Early in the year for a few days following my accident I didn’t know who anyone was or indeed who or where I was. Quite frightening but fortunately for me, it lasted a very short time. But what of those suffering from say Alzheimer’s? I’ve written several posts on this subject and for that very short time I could totally bond with my fictional character Jane:
My Name is Jane, I think.
They’re calling me Jane
Is that who I am
I am perfectly sane
but I don’t know their plan.
I look in the mirror and what do I see
Someone who vaguely resembles me
But why am I here and why all the tears
They are beginning to scare me, what is there to fear?
It seems like only yesterday I knew who I was and
Proud, strong and upright my life in my hands.
But now you tell me that isn’t so
Well if I am not me then where did I go?
I remember a time when my children were small
But yesterday and last week I know not at all
Where did those days go and why am I here
I wish you could tell me why did they disappear?
This young woman calls me Mother but I don’t know her at all
She looks kind of familiar, lovely smile, soft hands and all
And the young boys with her they are calling me Gran
But again I don’t know them why are they taking my hand?
Perhaps I knew her when I too was young
When life was before me and everything was fun
And losing one’s self wasn’t even thought of then
So how could I have landed here – is this the end?
I think I know you – are you a nurse
And where are you taking me, I know the way
Well I did before this curse
Came upon me and befuddled my mind
And now I feel that I have left me behind.
But I am still me though I can’t make you hear
I’m still your mother and hold you all dear
What’s that you say my name is Jane
And I really feel that I’m perfectly sane.
But they’re calling me Jane
Are they talking to me
Is that my name and
Who I used to be?
The alley was so dark. No lights showing anywhere and along both sides were dark shadows; unknown lumps perhaps of boxes, perhaps of people waiting to hurt her. But she had to go down that street to gain access to her building. There was no other way; no other choice.
Behind her she could hear the loud mouthed youths taunting her. Telling her in crude words what they would do to her when they caught her.
So she ran. This encouraged the youths. They too ran, laughing and jeering. She was out of breath and crying and one of her shoes came off as she ran. But she knew she had to go down that alley to reach her building and the safety of her family.
Suddenly coming towards her she saw the light of a torch. Her Father, being worried at the lateness of the hour, had come looking for her. Never had she been so pleased to see him. She ran to him crying and laughing at the same time. He gently held her and they turned towards home. At that moment she vowed that never again would she remonstrate with him about waiting up for her and scolding her for being late home.
And the youths? As with all bullies they disappeared as soon as they saw an adult coming to rescue his daughter.
Note – I have so enjoyed Janna T’s entries in the Trifecta challenge that I thought I would try my hand at it. This is my first attempt.
This week’s challenge is to write an entry between 33 and 333 words using the word alley defined as – ALLEY (noun): a narrow street; especially : a thoroughfare through the middle of a block giving access to the rear of lots or buildings.
The complete guidelines for the challenge can be found by clicking here .
- Trifextra: Lost, Again (mairzeebp.wordpress.com)
I believe that political correctness can be a form of linguistic fascism, and it sends shivers down the spine of my generation who went to war against fascism.
P. D. James
Is Political Correctness
as rampant where you live as it is here in Godzone/Aotearoa? We are constantly worried here in case we step on somebody’s toes or offend somebody in some way, and often it causes us to do nothing. Note – the use of the word “us” here is a generic term for both our politicians and the general hoi polloi.
To my mind PC as used by our politicians, the media and those who deem themselves to be in charge of our actions (and maybe even our thoughts), is tyranny. And the rationale of this tyranny? It appears to be to prevent people being offended by what is said or done; to
prevent compel each of us to avoid using words that may upset others, including women, fat people, small or tall people,homosexuals, etc etc.
Well I would not knowingly offend any of these people but feel that this has gone too far. Political Correctness is in my view, a sophisticated form of censorship that affects all of us and creeps unasked into our lives. The values and rules of my parents’ generation appear to be thrown out with the bath water and what is moving in to take their place? Political Correctness.
I decided to investigate the origins or this phenomenon and see if I could find out the reason for its introduction into our lives. I found an explanation on this site. Here I read that “It was developed at the Institute for Social Research in Frankfurt, Germany, which was founded in 1923 and came to be known as the “Frankfurt School.” It was a group of thinkers who pulled together to find a solution to the biggest problem facing the implementers of communism in Russia.
The problem? Why wasn’t communism spreading? Their answer? Because Western Civilization was in its way.” It went on to say
“What was the problem with Western Civilization? Its belief in the individual, that an individual could develop valid ideas. At the root of communism was the theory that all valid ideas come from the effect of the social group of the masses. The individual is nothing.”
And so Political Correctness was introduced to undermine Western Civilisations’ foundations by incessantly and insidiously attacking the rights of the individuals. Well, that explains it then.
And today after receiving this email from a friend, I decided to air my
concernsobjections about and to this trend. See what you think?
“There’s an annual contest at the University of Arkansas calling for the most appropriate definition of a contemporary term. This year’s term was: “Political Correctness.” The winning student wrote:
“Political correctness is a doctrine — fostered by a delusional, illogical minority and rapidly promoted by an unscrupulous mainstream media — which holds forth the proposition that it is entirely possible to pick up a piece of shit by the clean end.”
Well that says it all for me anyway. What do you think?
“All tyranny needs to gain a foothold is for people of good conscience to remain silent.”
Learning to soar in a changing world
“Come to the edge, he said
They said: We are afraid
Come to the edge, he said
He pushed them and they flew”
Guillaume Apollinaire, French Poet and Critic – 1880-1918.
Today I feel as if this were directed at me. Looking at the crutches saying I cannot get down the two stairs outside my house and guess what – I can.
So in this time of healing and resting up I am still learning that there is little I can’t do. I have to trust and have belief in myself and my strength. And embrace all that is being offered to me in the way of friendship, help and love.
A few days ago Susan at comingeast wrote a blog commenting that she had read an article that nobody wanted to read another blog about writing. Well, perhaps not, but it’s Wednesday and I have to leave soon and wanted to share some thoughts with you.
Some years ago I bought this kit and as so often happens it mouldered away in a bookcase for ages and only came to the fore when I recently cleared a lot of books to give to the hospice shop.
This is an interesting and unusual kit in that it not only has a book with Prompts and Practices for each day of the year, it also has a series of cards giving great advice. Those on the top of the pile today are:
- Don’t judge your writing
- Let go of expectations
- Trust your pen and
- Pay attention
Today is November 2 and the prompt for today is “I dreamed..”
So – I dreamed I was in a different place. A place I had never visited. The old house was quite scary. It creaked and rattled and I was all alone in it.
But I wasn’t alone. I could hear something breathing heavily and footsteps seemed to be coming towards me. I didn’t know the house so had no idea where he/she/it was coming from or where I could go to hide. There appeared to be no lights in the house but there suddenly appeared a candle on a table that hadn’t been there before.
My heart was beating rapidly as I picked up the candle and made my way towards a door. This door opened into a long, dark hallway lit only by my feeble candle which in turn threw shadows of unknown things onto the walls.
I could still hear whoever/whatever was in the house and now it seemed to be following me. Where to go from here? Forward along the hallway or back the way I had come? But where was the person/thing? I had to get away but how and to where? Questions, questions but no answers.
And then I felt something pushing close to me and breathing in my face. I was really scared and jerked awake to be faced by my faithful companion Lotte, who must have been disturbed by my moving around while dreaming. I was pleased to be awakened and out of that scary place. I guess all the talk of Halloween and its attendant ghost stories had stayed in my mind and resurfaced in this dream.
“From ghoulies and ghosties
and long leggettie beasties
and things that go bump in the night
Good Lord deliver us”.
Old Scottish prayer sometimes
attributed to Robert Burns
- A Walk Around Brooklyn (growingyoungereachday.wordpress.com)
- And It’s Raining (growingyoungereachday.wordpress.com)
- Happy Halloween (awinsomejourney.wordpress.com)
The rioting in London and other parts of the UK is still dominating my thoughts today. I read this insightful blog and wish that more people and particularly those in power in the United Kingdom would read it.
This woman, a deputy headmistress in a State school in London, is not afraid to say what the politicians fear to. She is black and proudly proclaims the fact. She comments on the fact that many of the rioters are young, uneducated black men. And she decries the practice of making excuses for this behaviour.
There can be no excuse for this mindless vandalism.
I make no apology for a second blog on the subject and for sounding off about it. I feel very strongly and grieve for my homeland as it goes through this terrible time.
“IF I should die, think only this of me;
That there’s some corner of a foreign field
That is for ever England.
There shall be in that rich earth a richer dust concealed;
A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware,
Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam,
A body of England’s breathing English air,
Washed by the rivers, blest by suns of home.
And think, this heart, all evil shed away,
A pulse in the eternal mind, no less
Gives somewhere back the thoughts by England given;
Her sights and sounds; dreams happy as her day; And laughter, learnt of friends; and gentleness,
In hearts at peace, under an English heaven.”
Rupert Brooke 1887-1915.
“It’s so curious: one can resist tears and ‘behave’ very well in the hardest hours of grief. But then someone makes you a friendly sign behind a window, or one notices that a flower that was in bud only yesterday has suddenly blossomed, or a letter slips from a drawer… and everything collapses.: ~Colette
For some time now I have noticed a definite shift in my feelings about grieving for my late husband. After many years I am able to look back and see just how far I have come from that ghastly day in 1998 when my soul-mate was declared ‘dead’.
Of course, at the time I didn’t know how I was going to live without him. I had grown up with him having met and married him when I was 19. And now 41 years later he was gone.
The few days following his death are still even now, a blur. I do remember seeing my two adult children sitting with a man (who later turned out to be the funeral director) under a tree in my son’s garden. Those two adult children made all the arrangements necessary for us to move to the next stage – a funeral and the function afterwards. I declared to anybody who would listen that I was not going to the funeral. Of course, I was ignored, nobody believed me and of course, I went.
Those of you have been there know that at the beginning you can tell how many hours since your loved one died. This moves into how many days, then weeks, followed by months and then (as for me now) years. I would not say that any of the stages through which I have passed have been easy. Time does not heal regardless of the old adage, but it does make living without that special one easier.
I learned that I can go on – it doesn’t come with a choice. I learned that there is still life without that special person and that given the opportunity friends and family will be very supportive as one goes through the stages of grief. My family still support me on those ‘mean blue days’ that sneak up on one when one isn’t watching.
As part of my healing, I wrote. I wrote how I was surviving, what I could do and did to get through each day and I found this exercise cathartic. this was published in a small book that I gave to friends and clients who found themselves in a similar situation.
And one day I realized that in fact I was growing and learning to live in this changing world. I also changed the focus of my life coaching work towards people who found themselves alone through death, divorce or separation. And I founded a group that I call ‘Together”. This is a loose group of people who come together regularly, or not as they choose, to support each other in their loss. This has proved to be very helpful for a number of people.
And so the learning and coping go hand in hand and no doubt will do until I too die.
Posted in Fear, Grief, Living, Memories, Uncategorized
Tagged Gratitude, Grief, Grief Loss and Bereavement, happiness, Life, living, living each day