Tag Archives: Family

Life, the play starring Me (and You, of course)

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Well, I guess it had to happen sooner or later.

And now what?

We live in a huge social network experiment. We (OK, maybe not YOU, my lovely reader but certainly me), even knowing the fact, continue to be part of this experiment. It’s an experiment simply because we really don’t know the implications of it all.

Facebook. A wonderful tool for keeping in touch with friends who live some distance from you. I chat (either on Facebook or Skype) with people that, normally, I would not stay in touch with. Take A, just the other day. I saw she was online in FB and started chatting with her. It was lovely to reconnect as we haven’t ‘spoken’ for quite some time. I made her laugh (apparently) which is, it seems, just what she needed right at that moment.

I have, of course, checked out my sister on the site. I get a feel for what she is doing; where she is; who she is with. It satisfies my curiosity. She, of course, has the connection with my brothers and my nephews and niece. It’s enough for me and just about as close as I want to get.

As far as I know, she is not in touch with any other friends of mine. Certainly, none of them are friends on FB. And my name is, thank goodness, so common that there are thousands of me. I have no picture on my profile that is of me but, rather, my dogs. Even if you came across me by accident you couldn’t know, for certain, that I am who I am.

But, I guess, some people are determined.

And now I have a friend request from a very close friend of hers. I know they are still friends (via FB) and they still keep in touch in a way that only women seem to do. Or, maybe, that’s everyone except me seems to do.

I wonder how she found me? I wonder if she trawled through the site until she saw a likely me? I wonder how many other people she contacted with friend requests? Or was she just lucky?

And, now, what to do?

I am a great believer in ‘everything is for a reason’. People come into and go out of your life at different times to serve or having served a purpose or for you to serve or having served a purpose. Nothing is accidental – improbable, maybe, accidental, no. Each contact brings more out of us or teaches us things about others and ourselves. We play a role, a lead role, in this play called life. Everyone we come into contact is also a lead role but maybe in a different version of the play called life.

But, I cannot deny, I am apprehensive. This could open up a lot of old wounds. Is the right thing to do to accept the friend request or ignore it? Is there a sinister reason for it? Or, is it just like it says on the tin – a friend request? After all, we were once friends (even if that was through my sister).

The problem with this one, of course, is that it then opens the door to the rest of them. Starting, of course, with my sister.

Then, again, it could be an interesting door to open. After all, my name is not Alice and there is no Wonderland the other side but perhaps there’s something, something interesting, perhaps? Something wonderful? Unlikely. Something sinister? Maybe. Certainly something or, of course, perhaps, nothing!

The only question in my head is – once open, can I close the door if I choose, or will someone put there foot there? Ah, well, there’s only one way to find out!

Outside my family.

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I phone Mum to wish her happy birthday.

It’s not my Mum, obviously, and I feel slightly strange calling her Mum. I always felt like this. But I know it will please her (both to call her Mum and to phone her to wish her happy birthday). I send my love to Dad and ask how he is. We continue for a short while on the phone. I’ve never really had long conversations with them. Not least because I couldn’t always understand what they said so well.

I don’t want to get into deep conversation with her. I know that she will start crying and I’m not good with that. She’s not crying ‘cos we’ve split but just because Dad is so ill. She holds off crying but, towards the end of the conversation I can hear it in her voice. I end the call. I can’t make things better for her or Dad (again, obviously not my real Dad).

I promise to try and get over to see them this year. She thanks me for calling and I believe she was really happy that I called even if the circumstances are difficult.

But I don’t know what V has said about us or, rather, about the ‘no longer us’. I know that he told C, his sister, that I am with F now. When I spoke to C about it she seemed really happy for me. But, then she would. That’s the way she is and why I love her still, even if she is not really my sister. It was over 20 years I was part of that family. Longer than I was with my blood family and so they remain ‘my family’ still, I guess. I have no other family to replace them, not that I’m looking for one to replace them.

There will be difficult situations ahead, that much I know. What with Dad being ill. Even if they are ‘my family’, I always feel a little bit of an outsider – and not just because of the colour of our skin. But I worry about them and think about them often.

In the event that a volcano erupts, please panic!

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When I was young, so less than half a century ago, we went abroad once. I was 14. Actually, that’s not entirely true. When I was about 5, my parents took me and my sister to Guernsey. I remember it because we had a thing called ‘High Tea’ about 5 p.m. This was for kids only and was something like beans on toast. I guess we didn’t have ‘Dinner’ later but I don’t really remember.

Anyway, I digress. Our holiday, when I was 14, involved a caravan trip. My parents reckoned (and they were right) that this would be the last holiday that we would go on as a ‘family’.

The six of us, with the caravan trailing behind us, overloaded with the awning in which the kids would sleep, made our way to Portsmouth (or maybe Weymouth) on the south coast and then, by ferry to France. We then motored through France to the south west, somewhere near Bordeaux.

It was before package holidays took off.

Before that, when I was about 10 or 12, I remember my father going to the USA on a business trip. I remember it because he brought back a gonk for each of us kids

Gonk

and a pair of bright purple loons for me!

Loons - but not mine

Which I loved, by the way. And, anyway, no one in the backwater of Hereford had them, fashion not quite having reached Hereford by then (has it now?).

Certainly, when we went to Guernsey, we flew. This must have been very expensive as this was the days before package holidays and easy air travel. It was all more ‘exclusive’ then. a little bit special.

How different is it now? Now, we think nothing of hopping on a plane to go to the other side of the world. In fact, we consider air travel first when we think of going abroad – just like we shall be going to the UK at the end of July. It never even crossed my mind to go by rail or coach or any other means. It was just a matter of searching for the cheapest flight.

Which, of course, leads us to now. Now, with a volcano erupting and throwing ash everywhere. How very inconsiderate it is?

I feel sorry for the people ‘stranded’ far away from home. I know some that are. It is difficult. However, it is also an adventure! The adventure being to find another way home or to find something to do or somewhere to sleep or eke out savings or credit cards. It could be fun, if you put your mind to it.

I also feel sorry for those whose businesses rely on people being able to fly in and out of any country they wish – hotels, restaurants, the general hospitality industry. Then are those flower sellers in Nigeria (isn’t that close to some countries where people are currently close to starvation?) having to throw away all the flowers because they can’t fly them to Europe. Then, of course, there are the providers of exotic, perishable goods – with warnings that the shops will soon experience shortages (I’m sure it won’t make much of a dent in Tesco’s record profits for next year). Yes, all these people whose lives and businesses are affected – it’s really dreadful for them.

But, those of you who do read my blog often enough will know there’s always a ‘but’, lets’ take a little step back from this.

No one actually MADE these people go abroad for their holiday. If you have a business, think how it was done back in the 60s – one rarely flew abroad for business then, did one? So, if you ARE stranded, before getting angry that no one has yet come to save you, think, perhaps about why you are there and get on with getting back. There are ways. They still have ships plying between New York and the UK, for example! And, apparently, you can book from (anywhere) on board some freighter ships!

If you’re stuck in the EU or the USA, remember these are civilised countries and there will be help available, if you look hard enough. If you’re stuck in some shit-hole, please try to remember that you CHOSE to go there. If it’s not ‘civilised’ – well, what was the point in going there if all you were going to do was stay in a four-star hotel and sip drinks on the terrace?

And then there is the coincidental loss of business.  I do feel sorry for the Nigerian ‘farmers’ forced to throw away all those exotic flowers they grow so that (said in voice using received pronunciation – i.e. like what the Queen speaks) ‘one can have a rather glorious flower arrangement for one’s table’ – but I just can’t quite get my head round the fact that, on the same continent, there are people dying for want of food!

No, there’s something wrong somewhere, for certain.

To be honest, our little experience was all rather fun and interesting – but, then, it wasn’t me with the problem – I was just helping. And, as I write this, I see that flights are, again, coming in to Malpensa and Linate and, in fact, flying all over Europe!

But the things I have written above was brought about because people are starting to get angry, it would seem. Angry? Are you joking? 40 or 50 years ago only the rich would be in this position. Now everyone is at it but still they expect it to be ‘handled’ by the government. They expect that they shouldn’t be ‘ripped off’. The world is a crazy, crazy place.

But I kept thinking about the air safety drill, given on board aircraft before you take off. You know?

In the event of a loss of cabin pressure, masks like this one will come down from the panel above your head.

In the event of us landing on water, you will find the lifebelt under your seat.

In the event that a volcano erupts, please panic!

>p.s. I just want to add that there are some people for whom I feel genuinely sorry. Not everyone has a credit card to enable them to get home or family or friends who will help. It’s just the people that get so angry about it all and I keep on thinking – but no one actually MADE you go there in the first place!

And this is why I write here.

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See, this is why I don’t say anything.  Why I keep my mouth shut but pour out my stupid and illogical thoughts here rather than actually speak them.

F returns today.  He has phoned me at least three times per day and sent numerous texts.  It’s not like he doesn’t miss me, I guess.

I texted him once.  My thinking goes that he will be busy/with family/with friends.  Of course, my real thinking is that he won’t want to talk to me or will have ‘forgotten’ about me.  I missed two calls and called him some minutes later.  And, on both occasions he had to call me back.

Of course, the reasons that I didn’t go with him are possibly many and varied.  First there is the dogs – what to do with them?  Then there is the fact that he hasn’t seen his parents in six months and, to go down with a new ‘friend’ (since they don’t know he’s gay), would have been, shall we say, difficult.  So, maybe he wanted to lay the foundations for the next time, introducing my name.  Maybe it was because he would have had to ‘look after me’ and, after 6 months away, it would all be too hard.  Maybe his parents live in a very small flat and there wouldn’t have been the room without making it all very awkward (since he hadn’t told them he was coming and it was a surprise – the surprise being much greater had I been there too).

And all these reasons are logical and reasonable and I am being too selfish and unreasonable.

And, so, I will say nothing.  At least, nothing directly.  I would prefer if he just told me the real reason why, of course.  But it hasn’t even been six months yet and I should stop expecting it to be like we had been together 6 years!

At least, all these thoughts I keep to myself so that I don’t appear a spoilt, selfish little brat.

And this is why I write here.

For sure …….. maybe.

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He doesn’t want to talk about it.  He doesn’t want me to come.  I took Lola’s advice (thanks Lola) and asked.  I think he appreciated the thought but then said he doesn’t want to talk about Friday.

He doesn’t want me to come to Tuscany, either.  Well, actually I don’t know that he doesn’t.  Anyway, it’s probably a good thing not to go.  Too many difficulties in that.  This all needs to be a more gentle introduction.  I am being too selfish.

And, yet………

It’s not like he’s pushing me away.  He’s just stubborn – even more than me.  He’s already told me that when he’s ill he doesn’t even want anyone in the house, let alone looking after him.

He’s a strange guy, for sure.

Last night we went to see a film – Mine Vaganti.  This was a really difficult one for me as all the talking was very fast and, although I had already got the plot from the internet, I missed out on some of the jokes, of course.

Then we went for a pizza at Le Specialità  .  We were with a colleague of his and her husband.  They raved about the pizza but, at €14 plus for a pizza with ham, I thought it was overpriced – about double what I would normally expect to pay – and although all the ingredients were obviously fresh, it was not worth the doubling of the price.

Still, a nice evening and at least I did understand the film, more or less (although it was all a bit ‘done before’).

On the way home he mentions about going to his parents and that he hadn’t really made up his mind.  He added that it was six months since he last saw them.  I said that he should go – that he had to go, kicking myself inwardly as I said it.  But it’s true.  He must/should go.  By doing it this weekend we keep Easter free for us.  He explained the excuse he would give for going down this weekend rather than Easter.  It would seem that he wants to spend Easter with me.  Maybe we go to the lake or for a day out or two and lunch in a restaurant.

Either way, I think he wants to and doesn’t want to go – in as much as he wants to spend the time with me.  I think.  I hope.

I think it’s me

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He sends me a text.  It has a smiley after the sentence as if everything is now OK.  Of course, this was the hurdle and I do understand but, still, its not done and dusted yet.  In three days the result although I shan’t see him until several days afterwards which is, if I am honest, more than a little annoying.

I don’t know what he wants.  He says, last night, by chat, before I went over (I went over because of this morning because he has to be home before an “important event”) that he had to go to his parents because he hadn’t seen them in six months.  I knew.  I have no problem.

Yes, I do.  Even as I write this, I get that clenching in the stomach.  It seems he just won’t let me in to certain parts of his life.  Or maybe its me with the problem?  Yes, probably, that’s it.  We are a couple and not a couple.  At least, as far as I am concerned.

Adrift

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I’m not sure how I feel.  I’m not even sure how I’m supposed to feel.  My head tells me I shouldn’t feel anything but my heart is beating fast, almost as if I’m scared.

I don’t feel sad or that I’ve missed something.  I don’t feel angry or unhappy.  Nor do I feel happy.  And, somehow, at some time, that’s how I thought I would feel – not this ‘nothingness’ with a beating heart.

I read the stuff again to make sure I understood.  Yes, I cannot be wrong.  So much stuff on the internet these days but still cannot find anything about the actual event.  But then it goes and makes me look for other things.  Most things are just confirmation of things I already knew.  A few photos, a few discussions.

And still I can’t get this thing out of my head.  Why?

And then I think about the date.  No, it’s all wrong, somehow.  I mean, 2003.  I was still in the UK.  Not only in the UK but also still at the original address – the one she knew.  No.  I must have made a mistake.  A different anniversary then?  Ah yes, she was going for a walk.  And, at that time, I seem to remember, the talk of new knees.  Perhaps that’s the one she talks about?  Perhaps it was her AND him, celebrating the 7th anniversary of him being able to walk again?  That’s why the walk and why it’s worth the post.

And, yet, there was the comment about “he would be so proud of you”.  Surely you only say that of someone who’s gone?  Otherwise you’d say ‘he must be so proud of you’ or something similar.  But, perhaps there is a mixture here.  The walking being different from the dying.  The anniversary being the walking; the dying taking place at some other time.

But it tires me.  It’s boring crap and, after an initial interest, the whole thing starts to become pathetic.  I mean that I become pathetic to me.

And then, I wonder, should I make contact now?  What would it take?  And, anyway, she’s already in New Zealand or Australia or something.  With ‘her Ruthie’ on their yacht or her yacht or something.

But then that exposes me again and I don’t want to be exposed.  The rest of them come too.  It comes with a package (and a price) and the package I don’t want to open (and the price I don’t want to pay).  And, it’s strange really because only a day or so ago I found myself thinking about being adrift and that I was adrift and had almost always been adrift and, most of the time, I like being adrift and not anchored but that sometimes, for those brief moments, when being adrift seems less exciting but rather more scary, that’s the time that you have families for.

And I don’t have that.  And now, after V, I have less of even the little bit I thought I had.

And, maybe that’s why my heart raced when I read (and, probably, misunderstood) the thing on the screen.

In case of what? I’ve no idea!

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I find her on Facebook.  There is a strange fascination that makes me look.  It’s not an obsession, just an interest.  I mean by that, I don’t go looking for her every day or anything.  To be honest, I wasn’t looking for her when I found her but, having found her, I wanted to know more……

But there’s nothing really there.  You can view her friends (and I’m assuming she’s still with Ruth (her profile says she’s in a relationship but not who it is with (but, then, nor does mine)) and that’s about it.  Her friends include my two nephews (that I’ve never seen) and my two brothers who I haven’t seen for more than 20 years.  There, that’s it.

I have a weird satisfaction in knowing that she is there (and not because she is physically on this planet but that, being physically on this planet, I know how to find her and I can view her profile) and that I can see her but that it’s unlikely she can see me, as if I’m viewing her from behind net curtains; peeping into her life like some voyeur even if, in reality, I know nothing of her life and nor will I, really, from this glimpse.

I showed F her photo.  ‘She looks like you’, he said.  She doesn’t but he didn’t know that was the wrong thing to say.  Or, perhaps she does and everyone else has been giving me crap over the years?

Really, I was looking for the few (and that would be very few) friends that left school at the same time as I did or my friends from then, some of whom left school earlier than I did.  They’re not there, in the same way that I’m not there, possibly.  I don’t want ‘anyone’ to contact me and expect me to ‘Friend’ them just in case I didn’t really like them or something like that..

And on Saturday, we talked about ‘de-Friending’.  FfI said that she had never been ‘de-Friended’.  I then explained about G, who had ‘de-Friended’ me, prat that he is.  She then realised that she had, in fact, been ‘de-Friended’ by someone who’s wife/girlfriend wanted him to take his profile off Facebook or, at least, stop being friends with ex-girlfriends.

F and I have each others passwords for Facebook.  It’s really for Farmville, rather than Facebook.  There is a slight urge in me to ‘look around’ but I don’t.  It’s only a slight urge.  When we’re together, neither of us hides anything anyway, including chats with friends.  I don’t know if S, F’s ex, is on there but I don’t think so.  Not that it matters anyway.  I don’t have a problem with that at all.  Which is just as well, seeing as he’ll be back here in January.  I ask the occasional question – about his return, about what he’ll be doing, etc. but it’s only mild curiosity.  My concern is that it has some effect on us – in that his flat won’t be ready and I expect him not to stay at mine every night…….but, maybe, that will be good?  Perhaps?

I kind of hate Facebook.  I suppose that I would really be a ‘sleeping’ Facebook user, were it not for Farmville, which is starting to annoy the hell out of me.  In fact, some of my friends do seem to be ‘sleeping’ Facebook users and I can’t blame them.  I’m not one of those who ‘posts’ something every five minutes.  That would bore me too.

But I know this sort of thing wouldn’t bore her in the same way.  So, I keep a check, every now and again.  Just to see what is happening.  Just in case.  Although, in case of what, I’ve no idea!

About Families and Death and stuff

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About_Families_and_Death_and_stuff

S, my colleague, has a father who has the cancer associated with asbestos, with which he used to work. When she first found out she asked me to look on the internet to see what British doctors had to say as she was thinking he should get a second opinion.

I looked for her. It became clear that, in spite of anything she may wish, this was terminal, with or without chemo. I feel sorry for her but in a detached way, as he’s not my father nor is she, really, a friend, for whom I am likely to empathise much more. And, in spite of the fact that she had complained about him and how they didn’t really get along for the last few years, I can see that it is affecting her deeply.

Another friend also has problems with his father, who I have now met. However, he doesn’t really tell me much although I think he’s worried. His father seems to be in and out of hospital most of the time although there seems to be some indication, from what he has told me, that it may be a little hypochondria.

And I wonder, at what point does the parent become like a child? When the child-that-was becomes more concerned over the parents well-being, health, state of mind, etc. than the parents ability to influence the child’s life? And, is the worry more associated with guilt on behalf of the child, rather than anything else? But, and this is just me talking in my own special circumstances, why the guilt? Is it because the child feels they ‘owe’ something to the parent who gave birth and/or nurtured them for the first x years or the blood-thicker-than-water thing (which, obviously, I don’t believe in)?

I have thought about my parents from time to time. I have played the scenario in my head where one of them is on their death-bed and, although seemingly impossible, they find me and I get ‘THE CALL’ – the one that asks me to go to their side.

I wondered why they would do that? To try and make it right, perhaps?

I have also played out the possible two responses. The first being that I would say ‘no’ because if the point was only to satisfy them then that’s not good enough. The second being ‘yes’ because who would ever deny a dying person the right to at least
to fix a problem that’s existed for over 30 years! I mean, with their last dying breath and all!

And would I, at that point, feel the guilt that everyone else seems to feel as their parents approach their last years? I would like to say ‘no’ but if I am to be honest, then I really don’t know.

Of course, the reality is that it would be very difficult to find me. Not because I’ve gone out of my way to make it so but because it has been over 5 years since the last contact with any of my family and, although there are ways they could find me, it would take a great deal of effort and, basically, have to be my sister who worked it all through. After all, I have one ‘advantage’ over some other people – my name is a very common name and there are many people with my name who are much more famous and, therefore, take up most of the Google web search result pages (and, yes, I have looked, as have most people, I would think). Although both this and a conversation recently means I really should take another look to see how difficult it is to find me, If one were to make a determined effort and had some basic information.

And, anyway, going back to the subject, I don’t fool myself that this call will ever come. I cannot believe that after all this time they would want to make it right. What good could it possibly serve?

Thanks to Ico who inspired this post and, in my case, whereas the rest of my family may be on one island (although I believe that they ‘suffer’ the same situation as Ico’s family), certainly, I am on an island well adrift from theirs and so far away that it is over the horizon and, if not in reality, might as well be the other side of the world.

Some things

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Some_things

I stand in the middle of the car park, my cigarette in my left hand, my eyes closed and facing left and upwards, towards the sun. I have to do it now, at 10, before it gets too hot to be able to do it. The warmth is so nice, filling my body, making me feel happier. I could go to sleep.

Talking of which, I’m sorry that the post below is protected. You will have to email me if you want to see it because it is, ahem, not my usual style of writing and I don’t really want anyone reading it except those people who really want to, knowing the subject and style and all.

I am angry with myself for putting on the tie that, a couple of days ago, I managed to splash with tomato sauce, at lunch time and although I used the special cleaning spray-on stuff they have here, in Italy, it has left a kind of water mark (though it’s not water).

>I wonder why I still wear a tie? I conclude that it’s some sort of hang-up I have. It’s like those of extreme religious belief who do a bit of self-flagellation. I wear a tie only at work; it’s a punishment to myself by myself for being stupid enough to be in this situation of working. It doesn’t hurt me but it reminds me that, whilst I have the tie on, I must suffer the degradation of working, and for what?

I wonder if I got that particular hang-up from my parents or is it just my screwed-up brain that deigns it should be so? I think of one of my other hang-ups. I’m pretty certain I got that one from my mother. I don’t exactly blame them but I wish that I could expunge them, clear my mind of these things that are not important but are so ingrained that I care and I hate the fact that I care – and they’re really just my hang-ups.

>And, I don’t know why, but a little earlier, I thought, briefly of my childhood and I thought:
I was unhappy all the time.

And, then I thought:
But that cannot have been so.< >So I tried to think of a time when I was, really happy.

And, I could not. I mean, there were some times – but only when I was on my own.

Maybe that’s where all my hang-ups come from and why I am less sociable than I should be or why being sociable is such bloody hard work?