Angel

I found this clip rather moving. 

I have no idea just why perhaps 

I’m just tired tonight, sad at the fact a colleague I value is moving to where the grass is obviously greener.

I’m sad too that some people visit here and have to leave negativity when they don’t really need to ,

I’d prefer that these people don’t visit anymore

You wouldn’t invite me into your home and have me be rude to you

Would you?

Like I said I’m tired tonight 

An Arm Through The Catflap

 Dorothy smashed the catflap during a fit of pique a month or so ago .

She’s been through three now since she arrived

She boxes the plastic door like Rocky then feigns any blame after walking back in, wide eyed and open mouthed .

She has no patience with closed doors.

And has muscles in her front legs like Popeye

I’m tell you this as a bit of colour as the new postman happily waved his arm through the flap yesterday  afternoon with the deep baritone welcome of “ Hello Dogs” 

He had no idea I was sat at the kitchen table banging away at my laptop

All he wanted was a mass of dog hellos which he received immediately from three goo goo eyed dogs who obviously have had a relationship with him for ages

He’s tall and butch and bearded

And I nearly grabbed  his outstretched hand myself 

I opened the door and dogs hugged him one by one

Even Mary was smitten 

He passed me my post as he apologised somewhat red faced

I told him to keep abusing my cat flap

He obviously adores dogs.

The above beautifully crafted glass Christmas bauble was in the post he gave me. No name , no note with it, but against the Sitges bulb , it looks iridescent   and rather beautiful 

Thank you whoever sent it.

Enjoy

 The hat on the guy in the woodwind makes me chuckle every time I watch this

Off to bed shortly, working all weekend 

I’ve only spoken to the postman today 

Suo-Gan

I found myself awake at three last night.

It was cold too, so the dogs we all called to bed to act as organic hot water bottles 

I asked Google Plus to play Suo Gan and this version  by Bryn Terfel played.

Suo Gan is a lullaby, usually sang by a woman, so this version was a surprise and a delight.

I’m finishing off my academic poster for college 

An exploration of the differences and similarities between counselling and confession, as experienced by counsellors who are, or have been , Catholic Priests

Oh er missus

Tell us the one about………

 My grandmother was a storyteller.

She filled our childhood with a dozen or so stories, all repeated at our request during bouts of ironing and cake making.

Hearing these tales repeated was just as much fun as hearing them for the very first time 

The anticipation of a punchline, or the denouement of daring wartime adventure was a delicious thing to children who grew up in a sad house. 

And we gulped up the repeats with gusto.

I’ve repeated this story 4 times now and always just before Christmas

I think it’s worth repeating every year, and I won’t apologise for its appearance here again

Christmas 1985

Christmas week 1985 I was  shadowing a community psychiatric nursing sister with her caseload in the deprived and depressing northern town of Runcorn.
Through a succession of faceless maisonettes, we sat on grubby sofas and listened to  sad stories of loneliness, mental illness and substance abuse and I watched as my mentor tried her best to keep heads above water and bums out of the local psychiatric unit.
The last visit of the day was to a woman called Jean.
Jean lived alone in the top of a ten story complex. She had suffered from severe mental health problems for forty years and had recently been placed in her home from long term psychiatric care only a few months before.
I remember her flat very well. There was no carpet in the hall and the living room but there was a tiny white tinsel Christmas tree standing on top of a large black and white tv.  A homemade fabric stocking was hung on the fire surround and just two Christmas cards  were perched on the mantle.
( one of those cards having been sent by my colleague) The flat was sparse but incredibly clean and it was evident that Jean had been waiting for our visit all day.
In mismatching cups we were offered coffee with powdered milk and a single mince pie served on a paper plate and I remember sharing a sad glance with the nurse when Jean presented us both with gifts hastily wrapped in cheap Christmas paper. My gift was two placemats with photos of cats on them. The nurse received a small yellow vase, and I remember Jean beaming with delight when we both thanked her effusively for her kindness. 
When we washed up our own cups, the nurse quietly checked the fridge, noting that several of the shelves were empty . There was a calender on the wall with the note " NURSE COMES TODAY" written on that day's date. Nothing else was written on it until the week of new year's eve, where the same sentence was written.
It was the very first time that I had experienced someone who was so totally isolated in a community setting and it shocked me to the core.

I listened as the nurse talked about medication, as  I waited patiently and when she took Jean into the bedroom to administer a regular injection I noticed a carrier bag which the nurse had tucked away by the side of the arm chair shortly after we arrived. In it was a package of cold meat, milk , bread and what looked like chocolates and a cake.
Before we left, we let Jean monopolize her only conversation of the week and as she retrieved our coats, I watched and grew a few years older as the nurse silently slipped a five pound note behind one of the cards on the mantle.

Note

I met an old friend cheryl for lunch in Chester today.

Which was lovely. 

She thought I was a little Frazzled 

I don’t think I am 

I’m still wearing my Christmas Jumper, I’ve not taken it off since Saturday, even sleeping in it last night as it was -3 outside.

The woman in the thai food stall liked it.

When I got home yesterday 

Outside the back kitchen wall was a container of soup and a lovely tiny card covered in flowers.

The card was from Brian 

And it was a gracious apology for what he said to me.

A big man 

And an apology I need to counter with another apology 

I’m sorry I posted about it 

Enjoy this video, I forgot just how good a good comic Grayson was

Andrew

Brothers and sisters

My brother died just as December showed its cold face in 2011

Twelve Years Ago

 I used to care for my brother every Thursday daytime. He was confined mostly to bed then, with a bubbling tracheostomy and the cruelty that is motor Neurone disease.
My presence was more a confidence boost for my sister in law , so she felt content to leave the house for a days' shopping and apart from the occasional meds round and tracheal suction  my day would be peaceful as the dogs would run amok in the garden as my brother slept or watched crap tv.
I remember one afternoon he had a coughing fit and needed his tracheostomy inner tube changed and his airways cleared .
To me this procedure is second nature but that day my brother had become irritated and difficult.
He was angry, and had no voice and as I fiddled with the tubes and catheters his eyes flashed red with anger
Moments later he slapped my hand hard as I reached forward with a suction catheter and shocked and suddenly upset I paused for just one second and said a slightly exasperated " I'm sorry" 
I remember my brother closing his eyes and flopping back on his pillow as I finished the procedure and without saying anything more I cleaned up the equipment  and busied myself with task orientation.
I was ten years younger than my brother and we couldn't be more different in personality if we tried.
I knew I would often irritate him but I never quite knew just why that was.
Initially the gay thing was an issue , but I knew it wasn't really that that irritated him now.
It was more me, my personality  and I get that, me coupled with hidden sibling rivalry  so often experienced between brothers.

I felt that slap long long after it had happened though

And I remembered my training too on spinal injuries as I watched bulldog Mabel bounce around the edge of the pond. The pond she would fall into a week later
Training which said Internal anger was so much harder to deal with than external anger.

This memory is over twelve years old now. I had to look it up on Going Gently finding the post where Mabel finally swan dived into the pond like Shelley Winters in The Poseidon Adventure
See
https://disasterfilm.blogspot.com/2011/11/sock-down-trouser-leg.html

But I suddenly remembered it as though it was yesterday.

I also remember how the afternoon ended as an hour or two later when I went to check on my brother he gestured to a crappy quiz programme on the tv.
It was our habit to watch it together with me inanely shouting out the answers
And he gestured for me to sit to do the same
There was no need to revisit the burst of anger

It was there and it was out,

And it was finished with.

Cheers

Reading an entertaining entry on a fellow blogger's blog reminded me of a lady I "nursed" while I was on student placement to The Merseyside alcohol dependency unit at The West Cheshire Psychiatric Hospital in the 1980s.Sylvia was one of those ex colonial types, with a cut glass accent, a weather beaten face and the kind of spirit that made Britain what it was during the 1930s and 1940s, an arrogant world power.
She was, opinionated and racist, in that old fashioned sort of way that made you smile at her rather than it provoking an angry response towards her, and she had spent her life of privilege in colonial Malaya , for 40 years pickled in pink gin.

God knows just why she had been admitted to the unit. She was far too long in the tooth at 83 to successfully give up alcohol, even I as a student realised that fact, but I suspect that she had been "encouraged " to enter rehab for a formal assessment, as it was suspected that she was suffering from the start of Korsakoff’s dementia.
People suffering from Korsakoff's dementia lack vitamin B 1 due to their alcoholism, and treatment , as I recall is a combination of vitamin supplements, good nutrition and plenty of rest in addition to the "talking therapies" which aim to explore the cause of their drinking behaviour.
"Talking Therapy" was not something that Sylvia took too seriously as I recall

People that have Korsakoff's, often have great gaps in their memory which they cover up with confabulating history accounts.
In one morning group session I remember one Liverpudlian patient asking her just how much she drank before her admission
In her best Maggie Smith delivery Sylvia announced loudly and with some conviction to the group
"If you must know ......I only ever had a few little drinkies after meals!"
The Liverpudlian, missed nothing from her vague reply
"and how many meals a day did you actually have?" he asked with a smile
"34!" Sylvia called out with a triumphant cackle