative.

I'm grateful that I'm getting there though. Those of us who have made it this far are the lucky ones. I might make 101 years like my grandmother, I might not make another week. I'm so grateful for what I've had to date. I've seen my children's children. We have a life of abundance and privilege. So many have none of it. My hair is greying and difficult to manage and my skin is wrinkling and sagging. I'm grateful for this, it means I've lived a life and am now "past my physical peak" haha. I'm struggling to lose weight and I can't understand the lives of teenagers today. I'm grateful. This is what's meant to happen. I can commiserate with all my friends of the same age and they all understand. I'm grateful. I'm turning into my grandmother and I'm grateful.

"Do one thing everyday that scares you."

This would be a challenge, and we might ask why would I want to?
Lately I've done some very scary things, but not every day. Most of us prefer to live safely and our own self-talk likes to keep it that way. We are our own biggest limiters. How often do we hear things like "I don't do that" or "I could never be one of those people" or "I haven't got the patience for that" ?

And even if we do step out of a comfort zone, go out on a limb, say yes to something scary, we often sabotage our very own decision with our negativity and fear.

The story of Peter in the New Testament when he walks on the water is exactly that. It's all good until he gets afraid. While walking on water probably isn't going to be one of our problems, what about when we have to do something scary? Speaking publicly for example. Putting ourselves out there for the good of others at the risk of embarrassing ourselves. Or it could be something as simple as getting dressed and leaving home.

You've really just got to let go and do it. Decide that in spite of all these negative thoughts and self talk, I'm going to do this. Be bold, grow a backbone, drink some cement, laugh at danger and face the bear!

Fake it till you make it!

I loved the interview with The Eagles on Sixty Minutes last weekend. Always been a huge Eagles fan. These guys are arguably among the top, most successful bands of my lifetime. Guitarist and vocalist Joe Walsh admitted he had no idea what he was doing. "In the music industry if you pretend that you know what you're doing, then everybody actually thinks you know what you're doing" he said with a look of perplexed amazement, "I just didn't want everybody to find out that I didn't have a clue, in retrospect, none of us really did."

It's true not only in the music industry, but in many areas of life. pretend you know what you're doing and go for it!!

Taboo Subjects

Last night's Q & A brought up the subject of Taboo topics. The panel were made up of writers and artists. Comedienne Jean Kitson stated that menopause was the last great taboo in our society, and she has written a book about it to try and change that. I bet she's right because if I had any male readers here, I bet they stopped reading when the "m" word was mentioned.
It's certainly much talked about among middle aged women, in this day and age anyway.

I am at the tail end of the Baby Boomer generation. I remember the times when many subjects were taboo.
I remember when the word cancer was said in whispers and various topics were alluded to with strange words, metaphors or eyebrow raises. I remember a time when there were great uncles who had served in the war. These were usually strange, scary men to a child, and I was told they refused to speak of it. Post Traumatic Stress was not coined back then and these damaged men often turned to alcohol.

I still recall a time when there were lots of taboos. Things like divorce, death, race, illness, convict ancestry and even pregnancy. I remember as a child asking my grandmother if she had convict ancestry. She didn't want to exactly lie to me, but she was very uncomfortable about it. "Oh I think there may have been one way back somewhere" she told me.  When in later years I looked into this, I discovered he was her grandfather, hardly way back somewhere!

Happily many of these taboos are now broken. I do think it can be the responsibility of one who suffers from one of these difficult subjects to speak of it and try and bring awareness.

I suffered quite severe post-natal depression twice. At the time I would not have admitted it to anyone. I was ashamed and felt a failure. I hid it as best I could, successfully, I don't know? I looked for signs in my friends who had babies too. I knew what to look for. I felt very alone.
I wonder if I had my time again have things changed now? Would I more freely admit to it nowadays?
Fortunately mental illnesses are more openly discussed and understood now.
Tara Moss was also on the panel. She has just written a memoir about her personal experience of rape and abuse. "People call me brave" she said, but she stated that to speak of it and empathise, she had to tell her true story.

As for menopause, I'm not so sure. Richard Flanagan said his women friends all talked openly about it, he was quite relaxed about it. Tim Storrier was squirming in his seat when his turn to comment came, it was quite funny!



“The conflict between the will to deny horrible events and the will to proclaim them aloud is the central dialectic of psychological trauma.” 
― Judith Lewis Herman, Trauma and Recovery


 P.S. Menopause can be a horrible event at times!!

The Shut Eye Train

Inspired by a poem by Eugene Field.

Last night I missed the Shut Eye Train to the Land of Nod. I almost got on, but then "toot toot" the whistle bleweth, "ting a ling" the bell it goeth, and off it went without me.

I waited on the platform, with much tossing and turning and fluffing of pillows. I started playing the alphabet game to pass the time and to lull me into a slumberous state. The theme I chose was rocks and minerals. Alabaster, Basalt, Crystal, Dolerite, E....E....E....stuck. Go on to F....F....F....stuck again.
Try another theme. Plants. Hang on, are we going to allow trees? No, no trees. What about flowers? No, not flowers, just shrubs or bushes, medium sized flora. Agapanthus, hang on that's a flower, yes but it's also a bush...okay we'll let that one pass, Briar, Catmint, Dahlia. E....E....E...stuck, F....F....F. Obviously this was not working for me tonight.

Eventually another train came and I boarded. Alas, this was not an express. It stopped at every station. First stop, I knew I'd been asleep but checked the clock some time after midnight. Next stop, an hour or so later. Finally got to Shut Eye Town in the Land of Nod, but I had the most disturbingly awful dream, you know the sort, you can't even begin to describe?

I heard a sleep expert interviewed on radio this week. Apparently the functions the brain performs during sleep are unlike any function of the awakened brain. We do things in our sleeping brain that we cannot when we are awake. Fortunately sleep brings with it a complete paralysis, or else we would be acting out our dreams. Now that would be bad. Neuro scientists are still at a loss to explain why we sleep, and why so much. Evolutionary science is at a loss too, as sleep leaves us so utterly vulnerable to danger, as all our senses are on shut-down. We are not like other animals, dolphins for example. They sleep half a brain at a time. The best explanation is that sleep and dreams de-frag the brain (like a computer) and sort and store memories.

Well, I love my sleep, and usually I love dreaming (flying dreams are The Best).
Today I might need a little Nanna Nap after last night's train ride.

Stereotypes

Stereotypes.

I do love it when we get our preconceived stereotypes blasted out of the water. I suppose because it challenges our thinking and opens us up to how wrong we've been all along.
The youtube currently doing the rounds of a young nun belting out an Alicia Keys song on the Italian version of The Voice does just this. I did notice she'd been severely criticised on some of the comments. One comment suggested she's prostituted herself singing a worldly song and dishonoured God and her vows.
Nuns are good fodder for stereotyping. I know as a child I was brought up on a good solid dose of nun material from movies and TV. The Flying Nun, Sound of Music, Airport to name a few.

I did know real nuns weren't as beautiful as movie nuns though!!

My favourite nun who did this for me back in 1992 was Sister Wendy. I loved Sister Wendy's Odyssey and seeing her leave her little caravan where she lived her consecrated hermit life, and travel the great art galleries of Europe giving us a commentary on masterpieces. I loved how this tiny little unassuming woman would stand before over sized scenes of naked, muscular gods and men, and talk about the rapes, passions and lusts and all the worldly stories and emotions that went along with them. I love art commentaries, but this one was so different.

Sister Wendy wasn't naive, uneducated, unintelligent, foolishly innocent just because she was nun, something I might have easily assumed. Maybe some criticised her too for pursuing worldly, self-interested projects in her art documentaries, I don't know.

Anyway, I though she was great and I love to be reminded that we can't just presume we know people by their outward appearance, their job, where they live. People are so gloriously surprising.