Diss

"If you don't believe in ghosts, you've never been to a family
reunion." - Ashleigh Brilliant

We arrived in Diss shortly before 4 o'clock yesterday afternoon following a teary departure from Eric's. We meandered through the countryside, taking in the changing landscape which moved from Queen Anne's lace and poppies to ferns and rhododendrons and back again. Along the way we stopped at Hunstanton to look at the sea and have a bite of lunch. A lapse in our collective memory resulted in a £50 parking ticket.

Until Friday we will be staying at the home of Myron and Sue in the village of Winfarthing just outside Diss. Their home is a small cottage on the main street. There is no street address, the house identified only as the School House, named for it's location across the street from the village school. Myron, who served as best man at our wedding, is Merv's oldest friend. Merv was to Myron's parents (now deceased) what Jonathan is to us.

Last night we went to a restaurant in Diss for the family reunion dinner. There were eleven of us, Myron and Sue, their daughter Emma and her husband Neil, their son Warren and his fiancee Lynsey and Lynsey's parents Phillip and Heather. Phillip is Merv's first cousin. A tracing of the family tree has somehow connected Myron and Merv as family though admittedly I had trouble following the connections. This is the meeting that I was nervous about - the one that precipitated my diet. Of course, as most things in life go, there was no need for nerves. By comparison, my weight is absolutely fine, not to mention I have beautiful teeth. Too funny.

In a few minutes I will get into the shower and then Merv and I will head to the cemetery to visit the graves of his mom and sister. We have a seaside visit scheduled for a little later in the day. I also need to find a computer store where I can buy a suitable power cord for my netbook as it's out of juice and we didn't bring the right adaptor.

The sun is brilliant in the sky today. The odors from the pig farm adjacent to the house are unfortunately wafting in the morning breeze so I'm struggling a bit. Sue tells me I'll get used to the smell. I'm not convinced.

Queen Anne's Lace and Poppies

"The poppy opes her scarlet purse of dreams." - Iris
Scharmel

The Stickney drought ended yesterday. It poured the whole day. That was great for the people of Stickney though a little less great for us. Nonetheless, we had a good day driving through the countryside, looking at the small villages, stopping at the mill for lunch and walking through the old castle ruins. Do you remember when we were young, the abundance of Queen Anne's Lace in the fields and countryside? I don't recall seeing it so much anymore. But here, the countryside is a swath of white lace gloriously populated by brilliant red poppies. Simply beautiful.

In a couple of hours we will be leaving Stickney and heading to Diss. I'm dreading saying goodbye to Eric. Two short days have not been enough time after these years of absence. After dinner last night Merv and Eric poured over pictures of their childhood, sharing recollections of times long past. I think it is good for both of them. In a way, it seems to heal the hurt of some of their family disfunction. To know that they were both affected by the dozens of times they moved and changed schools. To speak of the pain of losing their sister. To remember some happy days playing together as small children.

Diss is the part of this trip that I am most anxious about. I will meet, and be judged by, the family members Merv hasn't seen for thirty years. This is the part of the trip that set me strictly on my diet forty three days ago. After all these years, Merv wants the family to see that he, the black sheep, did well. I want them to believe that he married well, at least this third time. Seeing Jacob will, at least, prove the excellence of this union.

The sun is trying to break through the clouds this morning. On to a new day.

Stickney

"There is a forgotten, nay almost forbidden word that means more to me than any other. That word is England." - Sir Winston Churchill

It is a beautiful morning. The sun is streaming in the window. It's strangely quiet and very early, still before 6 A.M. I've been awake since before five o'clock. It's an adjustment morning. Our red eye flight to London was uneventful. Though I had hoped to sleep, I knew that was unlikely. I managed a couple of ten minute catnaps and spent the rest of the night resting with my Ipod in my years and my sleep mask on. By the time we arrived in London I had that feeling in the pit of my stomach that makes it hard for me to distinguish if I'm hungry or just tired.



I don't know how Merv managed to do it, but we picked up our rental car and immediately hit the road for Stickney where Merv's brother Eric was awaiting our arrival. Jacob navigated so I climbed into the back seat for the three hour journey. I was asleep in about five minutes. I got an hour. At one point Merv was struggling with fatigue so we made a short stop at a McDonald's on the highway. Lest I think I was at home, I was made aware of the foreignness of my location when the order taker asked if I wanted black or white coffee. These English people have a strange way of speaking English. We drove through some pretty towns and villages. This part of the country is very flat so often the only tall things on the horizon were church steeples and wind turbines.



Our arrival at Eric's was an emotional one. It has been six years since he, Merv and Jacob last saw one another; five since he last saw me. A lot has happened in those years. For one thing, Jacob was a boy six years ago. I don't think Eric was prepared for the man who was before him. And when I last saw Eric, I was recovering from treatment, my hair just breaking the surface of my scalp. Eric looks good, better than ever in fact. His hair is all gray now, the lines in his face etched a little deeper in these last years. His place is small but warm. He has been very gracious, giving his bedroom to Merv and I and his guest room to Jacob. He is sleeping on the couch in the lounge.



He took us to a great pub for dinner last night in Revesby. It is a tiny village comprised of a group of gingerbread houses and an old stone church. Eric's daughter Anthea along with her husband Jason and two of her sons, four year old Josh and eight-month-old Alfie joined us at the pub. Anthea was a child when Merv last saw her. It was a first meeting for Jacob and I. She sat next to Jacob, across the table from me. It was an amazing sight. They look very much alike. Her eyes, like Jacob's, are the same blue of their late grandfather, their noses and jaw lines bear a remarkable resemblance. There is no mistaking their blood relationship. That was a first for me. As the only child on my side of the family, Jacob doesn't have any young lookalikes at home, no siblings, no blood related cousins. Seeing them together, touched my heart.



Back at Eric's, I managed to stay up until 10:00 P.M. but finally gave in and went to bed. I don't know what adventures this day will bring. Eric wants to show us some of the other towns and villages in this area. There are windmills and castles to been seen. And tonight there is another pub for the boys to sample the local beers. I can hear the doves now, calling out their morning greetings. It's time to get up and step into the day.

Awaiting a Message from Dad

"I waited and waited, and when no message came, I knew it must have been from you.” Ashleigh Brilliant

It is my dad's ninety-first birthday today. The last one we were able to celebrate with him was nineteen years ago. Barely five weeks later, he was gone. Jacob was not quite eleven months old when my dad passed away. I worked hard to keep him alive in Jacob's mind and heart throughout his growing years. So each June 7 when Jacob was small, we would go to the store and buy one helium balloon. Jacob would carry it into our backyard, look up to the heavens and let it go. The balloon was a birthday message for Granddad. After dinner we would light the candles on a birthday cake and sing happy birthday to my father. Jacob would blow out the candles on Dad's behalf. I like to think my dad watched all those celebrations and enjoyed them as much as we did. He has been alive in our lives all these many years since his exit from this earthly plain. It just the interactions that change.

Nancy believes my dad sends messages to her in the form of songs and pennies. She finds pennies in the oddest places and at the oddest times. Last Thursday when we were at Mt. Sinai struggling with what was happening to my mom, Nan found a penny in the critical care area of the emergency room. She knew Dad was letting her know he was with us. This morning Cath sent me a note to tell me Dad sent her a message via an empty elevator that came to her without being beckoned. As it is his birthday and I've been chatting with him a fair bit today, I thought maybe I would get a message today too. But so far nothing. That's okay. I know he has been here with me anyway.

The day has practically passed. There were no balloons sent skyward, no birthday cake or candles. Just the loving thoughts and wishes of three grown daughters and one grandson who nineteen years later still miss our dad like crazy.

Falling Apart

"So go ahead. Fall down. The world looks different from the ground."
- Oprah Winfrey

The cry I promised myself last night didn't materialize. Even at 55 I have yet to master the fine art of falling apart. I feel like I've been going through the motions of sanity and composure all day, through business meetings, shopping and even cooking dinner. It's just a normal day but nothing feels normal to me. My legs are like jelly and I've had a lump in my throat all day. I've been trying to figure out why the events of yesterday took such a toll. After all, Mom is okay. It was only an eight hour ordeal, not an eighteen hour ordeal. And I handled it. In the final analysis, I think I'm still reeling from the minutes I had alone with her in the car when I believed she was dying in the seat beside me and I couldn't do a damn thing about it.

It's not that I'm the kind of person who keeps my feelings to myself. On the contrary, I've long been known for wearing my heart on my sleeve. But something different happens when I'm in crisis mode. The other Jackie kicks in. The strong, in-control, I can manage anything and take care of everyone Jackie. That Jackie makes me tired. But once she is in control of me, I have a hard time getting her to relax and retreat.

I know. I know. I sound like a nut - a schizophrenic nut at that. But when faced with a crisis, I don't seem to have the ability to fall apart even once the crisis is over. Yet I know it would be be cathartic to have the cry, to let it go, to get some release. I just can't get there. It will happen eventually at a time when it's really inconvenient in a response that's completely out of proportion to the event that triggers it. And I will feel terrible for awhile. But after a little bit of time, I will get up off the floor and walk on.

Thursday at Mt. Sinai

"Hospitals are places that you have to stay in for a long time, even if you are a visitor. Time doesn't seem to pass in the same way in hospitals as it does in other places. Time seems to almost not exist in the same way as it does in other places." - Pedro Almodovar

I knew today would be difficult at best. Nan and I were scheduled to take my Mom this morning to her quarterly gynecology appointment at Mt. Sinai's Ob/Gyn clinic in the Hydro building. Mom was smiling when she got in my car at the nursing home but was asleep within a couple of blocks of driving. A few blocks later she was drooling madly. Then came the diarrhea. Finally though we arrived at the Hydro building with nowhere to park or even stop the car and no answer at the number we normally call to get the services of a porter. Nan had to go into the building to try and find a wheelchair and porter while I drove around the block. Shortly after Nan got out of the car, Mom started vomiting. I realized she was not asleep but unconscious. And for a few terrifying minutes I was hoping she wouldn't die in my car. Suffice it to say we never did make it to the gynecologist's office.

Instead, we spent the day in the emergency department at Mt. Sinai. A code team of nineteen (yes I actually counted them) met us at the car to assess Mom and take her into the hospital. They believed, as did I, that she was probably having a heart attack or a stroke. They could not wake her or rouse her into consciousness. The hospital chaplain came to sit with Nan and I.

The truth is that everyone at the hospital was just plain wonderful. They were patient, kind and incredibly responsive. They treated Mom lovingly and with gentleness. But even after running a whole gambit of tests, they were unable to determine what happened. There was no stroke. No heart attack. It may be the flu or a urinary tract infection or it may be one of those things. So by late afternoon she was released, with her vomit covered clothes in a plastic bag. They put two hospital gowns and a blanket on her and helped us to load her in my car. She didn't vomit again but she did have a small accident that wasn't quite contained in her diaper so for the second time today, I cleaned my car.

When I left the nursing home shortly before five she was sound asleep in her own bed. Nan was determined to stay with her and not take a break for some dinner though neither of us had a bite since this morning when I insisted she have a bit of yogurt with me. I decided to take a break from cooking tonight. The Swiss Chalet delivery man is on his way. My bones are aching and my stomach is growling. After the boys have gone to bed tonight, I think I'll indulge myself in a good cry.

Retirement Beads

"Don't underestimate the value of Doing Nothing, of just going along, listening to all the things you can't hear, and not bothering."
~Pooh's Little Instruction Book, inspired by A.A. Milne

After twenty-five years as Executive Director of Geneva Centre for Autism, my friend Marg is retiring this month. As much as I would like to be at her farewell party, we will be in Britain when the event is held. On that night though, I like to think I will be present in a small way. Marg will be wearing the necklace I made for her out of her retirement beads.

A couple of years ago Marg went to a bead store and bought twenty five beads, one to start and then one to add to a bowl on her desk on the first day of each month until her retirement. Today the beads came to me to create a piece of jewelry. So this morning with great love I spent a couple of hours arranging, re-arranging and stringing Marg's retirement beads. I first designed them, then strung them before discovering that the holes in the beads at the neck were not sufficiently large to allow the strand to be properly clasped. So once again, I started from scratch. I did the work while sitting on the deck so I could use the full light of the sun. My eyesight is deteriorating and I'm finding it more and more difficult to see well enough to do the fine detailing that comes with finishing a necklace. The warm air and full sun were a balm for my soul today, but the high winds presented their own challenges. Once I finished, I completed the piece with a lovely sterling clasp I've been saving for something special. But after looking at the necklace for twenty minutes or so, I decided I didn't like the way the clasp looked on that piece. I chose another clasp and did it again. I hope Marg likes it.

This afternoon I will visit the eye doctor and get a new prescription. Then I will dash off to the store and order new glasses that I hope will be ready in time for our trip to England. Later in the afternoon I will head downtown to meet Cath. We have a spa adventure booked this evening.

There are a couple of dozen tasks that require my attention before we leave on vacation. I've been trying to tackle them, a couple each day. But the air is warm and the birds are lovely so I'm making sure that enjoying the splendor of these June days is also on my to-do list.