Communication - I think

One of the joyous rewards of having a four-footed friend is learning how mutually to communicate. My hospital Enquiry Desk colleague told me how she fed her cat a necessary tablet of medication. She wrapped it in her favourite food and she and her husband watched while the cat cleaned the whole plate. Giving one another a hug of relief and congratulation, they heard a sound and turned round to see the cat neatly spit out the entire untouched tablet. I suppose one may call that a failure of communication, but from the cat's point of view it was incontravertible: you don;t fool me. That was not cat food and I am damned if I will play along with such a deceit. However, I have to say that there was an occasion when my own dear friend elected to sleep downstairs instead of with me. When I told her she knew where I was if she needed me, I got one of those sing-song not quite miaows that definitely signifies comprehending  acquiescence.

That's enough cat. Not everyone shares the degree of felinitis with which I find myself cursed - or blessed. I do, as it happens, have  an almost compulsive wish to commuicate accurately, even with humans. I just wish my lexicon of possibilities were wider and richer. Of course, not all communication is about words. Noticing is another road to understanding, another way of passing information. I realise that I have made an assumption that everyone notices. I did, from a small girl. It made me worried and guilty and often ashamed of something I had done or not done. In reality, no-one had even noticed whatever it was. To this day, I have to remind myself that not everyone has the mind space to observe, notice and take note. A day or so ago; I asked the person helping me, who had kindly changed the cat's litter tray, if there were any solid matter in it. (On Vet's instructions, the cat is being monitored). She hadn't noticed. How could you not. with eyes and nose at your disposal. Oh Dear: here I am back with that subject. The Guru speaks four languages. Two of them are totally fluent. I don't know what degree of fluency he has in the other two. He is still not always an easy man to understand, to comprehend as a fellow human. Words and deeds are not necessarily the open sesame of communication I would like them to be. There is a catch there, too. It is too easy to spot an economy with the truth when you are a communication addict, with a good enough memory for what had actually been said or done, of course.

The temperature is 29 degrees with what seems like 100 per cent humidity. It appears to have melted my sense of the fun, the irony in the way the world works.  To-morrow promises to be cooler. Watch this space for some jollier communications. Nos da

Reconciliation

A friend recently pointed out that my blog is suffused with ambivalence. I assumed she meant between life and death. This I am not sure about but it could be implicit in the title: an ambivalence between the chronology of 75 and the instinct of  40. Thinking about her comment my head started to feel bigger on the inside than the outside Ultimately, I decided ambivalence was one of life's threads for everyone, sown in tiny backstitch along the seam of everyday. Like a good student, therefore, I write keeping the question - sorry, title - in mind at all times as instructed by my teachers those many decades ago.

Take television for instance. I watch rather a lot of it. I have favourites, usually detecting or other puzzlement situations. There is a drawback. Each series comes to its end, presumably so as not to bore the audience or to afford what is called in the North of England 'teachers' rest'. (Half-term down South.)  In this case it would be actors' and technicians' rest, I suppose. or even a fallow period for the sponsors. To me it presents a hazard. What if I am no longer able or around to watch television? As you must know, the series always end with a monumental crisis. There is a very good chance I shall never know what-happens-next. I can't see myself contacting the producers to explain my problem asking them if they would  be kind enough to spill the beans ahead of time. I would, of course, offer my absolute respect of confidentiality, swearing on my life never to divulge to another living soul. Oh Dear, there it is again. I can't swear on my life because that, (my life) is the lynch pin which supports my please-tell-me-now plea. I have grown quite sneaky in this pursuit. I switch on the computer and Search Engine the programme to see if I can devine the future. On one occasion this gave me an awful shock. One of my favourite characters is a lady doctor working at the turn of the century - the last one, silly, all Victorian pre-suffragette. On screen a numbered list of the episodes of the next series told me Dr O was scheduled to die. I spent a horrible period believing the end of the known world was on its way. Dear Reader, when it came to it it turned out it was her Father who was doomed. Since he had appeared only by refrence not by substance, I had formed no attachment to him. I let him go without a twinge and took my first full breath since I had first spied on the what-is-to-come. I am wrestling with how to reconcile myself to letting go what the rest of you are taking for granted. It's rather like knowing I shall never have a waist again while I watch the glorious young tighten their belts - really - and plan the hemline for next year. Or  giving up the race at the half-way mark while everyone else charges on to the end. Still, it is very pleasant to be able to enjoy half way, having had my turn at.  going all the way.  Prynhawn da

Re-runs

As a matter of habit, when I have enjoyed a book, I re-read it from time to time. It's rather like calling in to see a family of old friends. Occasionally, people take me to task, seeing it as a waste of productive reading time. Usually, I liken the experience to listening to the same music over and over again. No-one seems convinced and I'm not sure, now I come to see it in black and white, so to speak, that I do, either. However, reccently there has been a sea-change. Reaching for an old friend on a top shelf I suddenly had a vision of a pile of books I was given for Christmas - yes, seven months ago - lying on my desk top threatening to fall over. In other words, so many books and so little time. I can see that spending time with past friends at my age precludes my making any new ones. Being me, a Libran, I stumbled upon a compromise. Rather than start on any of my own unread tomes, I borrowed one from the library in the hospital where I work.'Fair dos' as we say in Wales. Mind you, I need to admit something to you: since I was rather ill two years ago I seemed to lack the concentration to take up with book-friends either past or present. Lazily, I have watched television but, lying on my bed to do this, I often fall asleep. In retrospect, I apologise to my Father who regularly did that, except when there was rugby or soccer showing. Then he would wake up with a start and shout "kick the d....d ball you fool." and wake my Mother up, too. I used to berate him for this, I'm sorry.

At some level I am also doing new things. I see that has two aspects. One: I am making sure to do certain things while I still can and two: I am saying a sort of Goodbye to things. An evening or so ago I went to hear a couple of friends performing in the same concert. The venue was distant and hard to reach. The Minicab company I use was able to help only on the outward journey because most of its drivers are Muslim, it's Ramadan and later in the evening, homeward bound, they would be breaking their fast far from their vehicles. As I thought about these difficulties, it came to me that the chances of hearing this combination of friendship and music were necessarily limited. They belonged to a dimension I have to ration severely - the future. Dear Reader, I went and it was one of the most rewarding I have been to in a long music-appreciative life. Having worked out that I shall not need any more clothes, other than those which it is essential to replace through wear, for the rest of my life, I also have the urge to buy something that catches my eye because it may be the last frivolous purchase I shall ever make. I am searching madly for the word that describes this phenomenon. Do, please, click on the 'comment' facility and supply the word if you have it. I doubt I shall sleep until I know. (Ambiguity, perhaps?)  Not having a substantial future is, in itself, a new experience. Oh Dear, I do need that word. As it happens, I am feeling like blogging for a long time yet so there's possibly still  time enough to explore the new and value the past. For those of you faithful followers who will remember its significance, I am working up to seeking out the scarlet swimsuit once again. The Guru has kindly agreed to come, too, so no need to seek out the half-backs around the baggage carousel. I bought a new floaty thing to go over it, so there we are again, whatever that b....y word will turn out to be. Nos da
PS July12th, I think it ios 'dichotomy' so there you are. Nos da, again

Sine Qua Non

Far be it from me to show off:  (note the title). It is, simply, that seven decades or so ago when I was at school, we were all treated to lessons in Latin as a matter of course; rarely part of the current curricula it would seem. Heaven forfend I should be expected to read and understand it now, but there are a few phrases which the old man in the archives will still throw up from time to time. The fact that 'num' expects the answer 'no' is a frequent one. It took some getting used to, I remember, that there was no 'yes' nor 'no' in Latin, only a way of putting a question that expected either the answer in the negative or one in the positive. ('Nonne' for positive if you are still interested and I have remembered correctly.) A for instance might be "you are not hungry are you?" "No, I am not" Or, "I note that you are hungry""Yes, I am". It fascinated me to learn that the same applies in Mandarin. "Hot, not hot?" "Hot.". would serve to illustrate. No, I don't speak Mandarin. Someone close to me does. Anyway, back to today: I am in a mood to tell you that with which I cannot do without. We can start with breakfast. Of course, none of us can do without breakfast - or shouldn't anyway. What I had in mind was what went with breakfast, namely twelve tablets, all white and one capsule, yellow. This conglomeration, or whatever one calls a collection of tablets and one capsule, are meant to keep me going and on an even keel. These I swallow daily, matitudinally, and am, so far, still with you. Then there is the patch. This is applied once a  week and is intended to help with the chronic pain caused by the wonky back.The packet contains instructions to note the exact time of day at which I apply the patch so that it can be replaced at precisely the same time next week.

There are also several things you already know about without which I cannot do. My stick seat is one. It is invaluable as a walking stick and half valuable as a seat. Because, silly, if I open up the top to access its seating property, I run the risk of being tipped off it by any passing dog or scooter-fired toddler.. Around my house are several aids to safety or wobble-avoiders, like grab handles here and there, mostly in the shower, and a sort of bar thing slid under the mattress at the side of the bed that I grasp to lever myself out of it - the bed, that is. A process of elimination applies to the opposite of 'without which not', which I understand as "with which not". Shorts would be one example. No matter the heat, the locality or the company, shorts are not age-appropriate. Forward planning is another. Fellow volunteers at the hospital where I work are given an award according to the number of years they have worked there. The honour starts at five years. I may, just about, make that. The ten year badge is extremely likely to be outside my time span. Lovely shoes are also a with which not. I just can't risk falling over so am resigned to sensible what my Mother would have called 'cuban heels'. Such shoes don't come fancy. Romantic love qualifies: definitely 'with which not'. But love of the caritas kind is deeper and richer and more widespread. There is also less anger, less injury and less offence. However, I am even less inclined to obey rules, the 'without which not' of other peoples' ideas of how things should be, even pain patches. Come to think of it, the greatest of all the ' sine qua non' has to be, as above, love. Never mind the tablets, the capsule, the sensible heels, the real ' without which not'' is simply love. Bore da