Frankly speaking my dear

It is a delight to go into the homes of people and provide a service they require.
I am so fortunate to be able to do this.
Today was a wonderful day.
Ooops, there is that word again. "Wonderful"

this should be called "Superlative abuse "
I do find wonderful the correct word.

admirable, amazing, astonishing, astounding, awe-inspiring, awesome, brilliant, cool, divine, dynamite, enjoyable, excellent, extraordinary, fabulous, fantastic, fine, groovy, incredible, magnificent, marvelous, miraculous, outstanding, peachy, phenomenal, pleasant, pleasing, prime, remarkable, sensational, something else, staggering, startling, strange, stupendous, super, superb, surprising, swell, terrific, too much, tremendous, unheard-of, wondrous

nope... tis definitly wonderful that I mean.

This is today's story from my wordsmith:
He was a little bit of a thing and tagged along everywhere with his 2 elder brothers.
His father was in Her Majesty's army in India and retired to private civillian life only to find there was little call for Edwardian gents with cavalry skills.
The family went from a life of plenty to living in a single room of his Aunt's attic.
Noone slept in a bed and they counted themselves fortunate to have blankets.

The boys found a great respite in the Boy Scouts.
The panjamdrum of the neighbourhood was a Mrs. Prescott, still hoop-skirted and ramrod straight. She would allow the Scouts the freedom of her Estate and come out of the parlour onto the spacious veranda with apples or sweets to reward the winners of games and contests.
Frank was a very small boy, obviously too young to be in this group, however his mind was bright and sparkling and his enthusiasm boundless. He had won more than a few of the word games and distinguished himself enough for Mrs. Prescott to pay close personal attention to him. As the grande dame approached the little fellow, she noticed he had a black eye.

Drawing herself up to her imperious maximum height she looked around at the group of scouts
and then asked Frank:
"My boy, who gave you that black eye?"
He replied without hesitation"
"Noone gave it to me Mrs. Prescott, I had to fight for it."

Years later he found himself on a day off in the old neighbourhood. He lounged against the Estate walls and then, overcome with curiousity scaled the wall and looked in on the grounds.
A maid was just exiting the henhouse at the moment and looked over to see what weed this was growing down the wall.
"Do you know if Mrs. Prescott still lives here?" Frank asked.
"Yes she certainly does and get off of there and come and see her."
"Do you think she will want to see me?" Frank asked.
"Oh yes."

Frank followed the maid into the Manorhouse and there in the parlour sat the redoubtable Mrs. Prescott. She took one look at him and pointed her finger.

"I remember you!"

What a delight it is to be in Frank's company.
Frank recently turned 96 years old. A Master in the art of living.
So many memories he shares with me. And indeed us all.
He always tells me to write about him if I wish and to use his real name.
I can't do that without endangering the privacy of everyone I write about.
HOWEVER, his name really is Frank.
The only real name used in my ponderings.


Many web sites are established by anonymous individuals who hide behind nicknames or nom-de-plumes with no postal address. Please be advised that information obtained via the Internet can be single sourced, horrendously biased and notoriously inaccurate.


Can you hear them?

Can you hear them
They talk about us
Telling lies
Well that's no surprise

Can you see them
See right through them
They have no shield
No secrets to reveal

It doesn't matter what they say
In the jealous games people play
Our lips are sealed

Careless talk
Through paper walls
We can't stop them
Only laugh at them

Spreading rumors
So far from true
Dragged up from the underworld
Just like some precious pearl

It doesn't matter what they say
In the jealous games people play
Our lips are sealed
Pay no mind to what they say
It doesn't matter anyway
Our lips are sealed

There's a weapon
We must use
In our defense

When you look at them
Look right through them
That's when they'll disappear
That's when you'll be feared

Hush, my darling
Don't you cry
Quiet, angel
Forget their lies ---"Go-gos"


Online sources attribute that song to Belinda Carlisle of "The Go-Gos"
It seems to me it was written by someone else. I cant put my brain in gear.
Oh wait, I think I am thinking about "Girls Talk"
For some reason I want to make that song by Nick Lowe or Dave Edmunds.
You know.... "Cruel to be Kind" etc etc

All those lyrics blending together in my brain. It is a mess in there all righty.
Still: it does seem to me that an old rocker wrote that. hmm

My return to work was of course heralded by alot of comment.
"Where have you been?"

Here are some of the things people said to me.

  • "I heard you went on a cruise."
  • "I heard you quit and went to work for the Theatre."
  • "How was Scotland?"
  • "You only work in ___ now I heard."
  • "I heard you had back surgery."
  • "How are your new teeth?( I loved that one, considering the tooth jewellery I have)

    One of my very best friends said to me yesterday:
    "There certainly IS a difference between the happy you and that other one."
    uhm... what other one? There is only me in here. Right? Right!

  • Cheery Autumn

    It's the Litebook (tm) !
    People are remarking on my happy mood everywhere.
    Perhaps they underestimate 5 weeks of cabin fever and the threat of brain surgery.

    Another fine Autumn day to wake up to.
    My little man and I went for a long walk on the Nature trails; long by my standards.
    Oh, let's face it: anything in the woods is long by my standards.
    City-girl! Still remember the first time I had to use a portipotty.
    It was so traumatic.
    ("You want me to what?")
    One of the best things about a dog is the enforced exercise that comes with ownership. Responsible ownership.

    We got a new front door installed yesterday.
    Not only is there less heat-loss there is alot more light in the hall from the tempered glass etched window. It is amazing what a small change can do for esthetics in a place this size.
    The installer was laughing at my choice of playlists and was asking certain younger family members why something more contemporary wasn't playing.

    "Hey!" I intervened. "I am Queen of the downstairs noise... you want contemporary its upstairs with headphones thank you."

    I think he was just amused to hear Echo and the Bunnymen unabashedly wailing in a place like this. Hahaha.
    He did mention more than once that our cookie cutter condo had more character than anyone elses. I do not think he was talking about the walls. Hee hee.

    In starlit nights I saw you
    So cruelly you kissed me
    Your lips a magic world
    Your sky all hung with jewels
    The killing moon
    Will come too soon

    ---- Echo and the Bunnymen "the Killing Moon"


    head and shoulders knees and toes

    Frost settled on my car last night.
    Tonight the moon is a huge pumpkin in eclipse, beautiful and eerie.
    Suitably October-esque.

    Carelane was crowded today. I feel old in this cold. My knee is grumbling.
    This is what happens to people who spend too much time on their knees for reasons other than prayer. Perhaps even the devout suffer arthritic knees.

    It is strange to think how normal the bodies of the elderly are to me.
    Not in a dehumanizing way, just familiar. I see alot of skin in my work.
    Some people are just very genetically gifted and age little externally.
    Today I met such a gentleman.
    His body looked 70. His mind however has every minute of his 93 years well-etched and has run out of space. Now he is in the forgetting to clear a little room.
    We spoke about Henrika who was in the other room. How wonderful she is.

    As I left she told me Henrika was her late mother.

    I motored on to my least favourite call.
    We are not supposed to play that game.


    You're a better man than I am, Gunga Din!
    Rudyard Kipling


    Sunshine girl

    Happiness spills from my fingertips like sparks.
    I love my job.

    I have a wonderful gentleman on my list for 8 hours per week.
    That would be awful if we did not click.
    But we do!
    I met his wife and him this morning and the relief in her eyes was visible.
    I suppose she did not know what to expect.
    Let's see how she feels about me in a week's time.
    For now I am their *sunshine girl*


    o/~ back in the saddle again! ~\o

    I'm back in the saddle again
    Out where a friend is a friend
    Where the longhorn cattle feed
    On the lowly gypsum weed
    Back in the saddle again

    Ridin' the range once more
    Totin' my old .44
    Where you sleep out every night
    And the only law is right
    Back in the saddle again

    Rockin' to and fro
    Back in the saddle again
    I go my way

    ---- Gene Autrey


    Whoopi-ty-aye-oh indeed! I am back back back as a matter of fact I'm back!

    Whether I am just elated over being back to work or the LED medical device I am using for
    SAD syndrome really works, life, she is good. www.litebook.com hmm where are all the little formatting buttons where I can link... hmm... ( ok got em in edit mode...)

    This little "litebook" (tm) belonged to my private client~
    ie: something on the side I did for cash.
    She was a woman of 80 in the throes of a vascular dementia.
    Her son had graciously allowed her to stay in her home as was her wish, til the money ran out.
    Private care is expensive. I worked for the woman he hired.
    She of course paid me less than she was making, and it was all cool with me.
    I enjoyed being with this lady a great deal.
    She was very happy and serene.
    She now resides in the extended care wing of a "rest home" and has settled in very nicely.
    The litebook is one of the things her son tried to keep her as cognitive as possible.
    She certainly is a great deal more alert than most people suffering from the same disease.
    I bought this from him as it apparantly eases carbohydrate cravings.

    Not that I am concerned or anything BUT: (teehee)
    I do seem to be taking on some of the physical manifestations of a hobbit.
    --and we aint talkin hairy toes here---

    ah to be free and living here!
    Bliss sublime.

    I am going to post this and try to format it.
    Hang on now..


    A fine idea indeed!

    A friend of mine who happens to live in Macedonia pointed me to a very interesting website.
    Usually I smile and nod when people recommend websites to me but this friend is very much the Tolkien fan along the same sightlines as my own little obsession with the works of his pen.
    The site is: http://www.ancanar.com/
    and I think you should go browse around it.

    Morgostas you are a very discerning dwarf indeed! (make sure you have adblock on for that one and pop-up removers too... still it is very interesting to see exactly what my dwarf friend does in his off-middle-earth hours)


    I probably already pointed to this site but here it is again...
    I find this fellows reading very interesting.

    I do not have any inspirational quotes today.
    Still on hold irl.... it is somewhat disconcerting.


    A plummy sop of wino

    Dinner was an experience savoured with fine friends and red wine.
    I contributed the Remy Martin; essential to any festive gathering.

    It was a little different for me, the solo act with two duets.
    Later the ladies both went to work and the gents and I sat, wine in hand, disseminating.
    -- we are all the same--

    Looking in from the outside they have it all. A beautiful home right on the golf course. A family of two beautiful children. Good-looks, charm, and happiness. The reality I was told, is rather different. Employment uncertain, love crushed by debt, anxiety and medicate the kids into happiness.

    The wine was good though.

    It's 1993.
    Kurt is looking into the camera telling us how he is happy for the only time in his life.
    He is calm, clear-eyed.

    We heard it on the news ------

    I’m on my time with everyone
    I have very bad posture
    Sit and drink pennyroyal tea
    Distill the life that’s inside of me
    Sit and drink pennyroyal tea
    I’m anemic royalty
    Give me a leonard cohen afterworld
    So I can sigh enternally
    I’m so tired I can’t sleep
    I’m a liar and a thief - "Pennyroyale tea" Nirvana


    The telephone is silent.
    I have no work today.
    I imagine a little meeting going on somewhere.
    Hopefully the results will be accomodation... if not, I shall return to school.

    and borrow MORE money!!

    Gentle souls wait quietly for nightfall.

    I saw the wordsmith this last week. He has been so ill. Mind shining like a diamond, just one or two facets dimmed by life and pneumonia. I used to have the most pleasant assignment of going and sitting with him for 3 or 4 hours so his wife could go out and get the basics done.
    He is 96 she is 80. The trouble is she looks about 60 and people forget this is her retirement too. He requires alot of maintenance these days.

    One of our mutual pleasures was dreadful puns. And quips.
    He would tell me story after story. "Showing off" his wife said.

    It has been a few months since we crossed paths.
    And there I am on Thursday, looking in the room to hear him say:
    "Oh you are so cheery. And you LOVE your job."
    A little later he told me that it meant so much to him to have someone who enjoys their work near to him at a time like this. So honoured was I.

    I went to wash my hands and I heard him say to his wife:
    "What's her name again?"
    hee hee a little reality check there.

    Even worse was her reply:
    "it's Anne."

    (it's not)

    "Blessed are those who give without remembering. And blessed are those who take without forgetting."

    Bernard Meltzer quotes


    Our search for significance

    Human beings are hard-wired for the perilous pursuit of seeking significance.
    It is not that we shouldn't, it is more that we search for it in all the wrong places.
    The God-shaped hole in our souls remains empty as we try to fill it with glory or gold or fame.
    We find life disappointing and full of regret. Where is God now?

    Pursuing property, power, pride, position... we have turned pride and passion inwards. We push pleasure into something of benefit chiefly to ourselves. I believe this is a primal need.
    "Tell them I mattered."
    Maslow's hierarchy was one of my chief interests in Nursing studies. It ranks Food and Safety only as less compelling than our need for significance. It is the addiction of our time.
    It is honoured and lauded by our culture. Awards of every type on every channel.
    Oh to matter!

    Psalm 29 is my new mantra for this struggle.
    " Ascribe to the LORD, O heavenly beings, ascribe to the LORD glory and strength.

    2 Ascribe to the LORD the glory of his name; worship the LORD in holy splendor."

    That about covers it.


    I read the most amazing book this week. It was written by Umberto Eco.
    "Foucault's Pendulum"
    (and I thought I had brains)
    It is an extremely witty novel rife with irony of the sort I love.
    It is also a committment. I do not think I have ever read so many inter-related factiods in my entire visual memory's life, with the possible exception of Tolkien. Even there, I could not hope to put them all into a novel let alone one with a decent plot.

    Upon completion I went to the Web to read reviews. I did this primarily because I had never heard of this novel prior to buying it. The reviews were of two schools: One black and one white. One camp pronounced it *unreadable* and the other announced its' brilliance.
    Count me white. I was amused and amazed and entertained.
    I also am one of those people who do not believe anything provable by mathematics.

    It hurt my head a little trying to follow the twists and turns until I realised with a laugh it did not matter one whit. M. Eco really is a very clever fellow indeed!

    I believe that you can reach the point where there is no longer any difference between developing the habit of pretending to believe and developing the habit of believing.

    -- Foucault's Pendulum, Chapter 87


    Going Home

    It has been such a privilege and pleasure to meet and know intimatly a wide variety of folk whose combined lifestyles and times embrace all aspects of the human experience.
    In school we had a little poem we chanted at recess:
    "Tinker Tailor Soldier Sailor
    Richman Poorman Beggarman Thief
    Doctor Lawyer Indian Chief
    Royal Canadian Mounted Police."
    I think I have met them all now.

    Alas it is a sexist poem. Where are the women in that rhyme? Are they merely implied?

    I had to say goodbye to a few people this week.
    To some the goodbye was a gesture, something I did that perhaps they will remember later as a farewell. To some it was a verbal expression of a thank you for sharing so many things with me.

    Change is inevitable. Change is hard. Change is here.

    "Change is not merely necessary to life - it is life."
    Alvin Toffler


    Processing speed

    It was a decade or two ago when I was a self-described adreniliniac.
    Now my processing speed is down by a few hertz.
    I require more time to adjust to new things. Unexpected events take me by storm.
    In the moment I am just fine. Afterwards, I crumble like last months stale cookie.

    We had a suicide. I understand it. I just do not like it.
    Coming back to find that out was difficult. Who and how and so on.
    It was definitly a choice. Definitly someone who had had *enough*
    Definitly a need for one last chance at control. --sigh--

    The impact of our little community of caregivers is tremendous.
    The people who came on shift to discover that... well. I hope they take the counselling offered.
    I am still sad but not as sad as yesterday. It devastated me.


    About power to recover from trauma and devastation

    1 Corinthians 14:3 If I give all I possess to the poor and surrender my body to the flames, but have not love, I gain nothing. (NIV)


    Talking out of turn

    tic tok
    tick talk
    Talking out of turn
    Shot to pieces
    When will I learn
    Talking out of turn
    Shot to pieces
    When will I learn -Moody Blues (long distance voyager)

    Conversing is a pleasure when it is practised among friends.
    I have been very fortunate in the last decade to have enjoyed the companionship of fine folk most of whom I never will and never have met.
    It is in times like this, when I cannot be understood when I speak out loud that I thank God for the kindred spirits of the Internet.

    Thank you Wids.
    Thank you ' clue.
    Thank you Helene.
    Thank you Keller.
    Thank you Dale.
    Thank you Turk.
    Thank you Kevin(s).
    Thank you Brian(s).
    You will never know the comfort afforded me through your willingness to befriend a silly woman. I may be old but I am not yet olde.

    I realize with company, I hardly focus my attention on the beauty of the place.
    Yet, it is with company that such beauty is best shared.


    It contributes greatly towards a man's moral and intellectual health,
    to be brought into habits of companionship with individuals unlike
    himself, who care little for his pursuits, and whose sphere and
    abilities he must go out of himself to appreciate.

    Nathaniel Hawthorne


    A Cunning Plan

    "Auntie's coming!"

    Yes Auntie me was coming to visit her very favourite nieces and nephews who technically are not even related to me but that's just reality intruding. We are family!

    I had this brilliant and cunning plan.
    a) Get the dentistry done.
    b) Take a holiday week.
    c) Visit the "fam"
    d) Be very smug about the superior intellect that conceived such a grande plan

    I accomplished a, & b, and we are stuck there.
    I called my dear niece to let her know traveling was out of the question.
    Her 7 year old son answered. We had a nice 5 sentence long conversation.
    I concluded with: "Can you understand me?"

    I had my daughter call back when she arrived home.
    She explained to the same lad that Auntie cannot come.
    A few hours later my telephone rang.


    ---- long gasp and pause -----

    "WOW Auntie! Oh my GOODNESS!"

    I asked her if her son mentioned I called.

    "He told me your daughter called and then said:
    "Oh Mommy some weird lady called for you. I think she was Chinese."


    God Bless the young. They tell the truth!


    There arises from a bad and inapt formation of words, a wonderful obstruction to the mind.
    - Francis Bacon

    tic toc tic

    One of my friends unwittingly gave me my motto:
    "You can never have enough time"

    We were talking about clocks.
    I have a minor obsession with chronological devices. I am really a closet matho-holic.
    (I LOVE that link. This person is a definite pale shade of me or the inverse)

    St Augustine said that 'Time may not only be queerer than we imagine,
    but queerer than we can imagine.' I have a good imagination. It is spilling out everywhere.

    What, then, is time?
    If no one asks me, I know what it is.

    If I wish to explain it to him who asks me,
    I do not know.

    My house is a home for wayward clocks. It started as a fascination with cylindrical music boxes. I love the idea of weights and measures as a means of knowing your place in time and space. Or what you perceive to be....

    Now every room in my house has at least 2 clocks except the powder room which has been spared. It is my oasis within time's illusion. The funny thing is that although clocks capture my attention, time matters not. We are here in this illusion but I do not believe we really exist in the way most of us would like to believe. Now before you think I am about to go all Matrix-y on you, its just a way of looking at life. My way. My life.

    I picked up a vintage Bulova watch from the clockmaker yesterday.
    It was in awful shape. Being an optimist I gave the clockmaker 1.5 years to fix it.
    He came in a little late but its working.
    Generally the vintage watch I wear is a very nice Rolex but lately I have been wearing nothing at all surrounded as I am by all this time at home.

    This little Bulova has the curved glass and a missing second hand on a secondary dial on the face but it is special because it was a gift to my father from my mother in the early 50s.
    *sigh happily*
    Dad looked at the clockmaker and said brightly:
    "She has over 100 clocks in her house!"
    Perhaps he is still trying to make sense of it. I know he thinks I am a little odd.
    Perhaps affirmation from the Clockmaker would make it all right.

    It is just so wonderful to see attempts at quantifying the universe.
    Archaic before their creation and yet so endearing.
    Tic toc tic.


    In other news: work beckons.

    "All my possessions for a moment of time"
    Last words of Queen Elizabeth I of England and Ireland 1533-1603

    "As if you could kill time without injuring eternity"
    Henry David Thoreau 1817-62